The Girlfriend Zone

So I have been debating on whether or not to share this with you guys for a while. Maybe I felt kind of shy telling the whole world about the man that completely changed my whole world. Maybe on some level I am superstitious and did not want to jinx it.

This is basically what convinced me to write about it: The Friend Zone. It’s a post I wrote on February 2, 2012. Exactly one year after I wrote The  Friend Zone, I met Allister on February 2, 2013.

*Author’s Note: It just occurred to me that this was post I wrote on February 2, 2012: Reality check: Why I’m going to be the next Bachelorette. Either post works really. They both speak to my hopeless humorous situation at the time. 

As a lot of you may have come to know about me, I had my own views of what relationships should be like. I had never been in a serious relationship but I had a lot of friends who were in a lot of serious relationships and observations taught me many things.

People in average relationships seemed happy enough. People in great relationships, however, seemed…quiet. People in great relationships knew what it took to make it to where they were. I always wanted a great relationship. I knew it would take work.  But that’s okay…every great thing takes a lot work to obtain, right?

Against all the odds that I imagined there to be in this world, I actually found someone that also seemed to want a great relationship.

I am by no means an expert in relationships. I could have somehow gotten away before by telling you guys I was an expert at being single. But to being relationship-savvy I have no claim to fame.

As practical as I would love you guys all to have believed, I had very skewed, Hollywoodized ideas of a great relationship. Things were really not what I thought they would be when I finally got into one. Unlike what I imagined real relationships are like, there was no drama, no waiting by the phone and there was no sleeping around with a million people until one of us had life-changing epiphanies.

Allister and I met at a dinner arranged by a couple of girlfriends a year ago. He thought my plans for starting a business of writing online dating profiles was preposterous. I thought he was hotter than two rabbits in a wool sock. He offered me a ride home that night. I invited him to my place for house party the week after.

Three weeks after Allister and I started dating, he told me point blank that he wanted to be my boyfriend. Had I been the practical person I wanted to believe I was, I would not have wanted run for the hills. After years of being single, I had almost developed a Stockholm syndrome towards the Friend Zone. But he saw that. He told me that when I was ready, send him a postcard and he’d be there…still wanting the same thing. (All paraphrased)

Eventually our first major fight happened four months in. There was a lot of crying on my part and a lot of listening on his before he addressed what bothered me.  Contrary to how great I thought I was at being reasonable, he was better at deflecting fights before they escalated to destructible levels.

That was also the night he said I love you for the very first time. He told me later that it may have been the least romantic moment to me, but he never meant it more.

I turned 27 last September. He celebrated it like he was making up for for the last 26 birthdays he missed. That was when I knew that I would never ever be able to celebrate another birthday without him.

Everything about dating Allister was unexpectedly alarmingly easy. I was not sure if it was because years of failure had lead me to believe relationships couldn’t be drama free but I would always wonder if we were going wrong somewhere.

Where was the downside of being in a relationship that everyone talks about? People always told me to enjoy my single days. Being in a relationship has its rewards but it is SOOO MUCH WORK.

They were NOT lying when they told me it would be a lot of work.

Over the past year it took a lot of arguments, heated discussions and flat out fights with each other for me to realize that relationship are a LOT of work….on myself.

I learned just how blinded I am to my own faults. I pout, I fight, I bitch and I yell when I don’t get my way. Oftentimes, I found that the arguments we have had were born out of a sense of injustice I felt when someone else failed to do things my way and when I assumed the worst of my partner not realizing that having two people in a relationship ALWAYS means there are two sides of a story.

It took a lot of work for me to admit that I am a far cry from the perfect person I thought I was. And it takes a lot of work to fix it.

At the end of it all, the paradox of happiness that I stated in The Friend Zone remains true:

In order to be happy, you have to make someone happy.

In order to make someone happy, you have to be happy yourself.

If at all somehow by some fluke of the Universe, the fates are kind and bless you with someone that makes you happy, you best do everything you can to be the person that makes them happy. Even if it means you lay down your pride. Especially if it means if you have to lay down your pride. Because according to the paradox, that’s happiness.

And as someone who strives to make this guy happy, I can definitely attest to that.

PS: You can’t see her in this picture, but there was a thousand year old woman sitting on the side who came up to us with these pearls of wisdom for Allister: 1) Always wash your hands. 2) Never be mad at each other

So I will ask you this: What have you learned from your relationships? Here’s a  poll to help, but I would love to hear from you as well!

Willing to lie about how we met: A guide to keeping it real with online dating

I think it’s about time I came clean and confess something. For the past few months or so, I have resorted to the realm of online dating. Well, this was not so much a confession as it is what I thought would be a good segway into giving you folks a play-by-play into the stupid monkey dance I do in my valiant efforts at finding everlasting true love.

From the very start, the one problem I had with online dating was that it took away my fairytale. Now when people asked, I wouldn’t be able to tell them we met when he rescued me from a urinating homeless man on the subway, or that my hot neighbour knew it was love at first sight when he saw me innocently washing his car in my daisy duke shorts that I specifically bought for the occasion.

Regardless, the thought of the immense potential I have of becoming a cat owner, or worse my Indian mother searching for a worthy suitor for me were incentives enough to swallow my pride and bite the bullet.

In my findings, online dating basically is a four-stage, blindfolded journey through the jungles of modern-day MTV love. And if you ever decide to get on this bandwagon, don`t be afraid embarrased. I`m here to give you a taste of what you possibly could be getting into:

Stage 1: The Hunt

Also known as: The Profile Search

Real Life Equivalent: Scanning the bar for people who don`t look like they conduct secret gatherings in their basement to read out the Communist Manifesto.

Much like in real life, your profile search will lead you to find both decent and douche alike. You can tell decent by a normal smiley picture taken at a wedding, usually including a puppy in the background. Douche by a shirtless, Instagram photo taken in the bathroom mirror, usually including a tank of protein supplements in the background.

It’s at times like this that you have to remember that you are here because you couldn`t get a date in real life to save your life. Beggars can`t be choosers. Even douches deserve everlasting true love. Even if only for their excellent photog skills.

Once you have picked a profile that looks like it could have potential to go far…and by ‘far’ I mean enough to make you overcome the urge to fling your laptop at your plant Penny, you will find yourself in Stage 2.

Stage 2: The Size up

Also known as: Scanning a profile for character flaws by subconcisouly judging their grammar

Real Life Equivalent: Making eye contact with someone who looks like they hail from a decent gene pool while trying to see if you can find hints of axe murderer in their eyes.

Reading through profiles is a crucial step in finding your soulmate, let me tell ya! By now after scanning through hordes of profiles, you would have found a few key similarities in everyone who joins dating sites:

1) They’re ALL loving their single life.

2) They ALL love to travel.

3) Their ALL are on this site because their sick of the bar scene.

While this ALL sounds dreamy, let me  bitchslap you out of online oblivion. People who LOVE being single are usually found in cloistered convents and Siberian mountain caves…not online dating sites.

And perhaps it WOULD be better to meet someone at a bar, because if you are anything like me, you’d be more inclined to talk to them when you are blissfully unaware of ‘they’re’ inability to properly use contractions and possessive pronouns.

Yes. It is THAT simple.

That being said, please don’t be like me. Give people a break and move on to Stage 3.

Stage 3: Establishing interest

Also known as: Swallowing your pride and showing the lucky POI (person of interest) you think they’re rad enough to warrant 3 more seconds of your time.

Real Life Equivalent: Letting decent gene pool lover buy you a drink while knowing they’re probably mentally undressing you.

You swallowed your pride, charged your credit card and spent countless hours stalking a wide array of photos, wondering who’s worthy enough to see your 50 shades of cray. You made it this far, you might as well go in for the kill. Shoot an email. Take a stab at a corny joke to break the ice. Even take a jab at yourself if that starts the ball rolling.

Please note that the homicidal terms of “kill”, “shoot”, “stab” and “jab” are not an indication of how you are subconsciously feeling at this point. Obviously.

And if you’re too shy or illiterate, there’s always The Wink. This is perhaps the greatest thing about online dating. You do not have to put yourself out there and risk rejection. In real life: you buy someone a drink; in cyber life: you wink.

In most online dating cases, a wink has usually gotten me a date. In most real life cases, a wink would have most likely gotten me a restraining order.

So send that email. Its more likely you’ll get to Stage 4 if you do.

Stage 4: The Meet up

Also known as: The date

Real Life Equivalent: Going out on a date.

There are several things that could have gone wrong with your email exchange:

1) The loser never responded.

2) The corny joke I asked you to make was too corny. Or not corny enough.

3) Their response was something like this: “hey ya, haha gud joke. where u frm? maybe we cud get like a drnk or somethin ur hot txt me bak”

But let’s be optimistic here and assume none of that happened and you scored a date with an awesome possum.

Congratulations you little love warrior! You did it! 🙂 See? Online dating isn’t so bad.

The Aftermath:

Unfortunately, I cannot guide you any further on the actual date. Perhaps I’d be a little more qualified if I had an actual success. However, there are only three ways it could go:

1) Really well.

2) Really not well.

3) Limbo- Stop reading this and refer to the book “He’s just not that into you”

For the sake of optimism again and to end this post on a high note, let’s say that over a pitcher of sangria, you both saw your unborn children in each other’s Pinot-glazed eyes.

Huzzah! Success!

This does indeed happen (sometimes), and all you singletons out there HAVE to believe that this will happen to you one day. 

Whether you find your dreamboat lover online or offline, there IS someone out there who will accept you for the complicated, delusional, imperfect, crazy bitch that you are. Someone that will make all the hours of wasted time scouring profiles worth every second.

And when that happens, shoot me an email to thank me for guiding you through that dark moment in your life when you whipped out your credit card in quiet resignation.

I’ll even take a wink.

The Friend Zone

This is what happens when I’ve been away for far too long. You lucky ducks get to read TWO posts in a row! Imagine that. You’re welcome all you chronic insomniacs!

You may all know my lovely and talented REAL LIFE fellow WordPress blogger friend BreezyK who’s praises I sing at every chance I get. Well, about a month and a half ago, Ms. Breezy asked me to guest post for her fabulous blog The Camel Life. Obviously I was pretty freaking flattered but as soon as that wore off, I was filled with anxiety about what to write about.

After a whole month of struggling with this post, it took me one night of insomnia to finish it.

So what was it that I struggled with so much to write about? It was a dreaded world where we all at some point either had to live in…or in my case, had to set up shop: The Friend Zone. This is one of my rare personal philosophical posts filled with my 2:00am epiphanies. I hope you will read it and maybe on some level even relate to it.

Without further ado, here is my post about The Friend Zone on BreezyK’s The Camel Life


Guest Post: How to Snag the Boy Next Door in 10 Minutes or Less

What a treat all you lucky ducks are in for today!

Some way, somehow a few months ago, I managed to convince the beautiful and funny BreezyK from The Camel Life to drink wine with me. Our love blossomed over wine- related drunkness, appetizers and the table of good-looking men next to us. We sealed the deal with a drunken subway ride home.

Months later, Breezy wrote the most humorous post that I’m happy and excited to feature on The Chronicles. For those of you who would like some context for this post, please check out my previous post: Because the Greatest Cockblock of all is happening to me.

Without further ado, here’s Breezyk’s take on my cockblocking stories. Enjoy!


Holla peeps- For those of you who don’t know me, I’m BreezyK from The Camel Life, where I blog about finding the humour in everyday life.

I’ve been a follower of The Chronicles for quite some time now, and am proud to say that after only a few short months of stalking correspondence, I have successfully managed to turn what was once merely an unrequited internet girl-crush into an actual, real life friendship with Karen.
And kids- let me tell ya- she’s just as sweet, funny, and gorgeous as she is on her blog. Which also makes me kind of hate her.

Just look at that face! Now there's a girl you could bring home to mom.

Anyway, when we’re not making each other friendship bracelets or redecorating our secret best friend hideout, we sometimes like to eat Eggs Benny at various hipster brunch spots around Toronto and pretend to be as cool in real life as we are on the internet.

During one such meet-up a few Sundays ago, Karen was giving me an update on the infamous (and subject of frequent blog posts) Astro Boy. When she told me that she had recently discovered Astro-Boy was her NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOUR- I couldn’t believe my ears.

“Your crush is the boy next door?? I exclaimed. “You have to do something- he’s RIGHT THERE! You probably share a goddamn wireless connection!”
Unconvinced, she replied: “Well what am I supposed to do, go knock on his door?”
“Pfft…” I replied “No. There are tons of things you could do to get his attention”.
“Like what?” she asked.

I then proceeded to ramble off a list of what I thought were foolproof suggestions, in my probably (ok, definitely) still-drunk-from-the-night-before state. Since we got a good chuckle out of them, we thought it might be fun to share them with you all, in case any of you have a boy next door you want to snag.. or maybe just a pesky neighbour that you want to scare away. Cause that could work too.
So here goes:

BreezyK’s Guide to Snagging the Boy Next Door in 10 Minutes or Less:

Set up a lemonade stand. Screw Milkshakes- these days, it’s lemonade that brings all the boys to the yard. Set up an inviting looking stand, complete with a pitcher and glasses for two, wear something slutty, and before you know it, it’ll be more than just the lemons getting squeezed, if you know what I’m sayin’.

Move over Kelis… there’s a new drank in town.

Have a yard sale, at which you sell only your unmentionables. This might require an initial investment, since you’ll probably have to go and buy some sexy shit to “sell” ( lets be honest, the stuff in your drawers right now probably isn’t gonna cut it). But what’s a couple hundred bucks at Victoria Secret if it helps you secure the love of your life??

Wash your car suggestively in your yard. Think Jessica Simpson, “These Boots are Made for Walking” styles. Again, this may require an initial investment- particularly if you don’t own a car. Obviously you’ll have to buy one. But hey, no one ever said love came cheap.

Bake things that smell delicious. Harness your inner domestic diva and use it to whip up several dozen batches of cookies and muffins. If you’re lucky, the sweet scent will hypnotize the object of your affection and draw him to you like a moth to a flame… or Lindsay Lohan to an open bar. Bonus points if you leave a fresh apple pie cooling on the window sill in plain sight. You little June Cleaver, you.

If June Cleaver were a cat.

Regular, good old fashioned stalking. This is the least expensive, and arguably, most foolproof way of securing your man. It works like this: hide, out of eyesight, in your living room window. Wait (Bring snacks, cause this could take a while). If he is a runner do this dressed in full workout gear. When you see him leave his house, dash out of your front door and immediately begin jogging into step beside him.. and then BAM! Serendipitous encounter.

Have the sudden urge to borrow something. You could go with the standard cup of flour or sugar, but why not create an air of mystery by asking for something really obscure- like two 48-inch diameter plywood discs for that hovercraft you’re building in the backyard. Can he see it? No, it’s not… uh…. ready yet. But maybe once it’s done you can take him for a “ride”. wink wink. nudge nudge.
Feign a lost pet. Print up some signs, complete with a picture of your “lost” Golden Retriever puppy, and ask him to help you put them up all over the neighbourhood. Cause really, who could say no to little Cooper?

and if none of these suggestions work, then I guess as a last ditch effort you could:
Talk to him like a normal person. But that’s way less fun. And way more awkward. I’d go with the lemonade stand.
Good luck, and happy creeping!


And there you have it. How jealous are you of me now that you know she’s my real life friend?! If you want to read more of BreezyK, CLICK ON THIS LINK—–> The Camel Life. Because she’s awesome.

Reality check: Why I’m going to be the next Bachelorette.

We are officially in the month of February and the fact that this is Valentine’s Day month is not lost on me this year. In previous years, Valentine’s Day was just like the Good Friday before Easter. It was a day when I avoided wearing red and waited with bated breath for the resurrection of half price chocolate so as to indulge my fat face in all its forbidden sugary goodness. February 15th was Diabetic Coma day, a far better excuse for “a holiday” in my opinion.

This year though is different. My mother has already informed me that she’s praying for me to find a ‘good man’. This year her good man prayer surpassed my immigration prayer on her prayer list. I wondered at why this phenomenon had come about all of a sudden. And then I knew why: This year, I’m 25.

You see, 25 in regular girl years equals 35 in Indian girl years. For all my older Indian aunties, to be 35 and still single can only mean that you’re  either not “fair and b’ful” enough to find an eligible suitor or your family struck some kind of shady deal with Satan when you were born. 

There’s no pressure from my mother at all though. Just worry and anxious curiosity.

I did not have the heart to tell her that from the way my life is going right now, her good man prayer might not be answered till I’m 35 (which in Indian girl years means I’m dead). So I put on my best fairy god mother face and Meryl Streep voice and said: “Don’t worry, it will happen when the time is right.”

To which she answered, “You know, your father and I will be more than happy to help if you need. There’s no shame in it.”

She meant arranged marriage and a little piece of me died. Now, I don’t mean to be a killjoy about arranged marriage but the first images my ignorant brain conjures up when I hear those words are nasty shocks and surprises on the wedding night and having to spend the rest of your life with a balding 45-year-old teetotaler (who is some sort of engineer no less) with a penchant for dramatic Bollywood music and curry-stained wife beaters. (key word here being beater)

But long gone are those archaic days of 17 chicken and buffalo dowries and your mother-in-law picking out your wedding night trousseau. These days arranged marriages work differently. There’s Facebook stalking prior to the meet and city bylaws against hoarding chickens and buffaloes in your backyard. And if I thought I had very little true knowledge of arranged marriage in my parents’ generation, then I knew absolutely nothing about arranged marriages in this day and age.

In a nutshell, how arranged marriages work now (from what I hear) is that your parents, relatives, cousins, nosy neighbours and their dogs bring it to the attention of your parents that they may know an eligible man suitable for their daughter. The suitor is then introduced to the daughter and they are allowed to date LIKE REGULAR PEOPLE. If it doesn’t work out, no worries. It’s just a case of an unsuitable match. You subsequently move on to the next eligible suitor that Aunt Bossy throws your way.

You can expect the usual awkwardness that comes with dating someone the rest of your village knows more about than you do. But let’s be honest, when is it not awkward?

Does this sound familiar at all? No? Okay, well then let’s pretend your Aunt Bossy is Chris Harrison. And instead of the whole world being up in your business about your second one-on-one with Bachelor number 3, just your whole village is minding your business. Yes, girls. This maybe what they now call arranged marriage in India. But really, you’re on The Bachelorette.

(You'll have to click on the image to read their highlarious voice bubbles). Let's face it: the only reason this is not working out is because between her Aunt Bossy's pink dress and his polio legs, no one's climbing that bridge.

The best part about all of this is that the work is done for you. These guys (I would assume) (hopefully) are devoid of contagious diseases, pedophile tendencies and/or previous incarcerations. How terrible can it be….right?

Let’s face it. I’m 25 …err 35. In five years, I’ll be 40 …err barren, and in another five years after that I’ll be 45 …dead. There’s no escaping this. Being a single Indian girl has never looked bleaker. The novenas are honing in and pretty soon, I will have to take matters in my own hands. And by “in my own hands” I mean in my parents’, aunts, uncles, neighbours, and village stray dogs’ own hands.

So if it absolutely has to be and fate deals me a cruel hand by not opening up the heavens and throwing down the perfect man at my doorstep, then I will (very reluctantly) let you guys watch my season of The Bachelorette. I might even let the audience vote on who should stay and who should go. After all, this might be the only dating instance where I would know the assholes in the running.

Everything I know about dating, I’ve learnt from public transit

This post is dedicated to anyone who has ever lost a piece of their soul to the Toronto Transit Commission, York Region Transit or dating.


The dating world for a single 25 year old girl these days is a pretty scary place. It seems like every where you turn there are drama queens, cheaters and serial killers.  Coincidently, these are exactly the kind of people who ride the TTC #36 at 6:45 in the morning. Wait, maybe I should put that in a more charitable way. At 6:45 in the morning,  public transit swallows up the human soul and spits out a social ogre on to the little red seat. Come to think of it, I don’t know how that’s charitable to anyone…except maybe ogres.

This has been my first week back at work after my 7 week hiatus of foot recuperation, and never before in my life did the similarities between 21 century dating and my commutes on the Animal Express hit me so hard as it did this morning.

Ain’t nothin magical about this school bus!

After my first two bus transfers, I waited to take my third and final bus to work, the York Region Transit. Quick Note: Did you know that in a shamefully non-scientific study that was done this year, the YRT was found to be the single leading cause of murderous rage and/or high-risk suicidal behavior? People who steal your stapler at the office and  stupid girls who try to pick up change at the check-out counter with curly 17 inch nails that have kittens  and palm trees drawn on them tied in for second place.

This morning the YRT was doing what it does best, standing everyone up when they needed it the most. There was an assortment of society’s finest who were bracing the long wait with me. Among them were the confused deaf guy, the young intern guy, the curly haired office worker girl and my personal favorite, the Indian girl talking really loud on the phone with her mother in a really thick Indian accent.

It was somewhere between the deaf guy running around convinced that everyone was keeping top secret bus information from him and the Indian girl talking loud enough for every man, woman, child and stray cow in India to hear her that I realised I have been in every dating public transit situation there was to be. And since my bus wasn’t going to be there for at least another hour, I mapped out my whole dating journey into a blog post.

My dating journey began some years ago with:

 Short Turn Steve.

Short Turn Steve was a streetcar who appeared sooner than I expected him to.

What’s right with Short Turn Steve?: He was open, accomodating and had no funky odors. I wondered at my luck in snagging this one.

What’s wrong with Short Turn Steve: Steve shortturned after 5 stops, unable to take me any further. Then he turned around and went back to where we started.

Moral of the Story: Ditch you best friend, Over Analyzation and get off the Island of Why-the-hell-is-he-not-calling-me after 5 wonderful dates. If there is any lesson you can learn from Streetcar Steve, its that there’s probably too much construction ahead for this to go anywhere.

Trampy Train Trevor

If you have done the locomotion that is the Toronto subway train, you will understand my relationship with Trampy Train Trevor.

What was right with Trevor?: He was always available, generally showed up on time and took me where I wanted to go.

What was wrong with Trevor?: If you stayed with this guy long enough, you’d realise that you were just going around in circles. Not to mention, Trevor would stop at EVERY station…EVERY five minutes…and let EVERYone have a go with him. 

Moral of the story: Charming cassanovas like Trevor might take you to see the night lights of a beautiful metropolitan city but could care less about bringing you home safe if you stay late. In the end, he’s screws you over…just like he screws EVERYone else.

Stand you up Sven:

What’s right with Sven?: Sven was the out of towner whose bandwagon I got on because a large portion of my life is spent at work out of town. Plus, he’s foreign.

What was wrong with Sven?: He had no concept of how to deal with a fast-paced city girl like me and only seemed to show up when he felt like it. He was super nice, super comfortable to be with and super unreliable. Also, what kind of a name is Sven anyway?

Moral of the Story: There’s nothing worse than having to wait for two hours in the cold winter for Silly Sven to show up, right? It could only get better from here, right? Wrong.  

Bus of Bullshit Bobby:

Bullshit Bobby was the miserable shuttle bus that replaced Sven.

What was right with Bullshit Bobby: Nothing. He just happened to be there when I was cold, tired and desperate.

What was wrong with Bullshit Bobby: Everything. He had too much baggage, too many people and no space for me. I was pushed around, forced to deal with everyone else`s drama and the ride was so bumpy that this whole journey started to literally become a pain in the ass. Eventually, Bobby broke down with all the weight and the drama and I decided to just walk home.

Moral of the Story: In the end, I learnt that the one mode of transportation that didn’t fail me when I needed it the most were my own two feet.


I’d like to say the journey ends here but something tells me that come tomorrow morning, this shit cycle will begin all over again. And it won’t end until I save up enough money to buy a car and get over my nervousness of driving.  Sure, a car is a commitment and maintence and is emtionally and financially demanding. But so is dating taking the bus. The only difference is, if you treat a car right, they will always bring you home. No matter which hole in the wall you are stuck at.

So here’s hoping that one day, some day…us singletons will have a car all to ourselves. And when that happens nothing and no one, (except traffic) will make us wait out in the cold anymore.

All I want for Christmas is a killer boyfriend

So guys, I don’t know if you saw this already, but I stumbled on a very interesting article this morning. If you’re like me and 1) Don’t have patience to read, 2) Unable to read due to your mind being clouded with judgement, then fear not. There’s not much worth to take from this anyway.

In a nutshell, the article talks about a couple of women who resort to Craigslist to find a suitable male companion for the holidays so as to deter nosy questions.

Now, we could talk till the end of time of how Christmas is about celebrating the birth of Christ and not about bitching and complaining that you can’t get a date. Or about how the seizure inducing  “All I want for Christmas is you” alone can make you want to indulge in some holiday wrist slittage. But this is not why I’m here. 

No, I’m here to self righteously tell you all…GET A GRIP, LADIES!  CRAIGSLIST???

Look, it was really funny when the first guy posted about finding a Holiday Girlfriend. You could chalk it up to all the rest of the delightfully weird classifieds characteristic to Craigslist. We had a laugh and moved on. But these girls are serious.  Craigslist later flagged and took down the ad because even Craigslist has standards!

 I get it. I’m single too. Would the holidays be nicer if I had someone special? Sure. Would I like to have a plus one for Christmas parties? Why not! But what do you really want for Christmas? A holiday boyfriend? Or an axe-murdering rapist with a chipmunk fetish? Because that’s exactly what you get on Craigslist, besides free furniture and stolen bicycles.

The only time a stunt like this was successfully pulled was when Debra Messing hired Dermot Mulroney to be her date for her sister’s wedding. But she’s Debra Messing; you’re not. And while she hired a professional escort and paid shit loads of mula, you went on Craigslist.

Here, let me put this in perspective for you:

This is probably who you’re hoping will answer your cry for help:

Hey Girl, All I wanna do is meet your mom and give you foot rubs while you watch Judge Judy.

 But sadly, this is the fugliness you will get:

Hey gurrrrrrrrrrrlll!!

 Don’t even try to argue with me on this one. But what is the solution to this? Do you just stay miserable and tell your mothers and other nosy female relatives to go stick it where the sun don’t shine? Listen, I may be a straightalking no-nonsense bitch, but I also come bearing solutions. Here are 4 other men who are way more suitable to spend the holidays with than Juicebox the Ripper from Craigslist:

1) Ben and Jerry: For the low price of $6.00, you get not one, but TWO men who will comfort you with delicious saturated fat when you’re hit with those heart crushing holiday questions.  Sure you might die of a massive coronary but at this point, if your only options of death are heart failure or being decapitated by a vodka-guzzling Siberian caveman, you might as well keep it clean and classy.

2) Marc Jacobs: Here’s a man who understands women better than any schmuck you could have dreamt up in your wildest low-standard fantasies. What in this world could make you happier than a fine purse, ladies? Take that baby with you on all your holiday outings and watch how you will become the envy of all the women in the room because of that eye candy on your arm. Don’t worry if you can’t afford a Marc Jacobs purse. I’m sure you’ll find a much cheaper one in the purse section on Craigslist. It’s right next to serial killer boyfriend section.

3) Gym Shortz: Ben and Jerry not being the best holiday boyfriends? No worries. Ol’ Gymmy here is the man for you. Remember this piece of kinesiology advice, girls: “High standards, low cholesterol”. Not the other way round.

4) Jesus: I understand that there are many people who are non-religious and/or hold Jesus on the same level as Santa Claus, tooth fairies and Disney princesses, but it is His birthday that started this whole season after all. For those of us who do celebrate the birth of Christ, let’s consider the fact that this is about Him and not about us and our miserable complaints.

And for those of us who celebrate the Festivus, the same rules apply. You’re more likely finding holiday cheer on the sales rack at H&M then the boyfriend section on Craigslist.

Men, I haven’t forgotten about you. I know there are just as many ads on Craigslist for Holiday Girlfriends as there are for Holiday Boyfriends. All I can say to you is this: Two Girls, One Season


Just a reminder, I actually have a blog contest going on right now. Thank you to those of you who have entered. The rest of you lazy asses get on that! Trust me, the prize is pretty snazzy, and it will be sent right to your doorstep! Imagine that!. Click here to read the rules and enter. One more week till the contest ends. Hurry! Enter NOW!!!!

I have finally met my Prince Charming

And in this day and age, it came in the form of nothing other than a Facebook creeper friend request. I have no idea who this kook is but he also attached a special message making his case as to why he’s such a stellar human being.

This is the actual text of his message. None of it has been altered in any way…save for my thought process in italic green. In fact, I had to read it several times before my brain could reason with itself as to what the appropriate reaction should be for each line. Yes. EACH LINE is poetry:


“my name is Buttmunch (name’s changed to protect the identity of this fine specimen), im 25, and I think your hot

with this been said, i think im very resposnible and I insist for people who are associated to me to be the same

I like having maximum fun, however, intergrated with a intersection point of resposiblity (someone please tell me what exactly is intersecting here. Also, while you’re at it, please console me on the fact that I have finally met someone who likes to have maximum fun and is “resposnible” and yet is not taking “resposiblity” for horrid spelling)

like a graph, only smarter, and not as sexy (what?)

I am very sexy man (but not as sexy as a graph), and i enjoy to read alot, and I enjoy vocabulary (noooo, really?) , im excellent at music, and writting (You could have fooled me, Hemingway), but i suck at drawing, maybe you can teach me some teachniques, I learned a few inmy history book from western civilizations such as contra posto and ciaro sccurro, all fashioned int he doric roman period and revived in the rennesance lolololol YOU WILL TEACH ME OR BE JETTSONED DISCARDED (sweet fancy Moses……WHAT THE HELL IS THIS GHASTLY GIBBERISH????)

And this painful email diarrhea doesn’t end there. It goes on…

Im a huge arrogant bastard(TAKE ME NOW.) some women come to find me wing (wing? what?), the most seccure
If you like having fun and being intelectual please e-mail me, i think your photos are radiant (photos?  how many photos can this lunatic see? *quickly checks facebook privacy settings in a panicked frenzy*)

If you want photo of me, i will e-mail them, but i assure you im as handsome as I am arrogant (SOLD!)”


At first I didn’t know what to think when I read this. Maybe this was a joke? Maybe it wasn’t. My frame of mind was in a weird combination of shock and amusement. The shock and anger wore off but the amusement remained. Here was a guy who was two fries short of a Happy Meal and yet believed the sun shone out of his ass.

But then I thought to myself, he is very very sexy. (no photo, but I’ll take his word for it). Maybe not as sexy as a graph, but last time I tried to date a graph, it ended with me almost failing my Stats midterm so it’s probably just as well.

Maybe I had to break down my walls of spinsterhood and let in this Champion among men. I needed someone honest enough to realise his flaws (arrogant bastardhood, inability to draw) and his strong points (living in the intersection of ‘resposblity’, ‘wing and seccure’).

I tallied him up against my New and Improved Boyfriend Screening Process. And this folks is when I found a major flaw in my screening process.

I never factored in spelling. Because if I had, this imbecile would have been instantly disqualified. I can handle ‘arrogant bastard’ and to an extent even ‘smarter than a graph’ but I draw the line at inability to piss his own name in the snow.

The New and Improved Boyfriend Screening Process

…Many thanks to my dear friend Santi for inspiring this blog post…


About me: My name is Karen. I am a good-looking 25-year-old woman. I cook, clean, shower adequately and generally meet the acceptable standards of cleanliness in my living space. I have a pleasing personality, a wheatish complexion…whatever the hell that means, and just as your car insurance will decrease with your age, my dowry will only increase with mine.

Now, why am  telling you this?

To make you aware of one thing:  there seems absolutely NO reason why I should be single by circumstance.

This leads me to believe that I am single by choice. A choice that I actually never realised I was subconsciously making. I had, like any girl with big dreams, a check list of what I wanted my future husband.. boyfriend.. the schumck I dated to be like. People called me picky for my 4 page list. I called it confident and self-assured.

At 22 when I was single, I looked at this list and tried to summarise these 4 pages. Basically what it came down to was that I wanted a Catholic Ryan Gosling. And what’s more at 22, the only thing that had changed in terms of this list was the depressing realisation of two things:

1) Catholic Ryan Goslings didn’t grow on trees.

2) There was only one Ryan Gosling. And he is (a lapsed) Mormon.

At (still single) 24, I tried to convince myself something had to give. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life waiting for a lapsed Mormon stud-muffin to knock on my door after he had had a mysterious faith conversion on the flight from Hollywood to Toronto. So, I changed my list to a bunch of cliché adjectives. My new boyfriend manifesto dictated that all that was sufficient was a decent, alright looking, funny guy. Sadly, there were holes in this theory too. Because at 25 I had come to realise two more things:

1) Most decent, alright-looking, funny guys are in a Catholic seminary finding God.

2) The rest of them, like me, are finding a boyfriend.

So at 25, for the sake of my mother’s novenas and the continuation of my lineage, I have decided to devise a new strategy. As “open” as I would like to be, I’d still like to maintain SOME sort of standard.  So, this time, instead of a check list, I have decided to have a very simple screening process. This would be based on a point system wherein you have to get a certain number of points to  qualify. It works well for Canadian Immigration (most of the time).

I would have put this in a table but the more time I waste making rows and columns, the more time it will be before this genius idea goes viral to single ladies worldwide.

The Screening Process

Requirements for Potential Prospects

1. A pulse:  Regular breathing= 5 points, Comatose= 3 points, Dead= 0 points, Heavy breathing= Disqualified

2. A personality:  Engaging= 5 points, Boring as a sack of wet bricks= 2 points, Doorknob= 0 points, Weird= -3 points, Douche= Disqualified

3. Hygiene:  Clean= 5 points,  Unclean= 0 points, Funky odors= Disqualified.

4. Toilet trained: Independent of personal potty tasks= 5 points, Significant knowledge on how to flush a toilet= 5 points, Avid player of pee games such as `Ready, Aim, Fire`and Àll pee, no see’= 0 points.

5.  Sense of humor: Eddie Izzard (executive transvesite standup comedian)= 5 points, Joel McHale (from Community)= 4 points, Steve Carell (from The Office)= 3 points, Mr. Bean (from your childhood)= 1 point, Charlie Sheen (from rehab)= 0 points, Jim Carrey (excommunicated from the leprechaun community)= Disqualified

6. Religion: Practicing Catholic= 5 points, Catholic= 4 points, Jewish= 1 point, Born Again= 0 points, Vampire= Disqualified.

7. Dress Code: Nice Clothes= 5 points, Clean clothes= 5 points, Hobo Chic= 3 points, Hawaiian Shirts= 1 point, Rapper Wannabe= 0 points, Falling pants= Disqualified.

8.  Personal Habits: Cooking= 5 points, Cleaning up after oneself= 4 points, Adequate knowledge of using a phone to order a pizza or to call 911= 3 points, Drinking straight out of a milk carton= 2 points, Avid believer in leaving the toilet seat up= 0 points

9. Crisis Management: Able to handle a crisis= 5 points, Unable to handle a crisis= 0 points, This girl is crazy= disqualified.

10. Beards: Joseph Gordon-Levitt (sexy stubble)= 5 points, Jake Gyllenhaal (groomed beard)= 4 points, Brad Pitt (unkempt hobo beard)= 3 points, Jesus (biblical beard)= 2 points, Santa Claus (unacceptable)= 0 points

11. Attraction: I’m attracted to you= 5 points, I’m not attracted to you= 0 points, You are Ryan Gosling= Directly pass GO, collect your million points and win the game.

Fine Print: Need a minimum of a million points to qualify. A long interview process consisting of awkward dates ensues if you pass the screening.

As you can see, I have tried to make every effort to be “open”. This revised list is non-negotiable this time. Unless I find a man who has enough intelligence to make a case to dispute the above conditions. And for the record, I am open. But like a wise priest named Fr. Daren once said, “Sometimes you gotta meet a few duds before you meet a dude.”