Because the Greatest Cockblock of all is happening to me

Urban Dictionary, the new Webster for those of you who didn’t get the memo, defines  the word cockblock as: “The act of obstructing one person’s advances towards another.” My best friend Bernice describes a cockblock as ANYTHING that comes in the way of things going the way you planned. A flat tire, hailstones, bad hair days, the Toronto Transit Commission, and chlamydia are shining examples of the many cockblocks one can encounter.

If however, you are still unsure of what a cockblock is and the kind of humorously terrible situations it creates, you’re in for a treat. Today, all you lucky ducks get to read a pretty freaking compelling post on it.

People always ask me why I’m single. For future reference, please note that this is a horrible question to ask single people. Regardless, I know I’m single because I suffer from a peculiar condition known as Dating ADD. I have no patience to explain what that means because that’s not what this is about. Until fairly recently I stopped blaming men for my relationship failures and realised it would be colossally narcissistic of me to blame the Universe. The universe had more important things to tend to then to get in the way of my sexytimes. I’m starting to reevaluate that theory now.

The whole story actually begins two and a half years ago when I moved closer to the city where possibilities of having an awesome life were endless. The first thing I did back then was join the gym because that’s what kinesiologists do. Barely two days later I saw the man who made me weak in the knees despite all the rigorous quad strengthening exercises I did.

For the purposes of convenience we will call this man Astro Boy. Because of his astronomically beautiful smile of course. So intrigued was I by Astro Boy that he guest starred as the “Lat Pull Down” guy in my first Freshly Pressed post “Karen’s Guide to Maximising Gym Workouts”. Anyway, for months after that all I could do was worship from afar. I may come off as a straight talking bitch on my blog, but I’m a gigantic pansy in real life.

It was love at first stretch

I saw Astro Boy everywhere. At the gym, at the subway station, walking home from work, at the grocery store..

Finally last summer, fate dealt me a sweet card. I was coming home from work one tired afternoon and from a distance I saw a shirtless douchebag running on my street. I judge anyone who runs outside without a shirt as a douchebag. Since douchebag and I were moving towards each other, it wasn’t long before I realised that the douchebag was Astro Boy.

For the rest of the summer, Astro Boy ran around the block without a shirt and everytime this happened I heard the song “I only have eyes for you” by The Flamingos play in my head. To be fair to him, it was a pretty hot summer. I found out later that he lives in the house that is directly across the street from mine. All this time, Astro Boy was literally the boy next door.

And all this time, not a word was exchanged between us.

If only life were this simple

Now that you know this back story, I can proceed to educate you on the concept of cockblockism.

 It was Friday night and I was in a frenzy to get to the Greyhound station. I was scheduled to be on the 12:30am night bus to Montreal. Yes, this happened last week. The elevator doors opened to the Greyhound station and the first face I saw sitting in the waiting area with a large suitcase of his own was Astro Boy.

I tried to keep a cool head, which is not easy when you’re freaking out. And because life is humorous, the only two available seats was either one next to a crazy man who was talking to himself or one next to Astro Boy. For a second of pure insanity, I seriously debated sitting next to the crazy guy.

But I regained my senses and sat next to Astro Boy. I could sense him looking at me but I did what any nervous person would do. I pretended that I had a thousand text messages to respond to. A quick glance at the bus schedule on the screen told me there was only one bus scheduled to depart from Toronto at that time. And that was the 12:30am night bus to Montreal. After two and a half years of  gaping creepily and listening to The Flamingos, the Universe was finally handing me an opportunity on a silver platter by putting both of us on the same bus for the next 8 hours.

He finally got up to join the bus line outside and as he passed by, he looked straight at me and smiled. It took me a while to collect myself and join the line too. We were five people away from each other in the line up and those 10 minutes were spent stealing glances. He finally got to the front of the line and sat at the window seat. 

There comes a time in one’s life when you have to overcome your fears and go for it. And when that time comes, you have to not care about the aura of dumbassery that will inevitably surround you when you do go for it. With that in mind, I stood there in that line with a firm resolve to go up to him and introduce myself. There was a feeling of peace that surrounded this decision and I knew the time had come. I handed my ticket to the driver trying to think of witty ways I would begin the fateful conversation with Astro Boy.

Where are you going Miss?” I heard the driver ask.

Montreal.” I say in a dream-like voice. “This is the 12:30 bus to Montreal, is it not?”

It most definitely is ma’am“, said the driver. “But you’re not on this bus.”

What?

I looked at the driver confused while he proceeded to explain to me how he was going to cockblock me from Astro Boy.

Miss, you have a ticket for the Greyhound. This is Megabus. Megabus and Greyhound are two completely different companies. I’m sorry. I can’t let you get on this bus. The Greyhound is the next bus. You’ll have to join that line“.

I stared at the driver dumbly. “Can I not just get on this one? They’re both going to the same place. I already have a ticket”.

Sorry. You’re not getting on this bus.”

“I only have eyes for you” abruptly stopped playing. I walked over to the next bus and didn’t look back.

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There were several cockblocks at play that night and till today I am unable to decide which was the biggest one. One thing I know for sure, summer is coming. And its a lot harder to muster the courage to talk to someone attractive when they’re shirtless. I’m sure all of you, male and female, can attest to this fact.

Until an opportunity slaps me in the face again two years from now, I will continue come home from work everyday with hopes of seeing a shirtless douchebag Astro Boy running down my street.

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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.

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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.

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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.