Italy: a dude, not the country

I met this one a few months ago when I was dropping off my best friend at her boyfriend's. He was my best friend's boyfriend's roommate. He somewhat charmingly came up to my car and we joked around. He definitely wasn't someone I would normally be attracted to. Jersey Shore has been off the air for a few years now, but he looks as if he just walked off the set.

After we started seeing each other and I had decided to tell a couple of my friend's, I said to my friend's, "if you were to put five guys in a lineup, he would likely be the last one I would pick." I don't know where I got the idea that finding a mate was similar to picking a felon. He also told me that I wasn't his normal type either. He usually chooses girls who take three-hours to get ready; I go out without makeup half the time and wear a t-shirt that says "Genius" three out of seven days. Time management has never really been my thing.

We began the way it seems most relationships begin: talks about how open and honest we're going to be, great sex, and a shit-ton of Netflix. I should've broke it off when I witnessed him opening Internet Explored. C'mon, it's 2014. Also the fact that he thought Taken 2 was a "brilliant" movie should've sent me running. You see, when a guy has a fairly genuine confidence about him, I tend to forget just how obnoxious he really is.

Yet another factor that should've sent me running was the fact that he is catholic. Again, it's 2014. He actually believes that there is a man in the sky watching over all of us. I mean to think there is a man that watches our every individual move is quite self-centred. Most men I know can't even send a decent dick-pic; how can one man possibly be guiding the entire human race? God, if you're real, please guide your fellow man to photographing at least mediocre dick-pics.

Of course it wasn't all bad. He paid for everything. I smoked many of his cigarettes, he made some decent Italian food, and changed the oil in my car. It really is a shame that the confident ones are the ignorant...and catholic. I also have to say that he is very good at his job as a contractor. I suppose if I ever need a piece of furniture refurbished I may just have to sleep with him.

Travel and Toronto

Travel and Toronto

This is my first time in the world (okay, still Canada..so far) that I'm really alone. Sure I'm never really alone..blah, blah, blah, but for the most part I am. 

I arrived in Toronto Sunday night and soon after met up with a friend. I had surprisingly very little anxiety while travelling. Although a long day, I didn't really feel during my two plane rides, four-hour wait in the airport, and forty-five minute taxi ride (yes, ride). Coming from a city with 80,000 people, watching, observing, and listening really got me out of my head. I did feel slightly uncomfortable on the plane when a hippie from Saltspring Island began massaging my hand, but mainly because I wondered when he had last washed his hands. Oh and he just randomly burst into song. He sang for literally two minutes. We were sitting beside each other on the plane and he just started singing some slow ballad. Those two minutes could arguably have been the most uncomfortable minutes of my life. 

Everything in Toronto went quite smoothly. I only cried once, and it was like ten tears. This was really nothing short of a miracle. I saw a couple interesting things in Toronto that could have made me cry though. I watched two different males piss onto public buildings, both somewhat hidden of course. One yelled at me in a monotone voice to give him some privacy; I should've been more respectful. In the alley near the apartment I was staying in someone had taken a shit right on the side of a building. "How was it a humans?" you ask. Well, I saw whole kidney beans in it. I actually am unsure whether I'll ever be able to eat kidney beans again, which is really unfortunate for a vegetarian like myself. 

Overall I really enjoyed Toronto. At first I felt a little claustrophobic not being by the ocean. Perhaps some of my humanly instincts want me to be near a mass body of water; I'm not sure. I guess I'm just used to it. The night life in Toronto was amazing! In one evening my friend and I went to a drag show ("shes" were singing and dancing to mainly female karaoke-type songs) and to Remington's, a male strip club. The drag show was a blast, as I could sing and dance to most songs. And likely 90% of the fellow patrons were gay (I really like gay people...although I'm sure that's not politically correct). The male strip club was definitely not high-end. There was one guest who looked exactly like Dick Chaney! My friends and I were sitting obnoxiously close to the strippers. A couple of times the strippers would start touching their "meat" and make eye contact with one or a couple of us; like what is ones facial expression supposed to be to that?! I'm pretty sure every time I made eye contact with one of them I stopped breathing out of "what is my facial expression supposed to be right now?!" 

The rest of my stay in Toronto was much more mild. I went to the art gallery, distillery district, CN tower, walked around and did a lot of people watching, and went out for sushi with my friend's parents. The sushi restaurant was very high-end; I felt out of place. Also the fact that a three-year old Asian can probably use chopsticks better than I can doesn't help. I ended up blabbering on to my friend's parents about my schooling and accomplishments in order to make up for my lack of chopstick ability. 

Sleeping around in the hotel industry

So this isn’t the first time I’ve had sex with a co-worker. Frankly, I don’t get out enough to meet people (preferably males) outside of the workplace. To clarify, I’ve only been at this job for about a month. He, Kevin, wasn’t a completely random co-worker though. I had been in a couple classes with him at school. Actually I had tried to get into a group with him in a management class because I thought he was hot. He didn’t bite.

I added him on Facebook a couple weeks into seeing him at work. I was hoping he’d interpret my friend request as the “I want to date you” or “I want to fuck you”. Isn’t that really the purpose of friend requests these days? But once again, he didn’t bite; I had to be more forward. My forwardness was really quite pitiful and frankly non-existent. Shortly into facebook messaging Kevin asked for my number. This really excited me until he told me his new apartment didn’t have wifi, and I guess at some point he realized I wasn’t data-worthy.

We texted for an evening about usual things: what we were hoping to do with our lives and Seinfeld. For a brief moment I thought maybe I had found a decent one. This was all going well until I told my co-worker, Jason, how long it had been since I had gotten laid…and that I was house-sitting. If Jason were a regular human he probably wouldn’t have cared much, but this guy was uber-sexual: every thirty seconds he was either telling a sexual joke or pulling the “that’s-what-she-said” line. (The “that’s-what-she-said” line is basically the lowest form of humour in my books.) Long-story-short, uber-sexual Jason ended up telling Kevin that I was DTF. I know twelve-year-olds probably shouldn’t be having sex, but if they are I feel like that’s what they would say to each other.

A couple hours later Kevin and I were watching Saturday Night Live where I was house-sitting. At this point I wasn’t 100% sure what Jason had told Kevin; sometimes I can be really naïve. Lady Gaga was the guest performer that night, which was really not helping me get in the mood. Kevin would randomly make pop-culture references and I continually felt stupid when I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. It also didn’t help that the house was freezing. Kevin was sitting beside me drinking a coffee and wearing a winter jacket.

At some point Kevin made a move and we started making out. It was weird: we were both silent kissers. I know one can make noise while kissing, but I just never have. I think it’s a confidence issue. After a couple minutes of making out we made our way to the bedroom of the woman I was house-sitting for. My cute maxi-dress and Kevin’s winter jacket came off quite fast. Kevin reached into his wallet and pulled out two condoms. “Which one do you want to use?” he asked. I was expecting something along the lines of ribbed or extra thin; instead, I got to “choose” strawberry or melon. I went with strawberry. The sex really wasn’t all that exciting. Sure it was alright, but nothing to write home about.

Throughout most of the act I was so distracted by the smell of strawberry latex. Latex itself smells gross enough, but the smell of strawberry latex is just nasty. After about twenty minutes of various positions I just wanted Kevin to finish. I told him to go on top and I began the countdown in my head “10..9..8..” hoping he would cum. I did this probably four times while also seriously wanting a cigarette. Eventually me and my vagina gave up. Kevin then asked if I could “finish him off” by giving him a hand-job. I went for about a minute before admitting defeat. I was exhausted. And I didn’t want to admit to Kevin, still hard, that I have weak hands and wrists. Kevin then asked if he could use the shower which I assume he wanted to jack-off in. I regret that I didn’t go and watch him. Instead I went on Instagram and probably liked a bunch of pictures of raw food and Bukowski quotes.    

Kevin got out of the shower and dressed himself quite quickly. He had a hard time finding one sock and told me he couldn’t lose it as he had an “impressive sock collection.” I began feeling sorry for myself because I didn’t collect anything.

I walked Kevin to the door and asked, “so, there’s like nothing wrong with me right?” “Oh, no,” he said, “I just usually have sex with girls I’m in relationships with.”