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No Spooning Allowed

My first date was October 10, 2017 and it looks like my last date might be November 25, 2017. No, not because I found ‘the one’ or anything like that, but because with this date, I think I might be done with the whole thing. Three guys, a total of four dates, and I’ve completed every one of my objectives, except for the part where I find a guy and fall in love. Or at least like. AT LEAST! Is that asking too much?

Yeah, it happened. And it happened, and it happened, and it happened. If I had any concerns over whether or not I’m a good kisser, the ridiculous succession of kisses ‘laid on me’ by this last guy was enough to convince me I MUST be doing something right. Yay?

It.was.awful. Just horrible. Disgusting and wet and slimy and like he was chewing on my face and trying to swallow my tongue. It’s my tongue, you can’t have it! My mouth was actually DRY after. He had sucked all the saliva out of it!

But to backtrack. Here’s how the evening went. First of all, he texted to say he’d be a half hour late, and then texted again to say he’d be even later, which he was. Finally at 7:45pm he showed up, in a fleece polo and jeans. Which was fine for the pub-esque venue we were at, but in a black sweater, white flared skirt and thigh-high black suede boots all made up, I felt a little overdone.

He sent the waitress away three times, neglecting his menu an had to be prompted by me to actually look at it nearly a half hour into the date. Then he grilled her on salad dressing choices. He didn’t want to pay extra for Caesar salad so he ordered the house salad…with Caesar dressing.

Then there was the conversation. And admittedly, yes, this was the best conversation out of the three, but it was also tricky and slightly condescending. He kept telling me what I SHOULD think and SHOULD do. I mentioned that I was trying to do more strength training at the gym during the winter months because I couldn’t run outside and he told me that I should really be lifting weights directly and not doing other exercises or using machines. Umm, dude, you’re kind of scrawny to begin with, what are you telling me about how to work out?

THEN! Oh, and this gets good. I had mentioned in our text correspondence that I could balance a spoon on my nose. He INSISTED I do this at the dinner table, goaded me by saying if I was too embarassed that he would ask for a spoon from the kitchen himself, AND THEN told the waitress that I didn’t like eating with forks so to bring a spoon as well. THEN, when the spoon didn’t ‘stick’ because it was too heavy and shallow, he teased me, mockingly, saying I was a ‘real disappointment’ and had to make it up to him. Yeah, a real winner.

The evening continued its downward trajectory as he continued to belittle every other thing I said and challenge me on certain points.

He asked if I want to play pool and I had to stop myself from screaming ‘NO’ at the top of my lungs. He took forever to eat his food, and THEN took me up on my offer to pay my half. And it’s not that I mind paying, I do consider myself a feminist, BUT I’m also a little old-fashioned and appreciate a good show of chivalry – and he obviously thought he was so charming.

He also talked about it being easier to go home with a girl, whose parents weren’t conservative and didn’t mind having strangers over in the daughter’s bedroom having sex. Forget about my parents, I’M that conservative. Yeesh.

After he had continued to drone on so that the credit card machine timed out and he blamed the waitress (I tipped her like 40%), he led me to the pool room saying he would test my coordination, which I had claimed was awful.

While he was in the bathroom, I texted my sister to come pick me up in 20 minutes. I was going to give the guy a chance, after all, isn’t that the cliche cheesy thing to do with a girl on a date? ‘Teach’ me how to play pool so he could put his arms around me? But before he could even do that, he told me he was going to test my ‘coordination’ at kissing and came at me.

I accepted. What could I do? There was no way out, and I was still trying to be a good sport. I think maybe I like being ‘cold’ and a snob better. Actually, I’m sure of it. As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, it was awful. He kind of closed his lips over mine and slid them together before probing his tongue into my mouth. My eyes were open, WIDE open, the entire time. I did NOT want to be in the moment. I wanted to be anywhere BUT the moment. I kind of tried to do what he was doing and move my lips and tongue in a similar fashion but it went on FOREVER. Finally, FINALLY, I broke it off and asked him how my ‘coordination’ was, and that he needed to hurry up and teach me pool before I had to go. Such a coquette. He kept ‘sweeping’ me up, and grabbing my waist.

At one point he even cupped my face and asked me if I knew that my eyes were the same colour as my hair. First of all…its a wig. Second of all, my eyes are hazel and heterochromic, meaning they’re green in the middle. So my hair is green? Gee thanks.

He was NOT great at pool. And having never played it more than once, he only beat me by a point – and that was with me not even trying to play seriously.

My dad ended up being the one to pick me up, and his parting words to me? ‘It’s a shame its not your sister, I guess there’s not going to be a goodbye makeout sesh. SESH? SESH?? You bet your ass there isn’t going to be a goodbye makeout sesh. Thank God it was my father, who looked homeless as he was wearing car-repairing clothes and is growing out his beard for Movember, which makes him look completely homeless and shady.

Ewww. I rolled down the car window once we were gone and spit out of it. There were sandwich crumbs in my mouth and I wasn’t the one who ordered a sandwich.

So…first kiss experience was a bit of a nightmare, but what else should I expect given how fabulously everything else has gone?

There’s a post-date video blurb below that gives you the immediate aftermath details. I warn you, it gets ugly.

But you want to know the real kicker? HE HASN’T EVEN CALLED! Nothing, two and a half days later. NADA. You think after everything that he got out of the date, he’d be MORE than eager to continue. Was it that I was easy? That I let him kiss me on a first date? Honestly, I feel a little roughly treated. And my mouth is still sore from the sting of Listerine in a mouth scrubbed raw. I’ve also felt dizzy, achy and nauseous since then so I think I might have picked something up. The way I feel, it might as well be an STD.

The next day I went to two church Christmas sales, so I drowned my sorrows in an entire carrot cake and about 5 lbs. of shortbread. At this rate, I’ll just pity-eat all the weight back and then I won’t need to worry about guys wanting to kiss me. How do I groan dramatically through a keyboard.

But, now I’ve been on a date. Now I’ve been kissed…Now I can begin my life of spinsterdom. It has never felt so good to stay in on a weekend night, alone in my pajamas with a plate of shortbread at my side. I think it might be love.

UPDATE: He texted back…and he mentioned the spoon trick again. Now where oh where am I thinking of putting that spoon?
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Ding, Dong, the Bitch Isn’t Dead

Hey everyone! No, I have not fallen over a cliff, walked under a bus, been kidnapped or joined a cult. My absence can simply be explained by the existence of other absences – guys, to be exact. I’m afraid I may have run out of guys within a 30 mile radius (as per my settings as I haven’t returned to driving yet post-surgery). The infamous ‘they’, aka my doctors and specialists have also been playing around with my medication doses, meaning I’ve felt like I’ve been smushed against the windshield like the plump little bug I am. It’s brutal, actually. My current dose is now below the human average, meaning the lack of hormone in my body makes it think it is dying and act as such.

But enough about me, and now more of me. If you have read through my litany of complaints as seen above, and have reached here. CONGRATULATIONS! You are officially more supportive than my family. Thank you for ‘listening’.

The short version of this diatribe can be found in the video below, neatly condensed into 3 minutes for when you’re in need of a little Molly, (me, not the drug) on the go.

But I will continue in text form here. Honestly, I went out with my best friend last night who I don’t get to see very often, and between listening to her sexual escapades (she’s not a slut, but compared to me EVERYONE whose private bits have been glimpsed by man (or woman) I consider to be the far more sexually versed.

And herein lies the problem.

At 24, I have reached an age now where I am not going to change myself for anyone. In small ways sure, and in terms of taking time for someone else, yes. But being older than a starry-eyed teen, I know who I am and what I like. Even if knowing what I like means knowing what I DON’T like. And right now? Honestly? Between trying to become a ‘real person’ again following invasive brain surgery and taking 4 difficult university courses and staving off side effects of medication that keeps being changed to try and jumpstart my pituitary gland, I have neither the time nor the desire to be dating right now.  Maybe it’s the same reason I don’t own a dog. I’m too busy trying (unsuccessfully or not, you choose) to take care of myself. I’m learning who am again. In a sense it’s like I’m dating myself. Wondering and worrying about this or that and how I’m going to react.

I’m also getting over an eating disorder, which left me 100 lbs. lighter, and a lot more messed up. I equate my weight now, with my subsequent level of success and worth as a human being. And I know that’s wrong. I simply have a skewed self-image and an all-consuming fear of slipping back to where I used to be. And it’s hard to hate yourself, your past self OR your present self. Oh, God, I’m a mess. It’s a blessing that I can hide behind a keyboard and write. I can bare my soul without baring my body for the world to flagellate. Ugh, now my fingers are taking me down a road I’m not sure I’m ready to go down. Running sounds good right now. All the responsibilities that are being re-assigned to me as I heal are almost unbearable, because as a perfectionist at heart, it is the hardest thing not to be able to put my best foot, or work forward, and portray, accurately, who I am and want to be.

Does any of that sound like a person you would want to date? would break up with me if I could.

There were two guys I was talking to. One I thought was my soul mate, because he listed Disney movies as his favourite and quoted Scar from the Lion King. He also worked in communications, and seemed like just an all-around nice guy who wasn’t going to bore the hell out of me on the first date like my previous (and only) dates had. Except he was 32. Eight year difference, but my grandparents are 7 years apart, so I went with it. But I think I may have scared him off with my slightly off-beat sense of humour and unnerving intensity. Story of my life…look at the picture of conversation below and let me know what you think. The other guy who I was less interested in, only 4 years my senior, asked me out two days ago and I said yes after not seeing the message for two days and haven’t heard back. So I may have screwed up that one as well.



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The First…and the Final?

Drrrrrumroooooll please!………………aaaand one sad balloon floats down from the roof. No fireworks, no cheers, no magic and no explosions…not even a spark.

By Golly, Miss Molly, what have you gotten yourself into?

Okay, so this wasn’t IT. I mean, I didn’t really expect for the first guy I went out with to be ‘the one’, but it would have been nice to experience even a molecule of attraction. But that didn’t happen. It’s generally not a good sign when you’re walking down the street and looking at nearly every other guy and thinking that you’re more attracted to them than the guy you’re currently with. Yeah, it was that bad.

And he wasn’t terrible, there was just nothing. Not a single ounce of chemistry. Oh sure, I worked hard to be charming, create banter, be funny. And after years of practice doing this I know I’m good at it. But after a certain point, a certain silence just kind of falls between the two of you and you’re desperately looking around you for something, ANYTHING to comment on. So I went with city tourism and architecture. Fascinating, I know. But it was something.

I keep trying to find reasons to justify my dislike. But I really can’t. He paid for dinner and walked me to the train station (I thought I had escaped at this point, but then he waited with me until the train actually came…more silence). I just didn’t like him.

If I had to give you ONE reason, it would probably be this. Although he was admittedly diligent in keeping up the conversation when I let it die, it just didn’t seem like he was really interested or invested in our date. It just kind of felt like it didn’t matter to him that I was sitting across from him.

Is it too much to ask for me to WANT my date to WANT to be there. To be with me?

Anyway, my panic-stricken self wrote down some notes on the train ride downtown, so I’ll share them with you for a lark as you see my brain go into override mode.

So here we go, this is Molly, blogging LIVE from the edge of her seat (literally, she’s on a train) before, and during, her first date.

Tuesday, October 10 2017
15:47pm EST

Oh boy, Yikes. Oy vay, aye carumba, dios mio, oh dear God. WHAT have I done? I am barrelling towards my destiny on a GO train. So, this is love, people. I’m going to repeat myself now. WHAT have I done?? There is an hour and fifteen minutes left until I am supposed to meet this guy. I don’t even know his last name! Admittedly I know enough from our text conversations to be able to track him down if he wasn’t lying about himself. But I wouldn’t do that…at least, not yet anyways.

What am I doing? What am I thinking? I’m in full panic mode and I’m chewing gum so I don’t grind my teeth so hard they fall out. And that is NOT cute. Having no teeth is not a good look. I’m now using the gum to deep clean my gums and shine my teeth. Is this what desperation looks like? I’m a mess. How do I ‘people’ again? I think I’ve lost my ‘peopling’ skills., or at least they are escaping me for the moment.

How do you even greet someone you’ve only met over the internet and through texts? Do you shake hands? Is that weird? But standing there doing nothing seems kind of awkward. Waving. Is that a thing? We’re two stops away now. Why can’t I feel my feet? No, actually I can’t feel them!! Oh. It’s because I had them crossed on the seat over from me. But it still feels like all my bodily functions will soon fail me.

My (supportive??) younger sister cheerfully texted me to tell me to keep the data on my phone on so that she could GPS track me if I was kidnapped…Then my dad texted the same thing. I think they think I’m nuts. Maybe I am? Maybe, I’ll take off my wig and leave it as a clue so the dogs can smell it and find me.

(I apologize if this post seems erratic, but I wanted you to experience every feeling I have as I do this. Potentially so you don’t make the same mistakes. Now I’m making myself sound as though I’m martyring myself. Saint Molly, has a ring to it don’t you think?)

Anyway, that’s what you get when I blog LIVE, with no editing, exposed to the real me. Also, reminding myself to breathe is taking up a lot of valuable brain space.

This is possibly due to my naivete, but isn’t kissing ridiculously unhygienic? I mean…things squishing, fluids exchanging, where the hell do I put my tongue if his is in my mouth? Do I kind of arm wrestle it with him or am I submissive?

Oh man, I want an escape plan, but I purposely prevented myself from making one ahead of time for fear I’d run. And that’s probably a good thing too since all I can think about is texting some lame-ass excuse, taking off all this makeup and running home with my tail between my legs, bitch that I am.

‘Coward’, I tell myself, where will you be then, huh? Right back at the beginning, dateless and depressed with no prospects or hope.

Damn, I’m going to have to go through with this. Please say a prayer that I don’t wet myself completely before the night is over?

Also, despite having never met David (that’s his name, FYI in case I forgot to mention it), I feel guilty for carrying on a second eHarmony conversation with a match named Brad. Is this how online dating works? Giving someone ‘permission’ or make it socially acceptable to talk to two guys with the same ultimate goal of finding romance? Any thoughts?

If he asks, I wouldn’t deny it. I’d say casually that I’d started talking to someone else early on when we were still getting to know each other.

Ugh, this is exhausting. I’m sweaty. You know what’s NOT exhausting, is less expensive and does NOT require travelling or dressing up or meeting a stranger. SITTING ON MY COUCH. It calls to me. It’s sweet, upholstered and open-armed embrace a siren song to my tortured mind.

We’re here.

It ended like this:


And you know the rest. So this princess’ lips are left pouting, and NOT in a kiss.

This time.

But that’s life, and that’s me: Molly. Stay tuned! XOXO