#friends

(I tried to put the word “politely” in italics but it wouldn’t let me. Damn title games here on Tumblr I guess.)

(Also, I should probably never start a blog with brackets, eh?)

I’m a real weirdo, you know that right? All this dating, and I’m actually happier on my own. It’s hard to explain that to someone. Imagine being the girl who gets up after sex and leaves. (Not that I’ve had sex lately. I have a powerful ingrown hair right now that’s taken over my underwear region. I’ve named him “Kuato.”) Anyways, what happens when people learn all about your grossness, and still want to be with you? And then you need to drop the biggest bomb of all.

I don’t want a relationship.

It’s easy to assume that every woman is in search of “the one.” I am a new form of weirdo who enjoys my life alone. I’m in the comfort zone with myself. I am not in search of my soulmate. But I am in search of the perfect baked wing. (I need to cut back on my deep fried foods.)

I live by myself, and I facking love it. If you’ve never lived alone, you gotta try it. I’m allowed to live however I want. It’s amazing. I recently pushed all my couches back against my walls and permanently have my yoga mat in front of my TV so I can meditate to Rogers Galaxy Radio. (The adult pop channel, obvi.) I keep garbage in the fridge so it doesn’t stink up my apartment prior to garbage day. I have framed posters of both Kesha and Taylor Swift on my walls. I think I’m up to 67 Eco-bags, all of which are randomly hanging on every doorknob in my apartment. My vacuum is barely bigger than my vibrator. I flush my toilet once every three times I use it. Who wants me now?

I’ve had a few very special, awesome relationships in my life. How those guys ever put up with me is a wonder. (I do keep a good supply of beer in the fridge.) But at this point in my life, where my #1 goal is working on my career in comedy and writing, I can’t rock the boat with the distraction of love. It’s why I chose Tinder over EHarmony.

I remember seeing India Arie in concert Riverside, California in 2006. In between Heart of the MatterandWings of Forgiveness, she said, “Love is the blessing. But relationships are the work.” (And then tears were shed by me and hundreds of black women.) I tend to agree with India. Even when I’m in a super healthy relationship, I always worry about things that I shouldn’t. I can’t help it. With infidelity all around you, it’s mystical sometimes to believe that you’ve somehow dodged it. Being single, I’m totally carefree. It’s liberating. So when I enter into a relationship, I have to like that person more than I like being single. Which is a LOT. Plain and simple. If I see any signs of needy behaviour from someone, I run faster than any trainer could ever encourage. If I make out with you, instead of texting me and immediately wanting to know,

“Where this is going?”

I would rather a text like,

“Hey, just passed a guy with a solid jew fro and it reminded me of your bing bang.”

K, I’m obviously not speaking for all women here, but that’s what I would rather.

And just because we’re “single” doesn’t mean we’re “alone.” Far from it. These days, it’s almost impossible to feel alone. Even if you’re at home by yourself, is it possible to actually feel “lonely?” You got Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tinder, Snapchat, Netflix… wow. There’s a lot to do when you’re “alone.” If you’re like me, you’ll “take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while.”* If I have a moment where I truly feel alone, I love it. I do meditate for real. You probably don’t expect that from a girl who drinks four days a week. (K, sometimes five.) But I need it. It’s so peaceful. (Until somebody blares the car horn out your window. Also, it’s a good reminder I need to clean underneath my couches more often.)

So this is the creepy little life I’ve made for myself. Though it’s far from perfect, I love it. I have a shitload of great friends who never make me “alone.” And yes, I may go out with you, bond about life, kiss you… but at the end of the day… I gotta be on my own. It’s a dorky term, and I would like to come up with a new one, but I guess I really am a “free spirit.”

Clooney’s out. I’m still in.

xoxo, (but NO commitment please)

walkinsauce 

*That’s a line from my favourite Billy Joel song, Vienna! Hence why the phone reference is a little dated. As an update, I recommend just putting your phone on airplane mode. That way you can still listen to your Billy Joel collection.

Throughout my bagillion Tinder dates, one thing was for sure- my married friends were super jealous. No, they don’t want to cheat on their loved ones, but they definitely lived vicariously through me. And it’s a shame- just because you’re married/in a relationship, doesn’t mean you should miss out on meeting weirdos from the Internet.

So when two married dudes who are buddies with my comedian friend Johnny Gardhouse decided to start a website for people to meet new people- in a non-kinky way, I was intrigued. After all, I didn’t put out on most of those Tinder dates anyway. I might as well try “friend dating” so nobody expects a beej at the end of the night. Even some of the guys I met on Tinder expressed a need to meet new platonic friends. A lot of their friends are married with kids now, and can’t just fly out the door to meet for a beer. Going out requires a good week’s notice and a babysitter recommendation. One guy just moved to town, and doesn’t feel comfortable getting hammered in front of his co-workers yet. But where do you go on the internet to just find something platonic? Facebook is good for keeping in touch with friends you already have, online dating sites are great for the single people, so these guys created a website for when you just want to do something with someone. Not kinky. It’s called FriendshipDNA.com. And while the letters “DNA” remind me of C.S.I. Miami, I was still super curious who I was going to meet on the site.

When you start an account, you do a personality test. (Don’t worry. I passed.) (Is that someone’s old hacky joke? I apologize if it is.) I filled out tons of questions about myself, something I haven’t done since Cosmo quizzes as a teenager. Here’s my personality report, y’all:

Personality Type: Diplomat

Friendship Type: Trusted Star

Communication Type: Peacemaker

Values & Attitudes Type: People Pleaser

(All of these titles obviously have full descriptions on the site, but I don’t want to babble anymore than I already do. I got a twist ending to this blog, and I can’t wait to get there.)

So I finally score a friend date with a girl I’m a 90% match with. I’m assuming the 10% we’re missing is the part where I think it’s socially acceptable to talk about diarrhea and in-grown hairs on your bing bang in public. She invites me to come drink with her and her softball team after their game Monday night. (Hence why I’m posting on Wednesday, and not Tuesday. Monday night is usually writing night, obvi:) I’m excited she didn’t ask me to play baseball, though. I was one of those kids who always played the outfield and prayed to God the ball never came my way.

I’m excited for my friend date, even though it’s at The Badger and Firkin in Etobicoke. There’s so many wordy street names out there. I keep stuttering every time I try to say “Burnhamthorpe.” I will pass approximately seven other Firkins, on the way to this Firkin, but at least my new friend has confirmed it’s totally cool to show up looking like shit. I’m still wearing yesterday’s make-up from the Canadian Comedy Awards. I’m in yoga pants, t-shirt, messy bun- wait! I look like that facking picture up there! That’s why I posted it, obvi. Ooopsies. I forgot. (I also don’t know why I posed in front of Pottery Barn Kids. I have no business there.)

I walk into the Badger, making sure to observe all the specials on the chalkboard so I don’t have to ask my server to repeat them. I make my way through the bar, where I see a long table full of chicks, and two dudes. One of the chicks pipes up,

“Hey, are you looking for Kelly?”

Phew! Yes I am! They invite me to sit down, since she’s not there yet. The girl across from me recognizes me. Her and her boyfriend saw me do comedy on their first date. Cute! My date arrives, and I give her a hug. The table has already ordered two plates of nachos. It’s like they knew I was coming.

My date is tall, blonde, super cool- guys, you should be jealous. I might be better at meeting women than some dudes. The table is a combo of single, married and in relationship peeps. Some people meet “the one” through a mutual friend, so meeting new people can still be a gateway to some sex, right? I learn a lot at the table. Like how you can also meet a lot of weirdos on Kijiji, and Michael Strahan is single now. (How did I not know this? I LOVE Michael Strahan! Do you know how much old lady TV I watch in the morning? He’s so charming.) We all share snacks, drink beer and bond about life in general. It doesn’t feel weird at all. Plus, it was nice knowing I didn’t have to shave my legs (or anything) for this night out.

It finally comes time for me to break my seal. I walk around to the washrooms, and suddenly my single girl, hot guy radar turns on. There are two BABES sitting at the bar. I can’t help but over hear their conversation.

“Is it too soon for a mid-life crisis?”

Oh man. Do I want to eavesdrop the shit out of this convo. Why are there always hotties out on the nights I leave the house looking like ass? And on a Monday night too. Who expects anything to happen on a Monday?

I walk back to my table and tell the girls about the babes at the bar. My date is married, but she’s more than happy to move to the bar and play wingman for me. AMAZING! Now if only she could beam me to a shower and back. We walk up to the bar, and stand awkwardly, checking out the dudes. Finally, they sense our creepy eyes on them, and invite us to sit down. (Well, that was easy.)

We explain to the boys that we’re on a friend date right now. Our first date. They think it’s cute. I ask them what brings them to the bar on a Monday night.

“Life.”

Good answer. I begin to bond with Babe #1. He’s just got out of a TEN YEAR RELATIONSHIP. HOLY FACK! That’s longer than all my relationships combined. I can’t even begin to understand what he feels like. Here’s what he says:

“Well, you’re 1/3 sad… you’re 1/3 mad… and 1/3 excited.”

Well put. It’s not long before my friend date notices my new real date. She confirms he IS a babe, and even the bartender gives me her stamp of approval, saying he’s a nice guy. So far, the only thing I can find wrong with him is that he hasn’t seen Annie Hall. (But I haven’t seen Star Wars, so he’s found something equally wrong with me.) My friend date tells me I should definitely stay and hang out with him. I totally want to, obvi. What a good wingman/wingwoman. (Whatever you call it.) 

So now my friend date has morphed into a romantic date. A date that ended with a giant make out session, AND we’re going out again. Half my Tinder dates didn’t even end like this. Isn’t that interesting? I usually never go out on Mondays. You know I NEVER go to Etobicoke. And thanks to my new friend, I got thrown into another universe for the night. A little twist of fate. And as you know by my love for the movie Serendipity, I’m a BIG fan of fate. So maybe the only thing we really need, is a website that simply gets us out of the house.

Using my fingers for things other than rings,

(Well, maybe I won’t need my fingers if this guy works out. I’ll keep you posted.)

Walkinsauce

I wish you all the best, truly.

Halloween really is great, don’t you think?

happy me