Sunday, 28 December 2014

We can resist everything, except temptation. PART I



You are Christmas-partied out.

You would certainly win the award for the most family Christmas parties in a week. First, you spend the 23rd with his mom’s family, the 24th, you spend it with your mom and her family, the 25th is split between his dad and your dad, the 26th you are seeing the rest of your mom’s family who was busy on the 23rd. You can’t take it anymore. One more party he tells you. With his dad’s work buddies, that is kind of a tradition, but you put your foot down. Enough is enough and you convince him to go alone. How you managed that, you’re not too sure, but you’re pretty damn proud of yourself. FREEDOM. You rejoice.

It’s Saturday night, and you are free.

Your best friend texts you. Damas tonight?

Sure why not. You can certainly be a great wing woman at one of the best clubs in town.

You haven’t seen her a couple weeks, she’s had her fair share of family parties too. You pick out a killer outfit. Hey. It’s a night on the town and you want to look smashing, not for anyone but yourself. You pull out the red lipstick, your knee high boots, your kind of transparent black blouse that you have been dying to wear for some time, and you head over to her place for some pre-drinks.

Oh Champagne with a friend has never tasted so good. Your friend looks awesome too. You both are feeling good, feeling fierce. It’s going to be a good night.

You get to Damas. There’s a little line-up. You hate line-ups. Yet have no fear, 2 bad bitches are here! Of course you cut through the line. Of course your best friend knows the bouncer.

You walk in, and the lights are dimmed low. Everyone looks hot. The men. The girls. The bartenders. You’re smiling like it’s your birthday. Of course the boys are looking at you. Why wouldn’t they.

And then.

You spot him. At one of the tables with friends, a bottle of Goose, a few girls around them.

Shit.

Pete.

WTF is Pete doing here? Like seriously. WHAT THE FUCK. OH MY FUCKING GOD.

Your heart starts to beat a little faster, and faster and faster. Shit shit shit. You turn to your best friend. And you whisper. “Pete is here.” She turns to you with big eyes. “Pete, as in THE SUMMER PETE”. “Yes. THE SUMMER PETE”.

Shit shit shit.

Pete was your summer love. Your 2010 summer love. You met him on a boat up north with some friends, and you both instantly clicked. He taught you how to wakeboard, he took you on picnics, he made sweet, oh very sweet, love to you outside overlooking the water, the sunset and the moon (yes, you know what moment when you see both in the sky.) You got your heart broken when he told you he was leaving for Vancouver for work come September. You wanted him to take you with him. You wanted him to tell you he loved you. You wanted him to be your world. Pete didn’t want. And like any good summer love, it came to end. It took you months to get over it, until you finally met Josh, who was great, kind, funny, manly, smart. All the criteria you were looking for in a man.

But now, you could only see Pete. He looked as good now as he did 4 years ago. Jeans, white crisp shirt, sports jacket, red pocket square. Damn. His style evolved. No more board shorts and Quicksilver t-shirts. His smile.  Still the same. You can’t help but stare.

Do you go up to him? No, that’s too dangerous. But you are dying to. You didn’t know you could still feel so much for someone you haven’t seen in 4 years.

You turn your head back to the bar. You can’t do this. You need to stay away.You love Josh. It’s written DANGER all over it. Maybe he has a girlfriend; maybe one of the girls there with him is his girlfriend.

You can’t seem to stop turning your head towards his table. He glances towards you. You both smile.

Shit shit shit shit.

He saw you. He’s walking over.

Fuck he’s so good looking.

He comes right up to you, and your heart may explode out of your chest. SHIT WOMAN, CHILL THE FUCK OUT, you try to tell yourself, but that ain’t working.

“Hi you. Merry Christmas!”

He seriously thinks he can just walk over here, no news in 4 years, and expect me to be all nice and kind to him? 

Yes. He clearly does. Damn man. 

He gives you the 2 kisses, same to your best friend, who he of course remembers.

You start to chit chat. Of course he’s in town for the Holidays to visit his folks. Of course he tells you how great you look, of course he cracks jokes with you and your friend.

He invites you and your friend to the table with his buddies. You know a few of them from back in the day, and you all start drinking together. DANGER. DANGER.

Your best friend hits it off with one of his friends, and they migrated their way to the bar for some one on one time. And you, you’re at the table with Pete and his friends. You are trying to play it cool.

He finally asks you. So. Are you seeing anybody ?

Shit shit shit shit.

You answer: Yeah kinda.

“Yeah kinda”???? You aren’t “Yeah kinda” seeing  Josh. You two live together, you two do numerous Christmas parties together. “Yeah kinda”. You can’t even believe those words would come out of your mouth.

You need to get the hell out before you make a mistake. You can feel it. You know that if you stay, danger will happen.

You think fast. You make a quick jolt to the bathroom. You can’t leave your friend alone. She’s killing it with this guy, yet it’s still early to leave her with him.  

You walk out of the bathroom 15 minutes later. Hoping that you gained a bit of time. He’s standing there. Right at the bathroom. “I was just making sure you were OK, you were gone for quite some time…!” he says. “Yes, yes very fine. All is stellar.”

He corners you, back to the wall.

Oh shit.

He’s staring down at you. And you are just staying there. Not moving. Not fighting. Damn you alcohol that can make you do things you know you shouldn’t do.

He holds your waist. And drops his head by your ear, and whispers, “I really missed you”.

And makes his way to your lips. Kissing them so passionately. For a second, you lose all senses. You feel his lips against yours. His tongue caressing yours. You can’t help but finish that first kiss, and pull him in closer for another. Your eyes are closed, your lips are like magnets. Your bodies are pulled in close. You can’t seem to move away. You don’t want to be away. You feel like you’re kids again, making out like teenagers in the hallway at Damas. 

And then. In mid kiss. You finally gain the courage to pull away.

“No Pete. I can’t do this. I missed you too, but I’m with someone now. I love him.”

He also takes a step back. “I’m sorry, I couldn't help myself.” he tells you.

You nod back at him, and at that moment, like a movie, your friend comes prancing in to the bathroom. “Oh, you’re still here? I thought you left!”

“Ha. No I’m still here, but I’m leaving now. I want to get back to my home.”

You kiss Pete on the cheek. He walks you to the coatcheck. You say good bye to your 2010 summer.

You hop in a cab, and head straight home, wondering a little about the “What if…!” You check your phone, no messages from Josh. You text him that you’re on your way home.

You step inside your home, make your way to your bedroom. You just want to cuddle with Josh.

But the bed is empty.  

Where’s Josh?

Your phone buzzes. It’s Josh.

“Came by Damas to surprise you. I think I was the one who was surprised. Hope he was worth it.”

Shit shit shit shit shit shit.

To be continued...

N.

Sunday, 23 November 2014

The Best First Date Ever

As a follow up to The Best One Night Stand Ever, I decided to also write The Best First Date Ever. Enjoy!


You’ve been searching all evening, yet nothing makes sense, nothing seems good enough. Your closet is empty. You have nothing to wear to meet him tomorrow. You want that perfect mix of sexy, yet classy, cute, but beautiful. “You want him to drool, but in a good way” outfit is actually impossible to find. You finally opt for your best black skinny jeans, off white blouse, great statement necklace and your sexiest black booties you picked up last week for this exact opportunity. It doesn’t scream “I tried too hard”, it screams “I am a confident bitch who can do anything yo, but im real sweet too”. For this first date, that’s exactly what you were going for.

You met him at this event your friend was planning to raise funds for her ski race in a month. A “donate $20, get a free drink and mingle” bar event. He was sitting at the bar with his friends, spotted you, sent you a drink. And voila. Seed was planted. You both spent the evening chatting about tout et rien. He was witty, fun and smart. Of course, he looked pretty dapper in his blue shirt and dark jeans and killer Converse. Not to mention a ridiculously tamed Bilzerian beard that seems to be the craze these days, but you didn’t care that his facial hair is mainstream. He’s sexy. He bought you a drink. He’s yours for the taking.

He texts you the next day with a great song you were both trying to figure out the night before. Conversation evolves into an old school hip hop banter where you both text in lyrics. His texting skills are on par. YES! He’s witty, interesting and you can hardly concentrate on your work because you’re too busy entertaining this handsome bearded man. He’s probably living the same thing.

He asks to take you out. You calmly accept. Meanwhile, you are yelling out loud, and screeching like a 12 year old girl. He probably knows this. Yet, both parties are staying cool, calm and collected text wise. Ah technology.

Are you busy tomorrow? he asks. 

Tomorrow. Shit. You have plans already. Yet. What do you do? You cancel your life. You really want to see him again. Infatuations lead to crazy decisions. We all know this.

He picks a place, and tells you he will only text it later right before said rendez-vous. You try to go back to work, but you both can’t stop making each other laugh. Your cheeks hurt from chuckling. You continue to write to each other non-stop until said rendez-vous. What an unproductive 2 days of work. But, you don’t really give a shit.

“Burgundy Lounge. 6:30pm. We be 5a7ting. See you later Sparky.” Sparky is our nickname. Yes. We already have nicknames. How that happened so fast? You aren’t too sure. But you love it.

It's 6:00pm and you could barely sit still. You are nervous that something is going to go wrong. This seems way too good to be true. You leave early. You are meeting him there. You get to your car, fix up your make-up, change into your sexy booties, and wait a little because you’re going to be too early. 

You talk to yourself for the entire drive there: Be cool, calm and collected, woman. COOL, CALM and COLLECTED esti.

The Lounge is dark, sexy, not too busy. He’s already sitting at the bar. Smart man. He looks even better than how he did when you first met. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit, with a stunning purple tie and pocket square to match. His style is impeccable. His outfit is totally drool worthy. 

He sees you, and flashes you his billion (no, not just million) dollar smile. “Looking good Sparky.” he says. This is starting off well.

Conversation is seamless. You both talk about your life, old school hip hop, travels, family, friends and how you both are Christmas junkies. His stories are so interesting. He’s a self-made man, the first of his family to graduate from university, and you truly admire him. You admire his brain, his culture, his humor, his smile. And, it seems that he admires you back. He listens to you with a smile. 

He makes you laugh. 

Your cheeks hurt. 

“So I got us reservations at 9pm at Tapestry”, he hints in after drink 2. Simply the coolest, newest restaurant in town! You have been dying to go ever since you heard they opened. And, lucky you, you get to share this moment with this handsome bearded man. #winning

You finish off your Lounge evening with a Scotch before bumping in to some of your friends. He introduces himself with class and wit. “She’s been behaving so far. If she continues, I might let her eat,” he tells them. You all giggle. You give him the “sorta insulted but not really” push on the shoulder, “HEY!!”. He flashes his one billion smile back you, you get a little weak in the knees but you’re hoping your sexy booties will keep you up.

You get to dinner, and are immediately served a glass of Champagne. Perfection. 

You have similar culinary tastes, you discuss your love for food and you promise to make him your world-renowned meatballs (by world, you mean your friends are your world.). 

BUT. He orders the worst wine on the menu. Sommelier did a horrible job recommending something good. You laugh it out. 

The waiter drops some food on your beautiful blouse. FUCKKKKKKK!

You are about to lose your shit. 

Yet, he cracks a joke, telling you how awesome you still look despite your new butternut squash puree accessory. "It's a creative touch", he adds. You smile. He's soothing. He's kind, yet a little tough with the waiter.You like him. And you're proud of yourself for keeping your cool. 

Dinner finishes at midnight, but you aren’t ready to go home yet. 

You cleaned off your butternut squash with some soda water. You are ready for anything. You want to savor every single minute you can spend with him. You head to another bar in the area. 

You grab on to his arm as you leave the restaurant. It's a little more cool outside than it was when you first walked in. He pulls you in closer. You feel the cold air on your face, but you feel perfectly fine wrapped in his arm close to him. Cold weather ain't got nothin on you. 

You get to the bar, and it’s almost empty, but it’s dimmed lightly, and it doesn’t matter who is there. Right now, you are both simply enjoying each other’s company. 

You order a couple Hendricks sodas at the bar, you decide to pick up the bill (you feel like you should contribute at least a little..!) 

You are both close. Very close to each other. Almost swaying together to the music in the background. 

His hand is on your back to make sure you don't get walked into by a group of people who're behind you. His touch is perfection. You are both looking at each other, talking about nonsense because you both know what’s coming next.

He kisses you.

And of course. It’s perfection.

You don’t usually kiss on a first date, especially not in a bar, but you guess you can make an exception. His lips. Damn yo.

You are both a little tipsy and can’t seem to keep your hands off each other. You don’t want to take it too far, because, well, you really like him. Your internal struggle kicks in. Do I go back home with him, do I not? You decide not to. Smart girl.

He puts you in a cab and asks you to text him when you get home. Smart man.

You do exactly that. He answers you. “Happy you got home OK. Thanks for making my night awesome. Sleep tight :)”. You could melt. At this point, you’d be a puddle.

You are home. In bed. On cloud 9. Thinking about the not so perfect chain of events, yet how this was the BEST. FIRST DATE. EVER.

Absolute perfection.

N.

(Hope you enjoyed my little short story. Feel free to share some of your best date stories! I love hearing them, and that's how I get inspired to write these. All stories are fiction, and are helping me write my novel!)


Monday, 27 October 2014

You think you know, but you have no idea

The image selection in Google for "bad dates" is priceless. 
Due to overwhelming response and demand and all of your private stories you sent me, I’m thinking of making this a recurring theme: BAD DATES. I have never received so many comments or likes on a post since I started writing so I’m guessing we all love to hear the mishaps of another.

So. To entertain the great audience that you are. I have more. Many more. And feel free to send me yours in the comments below or however you want to.

Here is a story that was told to me which NEEDS to be shared. It's not really a bad date. But. It's pretty bad.

I was single for quite some time and I meet crazy ass men sometimes. So I have learned to just keep my shit hush hush until it turns out to be more serious. A. I don’t want to jinx it. B. It’s none of anybody’s business. When a man calls you Mommy, you just don’t want anyone really knowing about that.

So. I met this guy while I was out with some friends at la Buvette Chez Simone. He was friends with my friends. We sat next to each other because I got there late. And conversation was amazing. He was this anti-technology kinda guy, just like me. He owned a work Blackberry. Yes. A freaking Blackberry. Who the hells owns that shit? Anyways…We talked about how society was dying because of all these obsessed phone people. We talked about the rise of Apple, the death of communication. It was deep shit. I love deep shit.

No. I don’t have Facebook, I don’t have Twitter, except for Instagram. Gotta love those filters. Neither did he. This was love at first sight. (Note from author, she saw my post because I shared it on my Instagram!) He made me laugh, he even bought me a flower from those flower people that pass by. It was like: BOOM. I met this awesome man, who shared my interests.

He took my number, and we started to go on a few dates. This was mid-November last year.

We got along. He was fun. I hadn’t met someone quite like him in a while. But he seemed that he wasn’t really ready to commit. We would see each other one night, and then I wouldn’t hear from him for 2 days. And then I would see him again, he would be so sweet. Then again, I couldn’t ask him what he was up to. I didn’t have that right. I hate that shit. I hate not knowing. Play na├»ve until further notice. 

BTW. I hate Whatsapp. I see that he’s online. But who the hell is he talking to, yet not talking to me?

I am online. He’s online. JUST TALK TO ME DAMNIT. But no, I had to play it cool. And just hope that he was chatting with his buddies about his fantasy hockey stuff or whatever. I convinced myself that Whatsapp was only used to talk to me and fantasy hockey. Stupid girl. Stupid stupid girl.

Christmas time came along and I spent it in my family and he spent it in his. He didn’t mention anything about coming to meet my family, so I didn’t insist. On Christmas morning, I went to my parents. My siblings were there. I hadn’t seen them in a really long time so it was so nice to catch up. We’re 3 sisters. I have a sister 2 years older than me, and one that is 2 years younger. They are these gorgeous blond girls. I always felt like the middle sister black sheep. We used to get along really well, but these days we saw each other much less, and Christmas was the first time seeing them since my parents threw this Halloween party! I know. Too long without seeing your family. Anyways. C’est la vie. I was excited to tell them about Derek. Yes. That’s his name.

We all sat and opened gifts, and catched up over many glasses of mimosas. There is seriously nothing better than a Christmas mimosa. I told them about my guy and how he got me this really awesome piece of street art for my condo.

At that moment. My younger sister turned to me and said:

“Really? That’s funny. This guy I am seeing offered me street art too, but I told him it didn’t really match my apartment. Show me.”

So. Of course I had taken a picture of it. It was so cool. I showed her the piece. It was a diamond. A beautiful blue diamond.

Her eyes grew wide.

Shit.

She screamed. “HOLY SHIT. That’s the piece he gave me!!!”

Coincidence? I think not.

You can imagine what came next.

“Who are you seeing?” I asked her, with a little bit of a tremble in my voice. Can you blame me?

“Derek Tremblay”.

My heart sank. “MY DEREK TREMBLAY”?

How was this happening??? HOW IS IT THAT MY SISTER IS DATING THE SAME MAN AS ME AND I DON’T KNOW IT???? And clearly, she doesn’t know about it either.

WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKKKK! I kept screaming. She kept screaming. We were both screaming. How did he not know? Had I never showed him a picture of my family? I must have pictures of them in my apartment, and that he knew. HE MUST HAVE.

Did he know and just enjoy the fact that he was dating two sisters and that his living days were counted? I didn’t know.

My heart, my brain, my words, nothing came out straight. My sister was livid. My sister was as much as wreck as me. We were both in shock. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE? THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE!
Well. Let me fucking tell you. It’s fucking possible. Excuse the swearing. But there is a time and place for everything and this is definitely the place for a couple cuss words.

Everything worked. He didn’t have any social media, so he wasn’t linked to neither of us. My sister and I didn’t exchange names or pictures of him. Was this planned? This was the plan from hell.
And get this. We both met him a week a part. She met him a week earlier at her friend’s Halloween party.

So what happened next you may ask?

I took a selfie of us and I sent to him.

He answered: ???????

I answered: Meet my sister.

And that was the last message he ever sent to any of us.

I tried calling him, she tried calling him. No answer. We wanted to know. Did he know? Did he not? How many other girls was he seeing? How can we be so stupid? How do you not pick up at all? How is this possible?

The damn guy doesn’t have any social networks. WHAT ARE THE CHANCES THAT THIS HAPPENS? I don’t even know. I don’t even know how we went 1 full month without knowing about this. OK. I don’t speak and share pictures of the men I am dating with my sister. Especially if they aren’t serious yet, and she clearly doesn’t do the same. But. This was the story from hell. This was a movie.

I expected to hear from him after, so did my sister. We both wanted to hear from him. An apology, say that this wasn’t good and move on. I dunno. Something. Truth be told. I wanted him to choose. I wanted him to choose me. You know that movie with Reese Witherspoon. And at the end, she chooses the guy she wants. I wanted to be that. Crazy. I know.

So. Whatsapp was for me, fantasy hockey and clearly conversations with my sister. Damnit.

So did I bump into him again?

Yes I did. He was with another girl. I hid. Like a little stupid girl. I hid.

Damnit.


N.


Monday, 13 October 2014

Tinder Date...Gone Bad!


You have been talking for a week on Tinder. Tinder. Wow. What are you doing on this? You thought that you’d be able to find a man the traditional way. You know. Through friends, at the grocery store, in your class, at work. But no. You need to resort to an online app to find your match . You are trying to convince yourself that the stigma of "online dating is for losers" doesn't apply to you. Yet, you think you’re pathetic, and you try to convince yourself that this is the new normal and now that it has become so hard to find someone the good ol traditional way your parents met, we resort to online interaction. C'est la vie. Brilliant.

He seems nice. He has good conversation. He's text witty and not too “You are the most beautiful person on the Earth and I need to get to know you better”. He’s smooth, casual. So you decide that he’s decent enough to meet in real life. He’s your first. Tinder date that is.(How are you going to tell your children how you met if this works out?) Right now, you’re simply looking for someone to cuddle with on Netflix Fridays.

He asks you out for a drink or something simple. You accept. You set up at random day, a Tuesday. He doesn’t deserve Friday or Saturday yet. He asks you what you’d like, you laugh a little at all the funny places and things you 2 can do together, like pool and laser quest, and he finally tells you that he’ll text you on the morning of the day with the location. You’re kinda nervous. Meeting someone you have never met before is scary shit. Will he recognize you? Will it be fun? Who knows.

He texts you in the morning. Yes. You made the switch from Tinder to Texting. Some people like to switch to Facebook. But your Facebook is too private to populate it with Tinder people. You decide that you want to meet him there. Picking up from the house on day 1 with a Tinder date is just plain old creepy. It’s a bar you have been to before, it’s an OK choice.

You arrive early.

He’s there. Sitting. But. Is that him?

Damn it. You thought it would be best if you got there first, because then he needs to find you.

He looks nothing like this picture. At least 15 pounds heavier. Ok. You can deal with a little extra weight if he has the right personality.

You start talking. He’s a mute. He’s NOTHING like how the Tinder conversation went. He’s boring. You seem to be trying to make all the conversation. He talks about his cat. Oh shit. He has a cat. You hate cats. He tells you he’s allergic to peaches. Oh shit. You love peaches. You become boring, because he’s boring. And you see yourself becoming boring, talking about how you love the leaves in the Fall. Who doesn’t?

The menu is in front of you. You just want to order and get the hell out. He can’t seem to decide on the wine and can’t seem to pronounce anything properly. You decide you want a beer instead. He says LIKE a lot. "So I met this woman at the grocery store. Like the nicest lady I have ever met. So like I was talking to her at the cash asking her about her food choices. And she was like, yes I love to cook."

You're hungry. But, do you want to order food and be forced to spend more time with him? Yet you are starving and well it’s the first date, he’s supposed to pay. Right?

You get the waitress (even though you expected him to do that). You order your beer, you order your food. And then you stare for a little while before trying to find something that he would enjoy talking about until you can get the hell outta here. 

TINDER?! WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING? 

So. You talk about him. What does he like? What are his passions? Oh shit. He doesn’t have any, except for his cat. He takes out his phone to show you pictures. HOW DID THE CAT THING NOT ARISE DURING TEXTING? He works in IT, computer engineering or something. You don't really understand any of it. His breath smells weird. Does his eye twitch? He seems so infatuated with every word you have to say. You’d think you are some kind of goddess of life. Did he drink before coming on this date? He seems drunk already. Brilliant.

Food comes. YES! A burger is exactly what you needed. And beer. YES! Eat in silence.

Do you do the – “My mom just texted me, family emergency.”? Or do you toughen it out? You toughen it out till the end. It lasts an hour. You are close to shooting yourself for actually thinking this was a good idea.

The waitress asks how the bills should be split. He says 2.

2 bills. On a first date. Wow. Cerise sul sundae. 

Ok. Well. He must know how absolutely horrible the date is and doesn’t want to pay. You can't blame him. 

You pay your bill. With a WTF face.

He gets up. He’s 5’5. Nuff said. 

He's Tinder blocked. Phone number deleted. And you delete Tinder. Until you get bored again. Brilliant.


N.

Have any crazy Tinder date stories? Share them in the comments!

(Another little fictional story for your entertainment, with bits of pieces taken from many stories. Just a way for me to write again without publishing anything about my life!!!)


Tuesday, 27 May 2014

A sneak peek at Chapter 1 of my novel...

I decided that I would share with you a little piece of Chapter 1. It will give you an idea of what I am doing.. for the past few months.
This may change a lot, and already has. I have gone back into this post 3 times already to change the way I wrote things. I guess we are our biggest critic.

(...) I am late for my yoga class. When am I not late? Ha. So much for my 2001 New Year's Resolution. Those stupid things don't work anyways. Tardiness has never been my strong suit, yet, I'm running to try to not miss my first salutations. I'm running down Ste-Catherine in this rain, through the people with their umbrellas. It's like an obstacle course. Damn you rain. Always ruining everything. Like my hair, outfit and mood. The only time I like the rain is when I can listen to it from the comfort of my own home.
I am being stared at like a crazy person because what normal person runs like a loony down Ste-Catherine. Purse on one arm, yoga bag on the other, mat under my arm. I feel like I'm in a movie, running to my lover, like in the Notebook, but there is no lover, just a bunch of excited ladies who thoroughly enjoy downward dog. 

I open the door, and of course, there is Eva, with an empty spot next to her. She always saves me a spot. Because I'm always late. This woman is on time all the time. I totally admire people who can always be on time.  In other words, she's my savior, in more ways than one.

"Babe, got ya a place next to me! Can't you ever be on time lady?" Eva yelled at me as I walked into the room.
I smiled back. All the girls (and that random guy with way too much arm hair, who is always there, but always looks so bizarre) looked at me with "bitchy eyes". I felt bad. I always dreamed of looking back at them with "bitchy eyes" too, but I was too goody-two-shoes to do that. I was dripping. I slowly tiptoed in. Yet the screech of my running shoes totally blew my cover. So I just kept on smiling. No one hates a smiler.

"I got us 4 tickets to Nicolas Jaar this Saturday night" Eva whispered to me as I removed my squeaky shoes
"Ugh. Who is Nicolas Jaar, and why 4 tickets?" I whispered back. The yogi was in place, we were starting our breathing exercises.
"He's a DJ. A really good one. You'll love him, trust me." I felt like Princess Jasmine when Aladdin is on the magic carpet and asks her "Do you trust me?" She always said yes and is always taken on the coolest adventures. So that became my mantra. I decided that it was time for me to start to adventure again. Spontaneous things turned me on. I had been so used to a routine that I had forgotten how to just live life as it presented itself to me.

"And we're going with Steve and Rob, I met them Saturday night at Grinder. They are so hot! Rob is a lawyer, Steve is in publishing or something like that. High school buddies. They were in town for some guy's 35th birthday." Eva said. "They live in New York. The show is in New York", she looked at me with a big smile and big eyes.
 "WHAT?" I screamed, disturbing the whole class. I was the disgrace of this class and I knew it. Yet, you can't just tell me we're going to NYC without any detail and not expect a random scream. Come on. This was totally natural behavior. 

After some quick whisper conversation, I found out that we were actually staying with Steve and Rob, in their so-called Chelsea penthouse apartment. I am sure it was a 5 floor apartment walk-up. Why two 35 year old men lived together freaked me out a little, but whatever. Eva slept with Rob so he was off limits. According to her, he actually owned a collection of sex toys that she was dying to try. I made myself a mental note. Adele: #1. Stay away from Steve's room. #2. Shotgun the couch. I totally thought of a plan B and would text my only New Yorker friend in case these guys were too weird. But I was getting excited! New York! What trouble Eva was getting me into again? I wasn't sure. But I kinda liked it.
Fresh out of a break up, New York is exactly what I needed. Well. Almost fresh, it happened 4 months ago. I was 31, thinking I was about to get married to the "man of my life" and POUF, it just ends from 1 day to another. I needed this distraction. I spent way too many nights soaking my sheets with tears.

"Sorry Adele, but..I..don't know how to say this...There is just something missing..." Josh told me that fateful January night. "What do you mean?" I answered him with tears in my eyes. I felt it. I felt the end. I had felt it for weeks. He was distant. He was being a little weird, coming home late, not telling me what he was doing. We hadn't had sex in the longest time. I couldn't even remember the last time we got a little hot and heavy under the sheets. I didn't understand. He didn't love me anymore. How can he stop loving me? I'll tell you how. When Julie from the office starts hitting on him and he falls for it. Yes. That Julie. The Julie that never anything would ever happen with. The Julie that he needs to work late with. The Julie that invited him to her friends party because I was out of town and "he was bored".The Julie that he didn't think was that pretty. The Julie that I shouldn't worry so much about.  The Julie that I actually feel like giving a high-five to with a chair...in the face. The Julie that moved into MY condo 1 month after I left. Ugly bitch. That's how. 

Anyways, I had better things to think about, like what restaurants we were going to try or what outfits I was going to bring to New York with me. 
And so I finished my Warrior pose, smirking, thinking about the exciting news Eva just shared with me. Rob, Steve, Eva and my new Zara dress were going to rock this Nicolas Jaar guy. A DJ. Sounds kinda cool. I am learning new things here. This rainy day wasn't so bad after all! 

And there you go, a little snip it of Chapter 1! Hope you enjoyed it! Stay tuned for more!!!

N. 


Sunday, 30 March 2014

Why I am taking a break from my passion...

In my recent visit to the library (yes. I go to the library), I decided to pick up the Sex and the City. In the last 3 weeks, I have watched Season 1 & 2. I had forgotten how much I LOVED this show. The girls, the subject matters, the men, the 1999 fashion. All of it. I had forgotten how my blog is so similar. But. As I watched SATC (Sex and the City...), I realized something I hadn't noticed before. Never does  Carrie ever get questioned by her friends or flings about the subjects she writes about. People simply rave about her column, but never question it. Never seem to be upset that they are featured in it. Never do her columns affect her personal life. I constantly deal with this issue.

I am often asked (especially by the special men in my life for some odd reason), why are you keeping your thoughts so surface, you have so much more to offer, you have so much more to say. Yes, but I can't. Call me a pussy. I just don't want to expose myself too much, yet by doing this, I'm not staying true to myself. I have noticed that my best blogs, are ones of real tales, of real life experiences I lived through. My most relatable, most entertaining, most commented ones are the ones where my life is out there. For everyone to see. Judge. Yet, the posts that teach you something, that allow me to express my inner thoughts completely expose me. My feelings, my emotions, my way of thinking, all exposed for the world to see. Where is the fun in getting to know someone if you can simply type www.misscourey.com and know pretty much everything. The men I date question my subject matters (why are you talking about THAT), my friends worry that someone will recognize their story, my life is not private. I'm not private. I lose all mysteriousness. I love writing, I love writing about relationships, people, experiences, lessons learned, yet at what cost. If I write, I want it to be real. To be meaningful. I want my thoughts to move you, shake you. Not simply entertain you for a couple minutes. 

This is why, I have decided to take a break from this blog I love so much. I decided I chose my privacy over this passion. I want someone to know me by the words I speak, and not by the words I write available for the world to see. I want to be genuine, authentic to me. And it's not by writing about 8 Things I think Men Should Own, that I will achieve that.

But - this isn't a good bye, this is simply a see you soon. I hope you all understand how much I have loved being part of your discussions, your lives. Your support has truly meant so much to me, and has kept me writing for 4 years. But don’t you worry, writing is my passion, you haven’t seen the end of me. You haven’t seen the end of What It Feels Like For a Girl. This girl has a lot in store for you. For now, this girl feels like she wants to keep things private.

So thank you. Thank you for being amazing. Thank you for giving me ideas and making me love what I do. It has truly been an amazing ride.  But now, Im just at a rest area. Be sure to see me back on the highway soon!

N.

Sunday, 23 February 2014

8 Things I Think Men Should Own


I came up with this idea as I was high on cough syrup earlier this week. I tell you guys. This stuff is chronic. I was laughing, in the most bubbly mood ever, eager to think out crazy sexy cool ideas for the blog. I had trouble seeing straight. But, I suddenly felt inspired to write a light piece on these 8 things. Note to men reading this - if you don't own this stuff, I suggest you find a way to own it quickly (ha. Im kidding. Im sure you're cool just the way you are!)

Ok, lets start.

1. A "I'm the King of Life" tailored suit

This goes without saying that in every man's closet they should have at least 1 suit that makes you just want to jet down a catwalk impressing every. single. woman. ever. That Harvey Specter, King Ping suit, the one that makes you feel like you can walk into a room and everyone will believe everything you say just because you look so damn good. You see where I'm getting at. First. You need an awesome suit guy. The rest. Leave it up to him. (If you're in the MTL area, why not stop by my friend PB Duhamel's place - Clusier Habilleur! I even wrote a post about it!)


2. A robe
Dont you just want to cuddle up in this!!!


I know this sounds crazy, but I dunno what it is about men in robes. I love it. I'm talking terry cloth, soft / you just want to cuddle up next to him type robe. Maybe it's something about them being completely naked under it that makes it so hmm..appealing. Yeah. You need that shit.

3. Swag

What exactly is swag? It used to be such an overused word, but the best way I can describe it is a mix of class, smoothness, sex appeal and confidence. So my friend is dealing with a situation lately where she is seeing this great guy, who's funny, witty, nice, they get along, everything is good. Yet. There is something missing. At first she couldn't put her finger on it, and then after a couple chitchats, it was clear. This guy lacked swag. He lacked a certain oumff, a certain man's man kinda attitude that just made you want to be around him. So yeah. Boys. you need swag. 

4. A passion

When you're not working your butt off to become the best lawyer, teacher, salesman, web developer, banker, engineer, consultant or whatever you do, it's a must to have something you are passionate about, something that you love to do on your time off, whether it's to write, to read, to play a certain sport, or an instrument or love comic books. There is nothing I find more sexy than a man with passion and who has a passion, something simply that makes them tick other than making money.

5. A great recipe that will sweep a lady off her feet

I know not all men can cook well, some do, some don't. C'est la vie. But all men should at least know 1 good recipe they can make if ever they need to cook for their woman. It can be a stellar BBQ sauce with ribs, a fish dish, a meat dish, a crazy-ass mac & cheese with aged cheddar. I don't know. Find one. Ask your mama. Your mama will definitely know a good one she can pass on to you. What better way into a woman's heart than through her stomach! (Well that may just be for me.. but hey. it works!)

6. A car - I don't even care what type

Ok. So let out all the superficial remarks. Call me shallow. I don't care. But this is what I feel. Every man (that doesn't live in NYC) should own a car. I'm not saying you need to drive a luxury Mercedes here, it can be a Toyota Prius. But something that has 4 wheels, something that gets you to the ski hill, to a far restaurant or to the 450 if needed is a must. Also, it's nice to have a man pick you up and drop you back off. Call me traditional, but I love it. 

7. A kind heart

I told myself I wouldn't get too sappy in this post, yet, there is nothing I deem more important than a good heart. A man that is giving, generous, nice, respectful - this all falls into the category of a good heart. The perfect example in my life is my brother. My brother is probably the nicest, kindest person I have ever met and I wish all people can be that way. It's about simply being good to others because you want to

8. Chivalry

Not really a "thing", but men should totally own chivalry!
Even though our society has changed, and that now women can vote, hold important positions in companies, and consider themselves as equal as men, there is still a desire from women to be treated like ladies. Chivalry is so appreciated, you have no idea. I love having my door opened for me, having a man put on my coat, drop me off in front of the restaurant, having me walk on the inside of the sidewalk, you name it. This goes with being a gentleman. And, I really do think all men should be gentlemen. I had posted the Rules of a Gentleman a while back - you should check it out! 

Other special mentions of things men should own: a good watch, great shoes, a really awesome pen to sign important stuff with....
But if you got all 8 - you're in business my friend. You can now go conquer the world in your robe while driving a Toyota Prius. Not quite Harvey Specter like, but hey, still pretty damn cool. BOOYA.

So, do you have any other things to add? Maybe a special male contributor would like to post "8 Things Every Woman Should Own"! That could be really amazing!

N.