My first romantic experience with a boy came in the 8th grade. His name was Jon (no “h”), he had red hair (I’ve always had a thing for guys with red hair – yes I know, I am capable of attraction to men other than those of the black persuasion), and his family had just moved into my neighbourhood. Actually, he was a transplanted American, so he was also the first non-Canadian boy (which apparently became somewhat of a trend in my life).

Being from a warmer state and arriving in the dead of winter he was wholly unprepared, opting to wear shorts in the middle of February to his first day of school. He had a winter coat at least, but the image he makes in my head is quite odd – skinny stick legs poking out of boarder shorts, a winter coat bulking up his torso, and a mop of red hair.

Despite his clear awkwardness in life, we shyly grew closer as Winter turned to Spring and then to Summer. At least, as close as things can grow when you’re as inexperienced as we were (oh those were the days when I waited until at least the SECOND date to sleep with someone). One warm evening at dusk we decided to go for a walk down our street alone, and it was while we were walking that he grabbed my hand.

I was shocked that a boy that wasn’t a relative was touching me, and I felt giddy and happy and those familiar butterflies – imagine, from something as innocent and as simple as hand-holding.

Eventually Jon and I parted ways and never made it past the hand-holding stage (no folks, he never even made it to first base, clearly things have changed in my dating life).

At times I get the same feeling from A – those butterflies that come from something new, from someone you genuinely like. It’s been a long time since I’ve had that and I’m really enjoying it.

And for the record: it’s so much better at 30 than it was at 14.

butterfly love


Single GTA Women: Watch For This Man

I saw this story on the news last night and am passing it on.

This is 29-year-old Robert Charles Henry, who also goes by the name “Anthony Henry”

He is 6’ 2”, weighing about 190 pounds, with an athletic build, short black hair and a thin chinstrap beard and goatee.

Screen Shot 2014-01-14 at 11.11.44 AM

He is accused of forcing a woman he met on PlentyofFish into his car, threatening to kill her, and hitting her with his car.

Police believe there may be more victims.

He drives a 2001 Silver Lexus with license plate BSDY 927.

If you have seen this man, or have been unfortunate enough to meet him, please contact Toronto police at 416-808-5204, or anonymously through Crime Stoppers at 416-222-TIPS (8477), online at 222tips.com, or by texting TOR and your message to CRIMES (274637).


Why I date black men

I am a white woman and I love black men.

Any long-time reader would have probably picked up on that by now.

My first schoolgirl crush, in the 5th grade, was a boy named Ryan. He was black. My third real-life crush was another black boy named Jordan in the 8th grade. Since I’ve been old enough to be attracted to the opposite sex I have been attracted to both white and black boys, with the majority of real-life attraction being directed at the darker segment of the gender.

Aside: I am differentiating between real life and celebrity attractions because Teen Bop and Tiger Beat didn’t really have black guys in their magazines that I can remember – I just remember a lot of Jonathan Taylor Thomas!

This will probably be a post full of contradictions, nonsensical rambling, and generalizations but I’ve been thinking a lot about why I tend to date black men exclusively – is it me, is it them, is it something else? I’ve come to the conclusion that there are a few reasons, all of which are interrelated in some way.

Another aside, which is clearly my favourite thing in whole world: I started thinking about this after my father found out about A and suggested that my penchant for black men may say something about me – though I’m thinking that his notice of the skin colour of my choice in men also says something about him. Oh snap.


I love the ease in which black men are men. They are confident in their masculinity, they own it, and they flaunt it. I love that. The thing is, I want a man, with zero blurred lines – my feeling, as well as my experience, tell me that my chances of finding the kind of man that I’m looking for among the black population is greater than in the white population.

I think in part due to the abovementioned confidence, black men are the only men to ever approach me. I can’t even remember the last time I was hit on by a white man – it just doesn’t happen.  The few and brief encounters I have had with white men in the recent past have been mediocre at best – sometimes clumsy, sometimes awkward, and sometimes I’ll think I’ve met someone who has that confidence factor I love until I find out he’s really just arrogant (one particular guy comes to mind!)

Then there is the sex. It’s just been better with black men, and it has nothing to do with penis size (I swear). Maybe it’s their rhythm, or their confidence, or a combination of multiple factors that makes the sex better (based on prior experience). Or maybe I’m just not meeting the right white guys (entirely likely given the above paragraph). In any case, black men take their time and do things slowly – there’s been no wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am moments, even with the youngest of them I’ve been with. They’ve known where to touch me, how to touch me, and when to touch me without much direction from me. To put it bluntly, it’s rare for me to not climax when I’ve been with black men – the opposite is true of my experiences with white men.

Having said all of the above though, I just really love men in general – black, white, or any other colour.


Mr. Manchild and WTF was I thinking?

I think one of the things I appreciate most about A, and that surprised me the most, was how he hasn’t judged me based on past decisions. For example, the whole sleeping with him the first night decision. It wasn’t my intention, but it happened (with many, clearly I’m easy), and although he could have implied that I’m slutty like this asshole did, the first date sex never seemed to alter his opinion of me as somebody who he may want to introduce to his mother someday.

One of the poor decisions that A now knows about happened this summer. When it first happened I only told one person the details. I wasn’t even sure if I was going to share it, even anonymously, let alone tell someone who I have an investment in about it because it’s definitely one of the more embarrassing moments and one that I’m not particularly proud of. Regardless, I let A read the below email to my friend, which was written at 2:40am after getting home from that night:

This is just between you and me. I slept with a 24-year-old man child tonight. I didn’t intend to, but he kept pressing himself against me and then the next thing I know I’m suggesting we go back to his place.

His place? Basically above a shed in somebody’s backyard. I can’t even believe it qualifies as an apartment. He didn’t have toilet paper. I was like “uh, you don’t have toilet paper and I need to pee” and he handed me some napkin from a restaurant chain or something. To clean up after sex he used his shirt.

Oh, and my ass hurts. Do you want to know why? Men who are not large enough cannot do the woman-laying-flat-on-her-stomach-stick-it-in-from-behind position. He tried. He penetrated my ass and OW it hurts now.

I think you will laugh at the above. I think I will too, one day.

In the meantime, no more younger guys for me. I’ve learned my lesson.

OH and as I was leaving he asked if he could come with me. I was like is this guy serious? I have a man showing up at my place in 10 hours, no he can’t come with me. Though I have to say he kept saying in disbelief “oh my god you’re so hot” and that was kinda awesome.

The above is a true story. It started in the bar as Manchild and I were playing pool and he kissed me. Then he kissed me again. Then we left and stopped at a strip club for all of 5 minutes because he kissed me again. Then my brain shut down and my genitals took over. Obviously I was attracted to him but I probably should have left once I got to his place and realized it was a shed in somebody’s backyard behind a garage that they turned into an apartment by adding a toilet, shower, sink, and kitchen appliances (honestly I can’t believe what some people in this city get away with calling apartments and renting out as habitable living spaces).

Anyway, back to the point, which is that after reading the above, A’s only response was to laugh and say “try not to do that again.” He scored major points for this reaction.


I’m a sucker for the bad boy

My grandfather: “So I hear you’re dating a black guy.”

I knew this would come up sooner or later. You would think my family would be used to my taste in men by now though. I have never been attracted to the clean-cut choir boy type, much to their dismay. Instead I am undeniably attracted to the bad boys.

When I was younger my taste was for the goth boys, the tall, dark, and skinny boys who wore lots of black, chains, and nail polish. Extra credit if they also played in a band, and a definite shoe-in if they were the lead singer.

My tastes matured in college to a more mature version of the above; still tall, dark, and skinny, only now they were men, preferably who still played in bands but who ditched the chains and nail polish for a more polished look. Extra credit if they have tattoos and piercings.

Once I was properly single for the first time in my adult life my tastes changed to black men. I think this is partly due to my experiences with white men, which have not been all that favourable (aside: I can hear a black guy I knew once saying that he can’t date black girls because they remind him of his sister). Black men, in my experience, are undeniably masculine, and that is what I want (need?) at this point in my life. I want a man who is a man, who knows he’s a man and who doesn’t deviate from that.

Of course, given my preference for the bad boy type, the inclination towards black men is probably also due to the fact that interracial dating is still considered taboo to many and so what better way to buck the system now that I’ve already brought home the tattooed and pierced goth boys?

I hope this in no way trivializes my attraction to / affection for / love of black men – it’s just an observation on my part.

The ironic thing though is that A is literally the most clean-cut man I’ve dated, ever. Maybe I’ve actually found the best of both worlds?

Image courtesy of strivetwosucceed.wordpress.com


Oh, Tinder

I love Tinder. I love that it’s a complete time-waster. I love that it’s shallow and based solely on looks. I love the gratification I get when I am matched with someone I actually find attractive. And of course, I really really love seeing what some people consider to be good dating etiquette.

For those of you who are not familiar with Tinder, it is described as “the new way to meet people around you.” It works by searching the area around you using GPS to find members of the opposite sex also on Tinder. Once a potential match comes up you have the option to anonymously “like” or “dislike” that person by swiping their picture to the right (“like”) or left (“dislike”).



a “recommendation”

Note in the above image the “shared friends” link. Since Tinder connects to your Facebook account, you can see whether you and your potential match have any friends in common.

If you like someone and they like you back, you get an alert that you have a match and can start chatting with that person. If you dislike someone they can’t talk to you, even if they liked you.

my matches!

I met somebody once from Tinder – he wasn’t my type, and although I tried to keep it friends-only because we had similar interests, even that didn’t end up working for me. He did buy me a lot of drinks though, so that was cool.

I still “Tinder” (yes, I just used it as a verb) and thought I would share some of the more memorable people I’ve seen on it. Below are examples of the type of profile pictures you should not use on a dating/hookup site if you ever hope to get laid:

not even sure what to say about this winner


it’s hard to resist a man who kills shit!


not the most flattering pic, he looks constipated


no, no, and no


ew, gross




I hate robots. Or whatever this is supposed to be.

It’s not all bad though. For example, this guy made me laugh:

Tinderella – get it!?

This is clever:


The best though is this guy I was matched with – if I was single I would have been all over this beautiful man:


I could look at him all day….and imagine so many things….


This must be love, or something close

I’ve seen a change in myself. I’m not sure if I like it. I liked that I found romance to be awkward and was often uncomfortable if an effort was made from a man to be romantic. I don’t do rose petals on the bed, or songs being sung to me, or even flowers (though flowers are rather innocent and I don’t so much mind this). All of this mostly just makes me feel uncomfortable and I don’t know how to react and I wish I was anywhere other than where the romance was happening.

But A makes me want to make mixed tapes for chrissakes. Mixed tapes! Do you know how long it’s been since I made a mixed tape for a boy? He makes me want to do some of those romantic things that I would have shunned only a few months ago. It’s not at the point where I want to run through a field of daisies holding hands with him, but maybe there’s something more to this romance thing than I originally thought?
I love that he always carries the heavy bags, without asking. That he always opens doors for me. That he will wrap his arms around me sometimes and hold my hand at the most random times.
Maybe because I’ve been so used to doing things on my own I haven’t really been open to actual romance. What I mean by that is that I mostly handled all of the household chores when I was married and living with my ex before. When we separated things didn’t change that much for me in that respect. I always cleaned. I always handled the bills. The only difference going from married to single was that I suddenly had the whole bed to myself (and I know I’m severely oversimplifying the whole marriage thing and of course my ex brought a lot more to the table, like emotional support, but even that I was able to replace with super awesome friends like Mr. Dreads).
Sidenote: I’m in no way saying that my ex wasn’t important to me or that he didn’t play a huge role in my life for a long time, I’m only saying that my day to day life didn’t change very much.
So in the spirit of trying to be a girl for once and embracing romance, I’ve started to keep a playlist of songs to send to A when I feel like it. This is what we do. We send each other songs.
In no particular order:
And he has sent me:
You can puke now.

Meeting the Parents

(Well, at least one parent anyway)

I had invited A over to my mother’s house for Thanksgiving dinner, as another way of acclimating him to Canadian traditions and also because I want to spend as much time with him as possible and I want to show him off to…well, everyone.

I picked him up in the afternoon on Monday and we headed to my mom’s house. He didn’t seem to be nervous but as we got closer to our destination I started to feel nervous. I’ve never actually had that happen before when bringing a man to meet my family so I’m not sure what was going on. I suppose I just really care what my mom thinks and I want her to like him because I like him so much.

Only my sister and her boyfriend were there when we arrived so it was a nice way to ease him into the craziness that can be my family (it’s all a good crazy though). I have 2 sisters and 3 brothers, and most of us have significant others that accompany us to family functions. Then there is also my aunt and her boyfriend and my cousin and her boyfriend, and usually 6 dogs total – so yeah, things can be rather hectic.

The night went very well, and A made a good impression on everyone. Afterwards he said he thought that he was going to feel uncomfortable, but actually he felt very comfortable. That’s always a good sign. My mother said she really likes him, that he is quiet and seems very nice. My stepfather thought he was very pleasant.


I think my mother noticed (as mothers usually do) how happy I am around A, and is making an effort to get everyone together one more time before he leaves to go bowling.

In other news, I was challenged by A to make Jamaican Patties, and I think I succeeded. It may have taken hours (it’s not the easiest thing in the world to make and it was the first time) but they came out really good. Except that the first batch stuck to the bottom of the pan and most of them broke apart….but I have more in the freezer that I can pop in anytime! And yes, I’m proud to say that these are 100% made from scratch (even the shells!)



There’s a lot of “like” around here these days

You know I’m in serious like with someone when I bake them cookies.

A got home late last night from work after a long day. I asked him half-jokingly whether he wanted me to make him cookies. He said yes. I made chocolate chip cookies and then dropped them off at his place.



I think I’m in trouble!

I never updated about our trip to Niagara Falls this weekend – it is part of the “things to do in Canada” list that can now be crossed off. We had a lot of fun and took a lot of pictures. At one point we were holding hands and it felt good. I swear I’m not usually like this, I don’t know what this man does to me. I usually shun lovey-dovey stuff so this is quite a different side of myself. I’m not sure whether I like it – I don’t want to be one of those women (you know the kind I’m talking about!).

In other news, and with the exception of Mr. Basketball who has been MIA for weeks now, all the men on the side have now been told that I’m not available for anything romantic. I guess that really does make it official…