the farewell post

Hi Readers,

So, yeah. You heard correctly - this is my last post on this blog. Although I love it and have had a good time writing it and talking about it, like all hilarious things it must come to an end.

You know why?
It's just not funny anymore.

Although I pride myself on my ability to find humour in every situation, even the strongest boxer will get knocked out if he's punched in the face repeatedly, right? And I feel like I'm somehow endorsing this behaviour by turning it into humour.

So here's a PSA to the men who read this blog: it's not cute. Cut it out.

Thanks to those of you who read it, laughed at it, and asked me to post more.

Oh wait, before we say goodbye forever, here's a post I wrote but never published giving you updates on some of our favourite characters...enjoy:

Updates
So a few weeks back I went to a party to celebrate a little phenomenon I like to call "another one bites the dust". The party was largely a snooze schmooze-fest, but was brightened slightly by the appearance of not one but two former post subjects.

Sidebar: there was also another one who was never written about but should have been for asking for my number, stroking my vajinga in public to seal the deal, and then never calling me.

The first you may remember as the incognegro non-email responder. I bump into this one regularly so it was no biggie but he did manage to IRK me by gleefully introducing me to his girlfriend and managing to refer to said girlfriend as his girlfriend twice in three seconds. Impressive. However did I let this gem slip away?

Anyway, the real story of the evening was the appearance of the one I never wanted to write about. When last we saw this jackass, he was promising to call me on Friday. Three years passed and I'm still waiting on that call. And what's surprising is that I haven't even bumped into him in all this time, despite the fact that we live in the same city, are from the same city, and have tons of mutual acquaintances. It's quite odd, now that I think about it. Friends have been married, had children, had birthdays, and yet I've never seen him. Kinda makes me think he's been avoiding me.

Sidebar #2: Now that I think about it, I did once drive by him as he was riding his bike on College and I was driving home from a pole-dancing class. I remember being really, really tempted to hit him with my car. But I didn't.

Anyway, this jackass showed up wearing shiny highwater pants, white socks, black pointy loafers, and carrying a murse. (I tell you, I've picked some real winners in my time). I spotted him not long after he got there and immediately dragged Mansa and Sharon over to see him. "He better not twist his mouth to speak to me" I growled mutinously.check the shoe/sock/pant combo if you don't believe me.

About an hour went by and no mouth twisting was occurring. And I was starting to get even more irked because was this guy really trying to NOT speak to me? But of course eventually he slithered up to me like the shiny snake he is.

I can't recall the conversation exactly but I know it started like this:

Him: staring at me giving me his puppy-dog-I'm-sorry eyes
Me: "oh don't start with the fucking puppy-dog eyes!"
Him: continuing to stare with the puppy-dog eyes
Me: "Are you going to speak?"
Him: a full minute of puppy-dog staring
Me: "Ok you let me know when you actually have something to say"

Eventually he said he was sorry. Then immediately asked if I forgave him. I said "um, excuse me it took you three years to apologize - could I maybe have three minutes before you force me to accept?". He asked if he could hug me. I grudgingly let him. He explained that he was a coward and afraid of confrontations. I gently suggested that he not do fucked-up things to people and then they would probably not want to confront him.

We continued to chitchat for a few minutes until what I can only assume was his next victim came to collect him. We said our goodbyes and then I said "Don't be a stranger".
"I won't" he promised.
"You know where to find me," I said with a classic Max-smirk.
"I will" he said.

and then

and THEN
and then...you know the rest.

Thanks all.

xoxo
max

the litmus test

here's an observation:

every man who has ever expressed dismay about the possibility of being written about in my blog....has gone on to do something blog-worthy.

isn't that interesting?

Random Funny Story

So this one doesn't really involve a man not calling me but it's still funny as hell.

To  me, anyway.

Many, many years ago I had a little on again, off again thing with this guy. He was a rapper of moderate fame in Canada and when things first began with him his star was on the rise so he was pretty busy. Hence the transient nature of our...affair?

Anyway. Whatever you want to call it, it went on for months and it involved secks. A fair amount of it. And fainting. I once fainted during secksy time with this guy; which I believe he took as a testament to his manhood but in actuality was probably because all my fake ardor caused me to start hyperventilating. But whatevs. 

Where was I? So it went on for a few months and then died out because I moved back home to London. When I moved back I was busy not being called by various other riff raff so I really wasn't thinking about him at all.  But then one day I bumped into him at Fluid.  He was with some friends of his who were also friends of mine so by the end of the night our two groups had converged into one happy family. 

Now he has this one pervy friend who had taken a shine to my sister. So at the end of the night while she was being molested by dancing with him, Mr Rapper Man and I found ourselves standing relatively close to one another watching them. We hadn't spoken all night so I decided to be a big girl and go talk to him. So I went over, we started chatting. It soon became very apparent that had been brushed with the drunken stick. I persevered - what else did I have to do? And I guess in his extremely inebriated state he mistook my dogged friendliness for...interest?  Because he said to me "...if you're wondering what it would be like to be with me we could make that happen..."

Um, excuse me?

First of all, who SAYS that? And secondly, in the immortal words of Darius Lovehall: "we've already done it! I mean, repeatedly!"

And that's all there is to say about that isn't there?

why i don't date white guys

Years ago when I was in school I had these two friends Adam and Cory. They were the kind of white guys I hate now...loved hip hop and thought that made them "down", called each other "bro", you know the type. I really only tolerated them because Adam was a) biracial and b) cute.

Anyway, these dudes were responsible for the only two experiences I’ve ever had with white guys - which is amazing if you consider that I grew up in London Ontario. One was the fabulous Bobby who kissed me for the first time in his parents' bathroom next to the Elvis clock and with whom I got down 'n dirty in his jeep on the grounds of Brescia College - where the nuns live in London.
I know - I was scandalous.

Anyway, the other we'll call JP. And JP was, well, straight up whiter than the whitest white man. Let’s take a look:

He was from PEI
He played hockey
He had some kind of mullet

But ole JP had two things going for him: he was adorable and he was riding my jock hard. So yeah I let him take me out a couple of times and yes I went home with him one night.

We lay on his bed and it was lovely. Oh, so lovely. Until JP had um, an equipment malfunction?
"Poor thing" I thought. Because as embarrassed as I was, I knew he had to be absolutely mortified.
"I’m sorry!" he nearly sobbed. "I’m so sorry!"
"It’s okay" I murmured encouragingly. I really felt bad for him

Until this:
"I’m so upset! I waited my whole life to be with a black girl and here you are and look!"

(gesturing southward)

Um, yeah. so not only have you wasted my time, and left me with blue "balls", but you thought it was a good idea to tell me I’m the living manifestation of some massa-mammy fantasy you've been harbouring?!?

I was not impressed. But not wanting to kick a "man" when he's down (literally), I calmly got up and left, not letting on just how much I wanted to smack his pasty face.
but then
but THEN
but then he never called me!

the question of the day

hi all,

i'm switching it up today - instead of a story i'm giving you a question to ponder:

"i don't want a relationship"

just chatting with one of my girls who has been given this speech more times than she can count. and i know my toronto ladies must wish they had a dollar for every time they heard that. 

but what does it really mean?

if you live with a man, wash his dirty drawers, cook his food, meet his mother, and know his online banking password, can you say you're not in a relationship?

what about if you talk to him every day, think of him as soon as you wake up and last thing before you go to bed, sleep hugged up with him - satin scarf and all - and get up and make him breakfast day after day? are you really not in a relationship?

is "i don't want a relationship" just a euphemism for "i don't want monogamy"?
"i don't want drama"?

"i don't want to have to be considerate of you if it's inconvenient for me"?

i know i have told men in the past that i don't want a relationship. but was that what i really meant? i know what i don't want  - i don't want shared addresses, co-parenting of pets, other-girl-drama, and fighting that you have to endure because it's less complicated than ending it and most of all i don't want to get punched in the face - neither literally nor figuratively...but i don't like sharing and i want to know that he'll still be there tomorrow. so does that mean i want a relationship? 

and really when you think about it, isn't everything a relationship?

drop your thoughts in the comment box.

(don't worry - i'll be back soon with more misadventures)

Sometimes it's okay if they don't call

So not too long ago I posed a question to you all:
What do you do if you get a DIRTY punkoff from a dude but he specifically asks you not to blog about it?

Most of the comments were in favour of blogging about it. But I held my tongue; not out of consideration for him, but because the story really just wasn't that interesting. And maybe slightly because I didn't want to damage any shot in hell I might have of actually getting with this one piece of chocolate deliciousness. So I left it alone. But of course even the ones with your faceprint on the bottom of their shoe always rear their devastatingly handsome ugly heads at some point.

But let’s take it back to the beginning.  One day while perusing my favourite website I stumbled upon this slice of loveliness and asked myself, who the HELL is this? And immediately added him as a friend. All was quiet on the home front – I was in my internet stalking recon phase.  After a while I felt I had gathered enough information to make my move so I sent him a cute little note that really only took about four days for me to draft. No biggie at all. He wrote back, and there ensued a frenzy of e-conversation.  He was witty. He could spell (I fell in love). He said whom (I came). This continued for a few days and then
and then
and then he never replied.

A few weeks went by. I tried to move on. People tried to convince me that a black man who reads books is not rarer than diamonds. But I couldn’t let it go.   So I trumped up an excuse to write him again. A shorter, less exciting e-conversation ensued. I was funny. I invoked my mum’s trini accent. Man I pulled out alllll the stops.
and then
and then
and then he never replied.

I gave up. I dropped the pebble. Until a certain long weekend came around and there was a certain party that a certain vision of loveliness was sure to attend. Coaxed my girl Lori to come up from London for the weekend. Woke up on d-day with a migraine but I dressed my little ass up in my American Apparel Lamé Leggings anyway and off I went. We pushed and shoved our way through piles and piles of scantily clad scandalbags until I bumped into my target (literally) and froze.  He gave me a big smile, a warm hello, and a tight squeeze while I stood there with a  frozen smile plastered to my face shaking and sweating to beat the band.  After he walked away I asked Lor “was that really him?” “yes” she breathed. And we left.
My head was freakin’ killing me! 

Determined not to be the one to break, I moved on with my life; checking my facebook inbox once every fifteen seconds in breathless anticipation of a message from him. Until it came. It was brief. But it was charming. It gave me hope. Until I stupidly answered it.
and then
and then
and then he never replied.

You know the definition of insanity right? Repeating the same action and expecting a different result?

I gave up again then. And continued on with my life. Summer came and I started bumping into him. Things began to get flirty…a lot of biting and ass-grabbing went on. I grew some balls and called him up and asked him on a date. He accepted immediately and promised to call me on Sunday to confirm.

You know where this is going right? 

Sunday came and went with nary a peep out of him. But I don’t leave it alone. Oh no. I couldn’t just leave it alone. I sent him a message: don’t’ you owe me some drinks Negro? He apologized and asked me to please not write about him in my blog. A thought came to me: this guy is kind of an asshole. So finally I let it go.

Time moved on and other men who were unacceptable in other ways came on the scene. I pushed the chocolate decliciosity to the back of my mind. I began pursuing other avenues until fate – in the form of the eTalk party – intervened. Bedecked in my gold Marciano harem pants and a partially see-through tank top with no bra (I'm a whore), I strutted my gold-wristbanded self on over there in hot pursuit of my latest conquest (see future blog posts). After bumping into my first husband Idris Elba, who should I run into but Mr Unacceptable himself. Imagine my surprise and delight. And he, being polluted with drunkenness was delighted to see my pierced nipple me as well. 

Ladies, if you could have seen the debauchery that ensued.

Let’s just say it involved more ass-grabbing. More biting. Some scandalous pictures taken on someone else’s camera. And a trip to the men’s washroom that will never be admitted to should I see you in real life. And then there was rain. A long walk. A ride home and a rapidly travelling hand.

We parked in my driveway and continued to chat. And let’s just say, Mr One Piece of Chocolate Delicious Loveliness has a new nickname: Parking Lot Pimping.

I don’t need to spell it out for you do I? Oh I do? Okay then. Let’s just say there was a back seat. Two naked people – one still in a fabulous pair of stilettos. And a car that was a rockin’…steamy windows at all. And unlike previous entries in this blog, the 1,000 watts of energy were lighting a very powerful bulb.

Then it was over. I was aglow. He was agog. I went inside.
and then
and then
and THEN
and then he never called me. 

And you know what? That’s okay. Because like I said, he’s kind of an asshole.

I'm baaaaaaaack!

Hi all!
I'm terribly sorry that I haven't updated in a very.long.while.
I didn't really think anyone read this blog (and it kind of puts a damper on your love life when you have a dating blog) but thanks to Sharon, Kim, and Sandra (and Mansa for introducing me to all of them) I now know that I do have readers. 

Those of you who know me know that I took a good long break from the dating tings. And I've only just begun to dip my toe back into the water. It's been...interesting but unfortunately this new breed of men does call. It's just what they say afterward that's sometimes a problem :|

So the good news is, there will be more posts. The bad news is they won't all be about men not calling me. But they will be funny. And true.

Stay tuned ladies....and men, be warned.