Tuesday, April 27, 2010

The Cat-Eating-My-Face Situation

Me: Ugh. Anyway. THAT guy turned out to be completely deranged.

Younger Brother: I don't get it. Why would you even give him your phone number in the first place?

Me: Because if I don't start taking the occasional risk, I'm going to die alone in my apartment. And then Satchmo will eat my face.

YB: Oh COME ON. That's not going to... actually yeah. That could happen. Your cat is pretty insane.

Me: YOU SEE??

Monday, April 26, 2010

Dr. Asparagus and Mr. Bland

Dr. Asparagus was the first Not-Horatio I met on OK Cupid. His opening email was articulate, intelligent, devoid of any of the reviled cave-man internet jargon:

Hurrattio: omg u r hawt LOL wassup. Hurratio.

Me:
[delete]

Also, Dr. Asparagus was funny. I mean, the dude successfully pulled off some witty banter about tapeworms. There was also some mention of ninjas and zombies and a world domination plot involving the Cadbury Fruit & Nut bar. FUNNY. And when I informed him that he was the first Not-Horatio I'd met on OK Cupid, he demanded to know what he'd won as a Not-Horatio Prize. I told him he'd won asparagus. Obviously. His response was wildly enthusiastic. Obviously.

If you're ever looking for a gift box that will hold a bunch of asparagus, you are a fool to head to the dollar store. A FOOL. You will roam the isles hither and yon, and you will see a multitude of gift boxes in a variety of shapes and sizes. None of these boxes will hold an intact bunch of asparagus, and you will fritter away your pre-date lunch hour trying to obtain help from clerks* who are unable to help because (1) they are carrying on an in-depth cell phone conversation about That Bastard who refuses to pay child support, or (2) they are unsure what you mean when you say "gift box" and therefore direct you repeatedly to the wrapping paper isle.

Michaels is your store for asparagus gift boxes. And as a bonus, you'll find matching ribbon and tissue paper with which to elegantly bundle and wrap your asparagus. I went with green asparagus (did you know the white stuff costs about triple? What a scam.) I'm not going to lie to you, internet: it's entirely possible that this box of asparagus was the most attractive first-date spoof gift ever.

Flash forward to Insomnia Cafe, 8 pm. The man I assume to be Dr. Asparagus arrives, sits down and blinks across the table at me. Only it ISN'T DOCTOR ASPARAGUS. It's his non-evil, non-diabolical personality-devoid twin, Mr. Bland:

Me: So, how was your day?

Mr. Bland: My day was good. *blink, blink*

Me: Great. What did you get up to?

Mr. B: Work. *blink*

Me: Ah, yes. Me too. What is it that you do?

Mr. B: Consulting *blink, blink*

Me: Oh, okay. Management consulting? O...

Mr. B: Yes. *blink*

Me: And what's that like?

Mr. B: It's good.

Me: ...?

Mr. B: *blink*... *blink, blink*

Me: Oh! I've brought you something! [fishes Asparagus Box out of bag]

Mr. B: Thanks. [blinks at the box with consternation, does not touch it]

Me: Oh... no. It's nothing fancy. It's just a joke. You should open it!

Mr. B: [opens the box cautiously] Oh. You actually bought me asparagus.

Me: Well yes. It's your Not-Horatio prize... remember how I'd told you that your prize was asparagus? Uh... it's just a joke.

Mr. B: Okay. I do like asparagus. Thank you.

Waiter: Are you two ready to order drinks?

Me: YES WE ARE.

I would provide a further transcript the conversation that transpired during the time it took me to down one vodka martini, but it hardly seems worth the effort. T and A have postulated that Dr. Asparagus spent hours composing his notes to me, but wasn't able to pull off anything spontaneous when confronted with a real live woman. I like to imagine that Mr. Bland hired someone else to send those emails. Perhaps that guy would be interested in meeting me for a drink?

* Do dollar store clerks work on commission? This would surely explain their global unwillingness to help you sift through the crap on display for the single item of cheap kitsch you're there to purchase.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Hporatio Two

Hporatio Two sat down for brunch at The Beaver Café, wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, took a deep breath and talked.

For 75 minutes.

It was the kind of monologue that's peppered with nervous laughter, self-depreciating commentary and a lot of computer-related technical jargon that is virtually indecipherable to the average non-android. At one point he gesticulated so wildly on the subject of audio editing software (or possibly a hacking software that has given him complete access to all FBI files? It was hard to tell) that he nearly overturned his water glass. But was Hporatio Two stymied into pausing or even taking a breath? Indeed, he was not. His skin - glowing with the ghostly non-tan of the Tecchie UnDead - glistened with sweat as he tossed out non-sequiturs and painfully humourless puns with abandon.

I took SMALL bites of my steamed egg scramble and rye toast. I drank three cups of coffee. The waitress refilled my water glass four times. My plate was sparkling clean long before he took a single bite of his breakfast burrito.

Nevertheless, I've been thinking about giving Hporatio Two another shot. Nerves suck. And statistics reveal* that 98% of shy guys calm the f*** down and interact like normal human beings on the second date. Possibly, a guy who names his cats Lucy and Ethel can't be all bad...

*98% of statistics posted on this blog are fabricated.

Horatio One

Is there a Twelve Step program for iPhone addiction? Perhaps Horatio One could be a member. This guy could NOT put his iPhone away. He wanted to. He tried to. He couldn't do it.

Horatio One: So, it says on your profile that you're really into salsa dancing?

Me: Um... really? No, I don't think that was me...

H: Oh, sorry. I could've sworn that was you. [pulls out iPhone for the 342nd time]

M: Yeah, I've actually never been salsa dancing but it sounds... what are you looking at?

H: I'm just looking at your profile... hang on.

M: Oh. Wait. What? You're looking at my profile RIGHT NOW?

H: Yeah, I was SURE you said something about salsa dancing.

M: Uh... no.

H: Yep. You're right. You didn't say anything about it in here. Must've been someone else.

M: Right. Well. Anyway. Is salsa something you're really into?

H: ...

M: Horatio?

H: Sorry, sorry! My friend just responded to my twitter post. Hang on...

M: ....

Saturday, April 24, 2010

OK Cupid and The Horatios*

OK Cupid claims to be the Google of online dating. When you sign up, you answer a frillion multiple-choice questions (or fewer, if you're in a rush) about your personality and lifestyle:

  • Do you like to cook? [yes]
  • Do think voting is important? [YES]
  • How often do you watch televised lawn-bowling? [never]
  • How severe is your addiction to World of Warcraft? [what?]
  • Etc.

Based on your answers, OK Cupid points out people who have similar interests and who presumably will have enough in common with you that you can make it through a 1-hour coffee date.

Also, it's free. And I have Scottish ancestors.

After nearly a month on OK Cupid, I've received messages from a variety of matches. Inexplicably, seven of them have been named Horatio/Huratio/Horattio/Hporatio* (the 'p' is silent). What does this mean? Is there some sort of OK Cupid algorithm that's determined that my next boyfriend should be a Horatio? We may never know the answer.

This anomaly has prevented me from simultaneously dating several matches at once, since I would be sure to mix up Horatio with Hporatio with disastrous-if-entertaining results. Common sense dictates that you don't go on a first date with Horattio until you've determined that Huratio is unsuitable. Right?

*names have been changed to protect the anonymity of unsuspecting blog-subjects.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Prong Two - the beginning.

Prong Two is a product of A and T.

When I visited them here in Toronto last November, they were both immersed in multifaceted creative projects. As T discussed his project, he said,

"Well basically, my album release will be a four-pronged approach..."
.

From that point on, ANY activity with A and T was a pronged approach: "Dinner downtown will be a two pronged approach", we claimed. "The Lord of the Rings marathon will be a seven pronged approach (given than none of us can stay awake past ten p.m.)". You get the idea.

It was that week in Toronto - the week away from my sabbatical in The Land of the Hippies - that I decided that my return to the city would have to be a two-pronged-approach.

PRONG ONE: Find a job. [nb: an interim solution to Prong One has been implemented, although it's not entirely ideal. Phase two of PRONG ONE is underway....]

PRONG TWO: Find love.

These pages will detail Prong Two.