My friends call me Mimi. I’m 32. I’m Canadian (eh). I’m a Virgo. I’m a single mom.
I have blonde-ish hair, blue eyes, and I’m pretty fit. I love dancing, and the gym, and weed. My day job is graphic design/advertising/marketing in the finance industry. I’m a creative person in my passions but my Myers Briggs is analytical and a tad aggressive (ENTJ). Last year I left a 10 year long relationship/engagement with the father of my daughter. She is 8 and I call her fluffy. I’m super humble, the humblest person probably. I’m polite, and have good manners, and I like to fucking swear a fucking lot. This year I started online dating and it’s bonkers fucking bananas, you guys.
I love writing + I’m a little unhinged + I love telling my stories. You’re welcome.
I’ve been told the way I speak is quirky. I love idioms (ha, I almost typed idiots, and that’s true too, I love idiots). I love language. I love words. I love poetry. I also write poetry. Everything I will write in this blog is absolutely true, and sometimes even verbatim (if there’s quotes, it’s legit what was said/texted). I pray at the alter of conversational context, so it’s not always easy knowing that tone can be lost in text messages and time. You’re going to laugh. You’re going to swoon. You’re going to be in complete disbelief at some of the bullshit I get myself into. You’re going to feel sorry for me. You’re going to see how I can be a total villain.
I’m a romantic who is legitimately bad a love.
I’ll be the first to admit how absolutely ridiculous it is that I can go entirely without alcohol, marijuana, and carbohydrates but I can’t stop chasing after unavailable men. Often times these men are entirely unable (or unwilling) to meet my emotional and intellectual standards. I absolutely have proven I have the capacity and strength to cold-turkey-quit, never-look-back, and say fuck-this-shit to anything in my life that I’ve ever needed to. But for reasons only my therapist can explain, at this point in my life, I’m drawn most towards disinterested men. Another thing to know about me and my penchant for bullshit and romanticism: I’m unreasonably swayed emotionally by music – so a large part of the disillusionment with these men stem from the soundtrack of my life that consists of Spotify playlists that are curated during my time with each man. I’ll do my best to include the songs and lyrics that drifted through the fogs of my many frogs.
All of this makes me sound broken. And bitch, I might be.
I’m a genuinely good person, I promise, despite what my writing will make me seem like at times. The people in my life love me wholeheartedly; they never let me doubt that. I know and love people from all walks of life: my friends range from Mensa members to high school drop outs, forever singles to stay-at-home-moms, and retail workers to owners of multi-million businesses. I met a crying girl on a city bus, she’d just had an abortion and couldn’t tell anyone so I brought her home with me and we ate an entire cherry cheesecake and she became one of my best friends for years. Conversely I’ve also been a petty little asshole and Facebook deleted someone like it was meaningful. But to me life is about balance and vibes. So being petty and connecting with your villain vibe, once in a while, with people you can afford to lose, can be fun and liberating as fuck.
Blogs > Boys … because my focus should be on story telling rather than lost love.
I’m not writing these in any particular order/sequence, be it time, relevance, or impact. I’m writing because it’s good for my soul to just write. The photos are there for aesthetic effect – the posts felt more complete when I added them in there. You’ll notice the men are blurred and I’m in focus – that’s intentional for anonymity absolutely – but it also sort of symbolizes that we, as readers and writer, don’t really know these men. We can pass judgement on their actions and words, sure. But I’m reminding myself constantly that these men came into my life with their own fears, expectations, experiences and baggage. And some of these men never shared those with me, so I can’t really judge them for scars and faults that were born from stories I’ll never hear. But really, as I said, I’m writing because it’s good for my soul. My time right now is better spent writing here, than it is texting guys. And who knows – maybe if I post up in Starbucks, with my blonde roast coffee and my corgi-sticker-adorned laptop, for long enough I’ll meet-cute Mr. Forever Real Love.
I’ve never been dumped – I’m pretty sure it’s a big detriment to my outlook on love.
Generally, if I can get enough face time in with a guy, it’s a wrap; they will absolutely be my boyfriend and there’s nothing they can do about it. And once they’re my boyfriend? Well, so far my experience has been: he’s not going anywhere, forever. (For ever ever? Forever ever.) Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been turned down by guys but it just doesn’t carry the same weight as a boyfriend breaking up with you would. So maybe that’s what I’m looking for in these disinterested men? I don’t know. Either way, I’ve literally asked my ex-boyfriends for feedback. What they thought when I broke up with them etc. I’m happy to report they have very few bad things to say about me, actually, they have a lot of good things to say, how they know they weren’t doing the right things to keep me. One of these ex boyfriends is my main source of online dating advice now a days – I’m going to show him this blog, and ask him to help me write the entry about him – I think it’ll be fun. In short, the commonality was of all the ex boyfriends I’ve talked to, they conclude and seem to agree that they were a) fucked up about it for a long time b) think I was a great girlfriend. So nah nah nah boo boo bitches.
I’ve left every boyfriend I’ve ever had better than when I found him.
And I’m not even joking a little. I’ve done the fixer-upper thing a million times over, it’s maybe the curse of a Virgo. I’ve taken an unemployed redneck and set him on a path to earning six figures. And then I left him.
They never see it coming.
I don’t speak to my “past loves” for a reason – they hurt me, I hurt them, or some combination thereof has taken place, and I decide that one or both of us is better off moving past that, to find what feels better.
The one story I don’t think I’ll write.
Don’t hold your breath for the story of my daughter’s dad. If I tell it, and that’s a big if, I’ll tell it last. His and my story is sad. It’s full of little lies and big mistakes. The crux of it is a girl unwilling to love herself, and frankly, it’s a thesis I won’t yet defend.
In the 10 or so years since I last stood on the sidelines of the dating scene, a lot has changed. Social media and dating apps … it’s a minefield. Never mind the gaggle of failure-to-launch-commitment-phobes that seems to be out there. Having said that, I do trust my daughter to find the one true love of her life. As I used to say … you have to kiss a lot of frogs. – My Mother