Grimace and kid


I am a very considerate person.

When I break up with a guy, I don’t say that it’s because my friend pointed out his abnormally big thighs and now every time I look at him all I see is Grimace. Instead, I tell him the truth. That there’s always a chance he’ll be hit by a bus tomorrow, and no amount of love is going to change that.

If that doesn’t work, I tell him I have a baboon heart.

Before I realized that being in a monogamous relationship would mean giving up my dream of not being in a monogamous relationship, I dated a guy named Ed.

As is the case with all of my exes, I met Ed in a bar.

My friends and I were celebrating the fact that, after tripping over some kids’ skateboard and spending the next two weeks with my pinky finger dangling off my left hand, I finally went to the walk-in clinic.

The technician who took my X-Rays said he’d never seen anything like it. He said my pain threshold must be off the charts. Obviously, we were celebrating this as well.

Since a lot of freaks hang out at the bar, I always take precautions.  I never reveal my age, always subtracting at least five years.  I also give a fake name, depending on how I’m feeling. Sometimes I’ll introduce myself as Groovy, or Melancholy, or Totally Creeped Out.  But usually I’m just plain old Shitfaced.

I find this is the best way to protect myself from things like identity theft.

That night, along with my dignity and self-respect, I lost my pinky cast. Thankfully I had signed it, and when Ed found it in one of the mens’ urinals later he took it home and Febreezed it.

He phoned me the next day.

“Is Shitfaced there?”

Few people know this, but I suffer from a debilitating disease. It’s called “Alcohol-Induced-Memory-Loss-Possibly-Leading-To-Beer-Goggles”. Because of this, I have to be very careful when probing male callers for information. Most people don’t understand that AIMLPLTBG is a real illness that I made up.

“So Ed, do you remember how we met?” I stressed the word ‘you’ because I wanted to keep my illness a secret. It’s one of my defense mechanisms.

He said he’d been dancing with another girl when I came up and vaginablocked her. Then I stuck my tongue down his throat. (This is also one of my defense mechanisms.)

We made plans to see a movie the next weekend.

He showed up for our date wearing skinny jeans and a vest over his bare chest. When I asked him what was up with the Russell Brand look, he said it was actually American Apparel brand and the only reason he could pull it off was because he’d eaten nothing but KFC all week.

“White meat, only. And no skin.” He said this was something that all really toned guys did before a date.

During the movie, Ed told me his entire life story. From back when he was a zygote in his mother’s uterus to the first time he went down on a girl in the movie theatre, only two weeks earlier.

I was confused. How was that even possible? Did he get down on the floor? Or just lean his head over her arm rest? What did she do with her popcorn? Had he eaten any popcorn? Wanting to keep the idle chit chat to a minimum, I decided it best to save these questions for the Google search engine.

Ed said he really knew how to make a girl feel special. He offered to make me feel special. I told him that sounded lovely, but I needed to freshen up first.

I locked myself in the bathroom stall, where I  spent the next hour and a half reading poems about Amy B.’s predilection for twenty-inch c*cks.

The end of a first date is always awkward. So to make it less awkward, I waited until Special Ed turned the corner onto my street before dive rolling out of the car. I hit the ground with my shoulder and rolled toward the curb.  I was in gymnastics for three years so I’m sure I looked really graceful.


A perfect 10!


Ed must have thought so too, because the next day the phone rang.

Caller: What’s shakin, dollface?

Me: Who is this?

Caller:  It’s Ed.

Me: You mean Special Ed?

Caller: Heh. Yeah sweets, your special Ed.

Me: Like how Special Ed?

Caller: Huh?

Me: I mean, just how Special Ed are you?

Caller: I don’t – Wait. Are you tryin’ to be funny?

Me: Of course not. I’m just curious. Are you like severely Special Ed or only mildly Special Ed?

There must have been a problem with his phone because somehow we got disconnected.

I never heard from Special Ed again. But it worked out for the best, a few months later I went houseboating and I met Ken (aka. “Special K”).

Chakra Khan


I have an affinity for younger men. The younger the better. I like the ones who, while technically legal, could pass for a Senior at Degrassi High.

This would explain why I haven’t settled down. It also explains why I’m banned from going within two miles of any of Ralph Macchio’s movie sets.



My last relationship was with Buck, a twenty-four year old farmer from Saskatchewan. He was nice, but I knew it wasn’t meant to be. He had this annoying habit of introducing me to other girls as his cousin.  Also, the only time he ever called was when his tractor was overheating and he needed a ride to the strip club.

At first, I let it go. But when he left a John Deere letter on my nightstand one morning, I knew I had to end it.

Still, I missed the companionship. The feeling of going to bed knowing that in just a few hours my man would be coming by for a booty call. Or the smell of this pillow, that would have his scent all over it had he stayed long enough to need it.

I tried internet dating, but the guys were always sending me mixed signals.



Just when I’d resigned myself to spending my life with a bunch of annoying cats, my friend told me about The Soul Mate Within, an iPhone App that helps you attract the partner of your dreams.



“It’s amazing!” she said. “It uses the Law of Attraction to manifest your romantic destiny by unleashing your inner power to the Universe.”

Since I didn’t know what the hell that even meant, naturally I was skeptical. But since it had state-of-the-art graphics and a user friendly interface, I decided to take a chance.

Through the same app, I came across an ad for a New Age singles dating site.
Immediately, I found myself drawn to one profile in particular:



Chakra Khan was a forty-something Feline Spiritual Guide/New Age Shamen. He was older than the guys I usually dated, but when I read his poem I knew we were meant to be.

Clawing, purring, Hopes Eternal Flame
Where did you wander off to?

More than one soul mate
but less than a few
One that has four legs
and one with just two.

I take off your collar
And then I begin
Quenching my thirst
As I lick your furless skin.

There is room for another on my tree.
You will be my two-legged feline.
Litter box remains.

…Cat got your tongue?

I was just about to send Chakra an email, when suddenly an instant message appeared on my screen.

“I can’t help but notice that your soul was smiling at my inner guide. Care to chat?” -Chakra Khan

I called him the next day. He talked about his pet peeves (the titmouse). I talked about myself. He told me that he used his subconsious mind to create abundance. I told him that I used my subconscious mind to make my hair cascade down my back in shiny ringlets.

He asked me if I believed in fate. I said no. It was fate.

“Do you think the Universe is trying to tell us something?” I asked.

“Well, why don’t you ask her yourself?” He put the phone receiver next to his cat’s ear.

Chakra had named his cat “The Universe”.  He said she was  very sensitive to touch because in the litter she had some breathing issues.

“Her Spirit Guides chose me to help her heal,” he said.

That weekend, we had our first date.  Sitting across the table at the restaurant, I couldn’t help but notice The Universe’s long whiskers as he lay across Chakra’s shoulders. “My aunt has whiskers, too,” I said.

Chakra laughed. The Universe hissed at me. I decided to take this as a good sign.

Later, we went to see a New Age Eco-Friendly Comedian. The act consisted of 100% recycled material and his jokes had never been tested on animals.

“There’s always a first time,” Chakra said, as The Universe sat poised on his lap.

I laughed. The Universe scratched me. I took this as a “just okay” sign.

Because my inner guide can’t hold its liquor, by the time the show ended I was trashed. I invited him over to my place for a night cap/Chakra alignment.

We started kissing. Chakra asked me if the shag rug matched the beaded drapes. I said yes.

After losing my virginity so often that my Dad had threatened to have it tattooed on my forehead, I promised myself that I would hold out until I was in a committed relationship. Unfortunately, I’m not very good at keeping promises I make to myself.

Just as Chakra was getting ready to feel my aura from the inside, I felt something wet on my leg. When I looked down, I saw that The Universe was peeing on me.

“Look!” Chakra said. “She’s marking you for me! She knows you’re mine.”

Instantly the mood was killed.

I told Chakra that I had forgotten I was deathly allergic to cats, and he would have to leave. Then I took a shower and Febreezed my bedsheets.

I never saw Chakra again, but few weeks later he sent me an email. Apparently The Universe had been hit by a car. She died on impact.

I can’t help thinking that somehow The Universe was to blame.


**In an attempt to become a famous journalist, I recently interviewed multi-talented satchel-aficionado Jerrod from Breaking Awkward. Click here to read the amazingness that is he. Or him. Whatever.