I'm on Beehive FM Today!

Only a few days left - don't forget to vote for me!

Sorry guys I have no real post for you today but if you're jonesing for a little max in your life, check me out today on The Kenny Burns Show at www.beehivefm.com. I'm on at 3pm (Eastern) today!

We're talking about The Great Guy and the Regular Chick that little post I wrote a while back that resulted in me getting my ass handed to me in the comments on the FreshXpress. Check it out if you haven't yet.


Check me out today at 3pm at www.beehivefm.com or on Ustream

Very Bad Things

Please don’t forget to vote for me and your other favourite blogs for the Black Weblog Awards. All the details are right here.

Those of you who follow me on twitter should be well aware by now of my fixation with the Fed Ex man who delivers to my office. Any day that my stalking efforts pay off and I have the good fortune to run into him is a beautiful day and it’s not uncommon to see me tweet something along the lines of “I want the Fed Ex guy to do very bad things to me”.

For some reason, I can’t just appreciate his beauty or enjoy the witty banter we exchange in the elevator. It’s not even enough for me to say I have to have him. He’s in a whole other category of attractiveness that is almost dangerous.

My fixation on Mr. Fed Ex during my daily nail-painting sessions has led me to the realization that the men who light a fire in my groin catch my eye tend to fall into different categories. Generally speaking if I'm lusting after someone he is inspiring one of the following thoughts:

1. I want to get naked with him

At some point in life I think I wrote about the fact that if I’m interested in a man I picture him naked. This is the category he will graduate to if I like what I see in the mental picture. I’m attracted, I want to show him my lady parts, but I’m not losing too much sleep over it. These are the if it happens it happens kind of guys.

2. I want to hear him snore

If I catch myself wondering what a guy’s feet look like (rather than other much more important body parts I could be picturing), what he likes to eat for breakfast, or whether he snores it’s like a big DANGER! sign flashing in my brain. These are the men that I both lust after and genuinely like, and they must be snuffed off the face of the earth immediately before I catch feelings and have to turn in my player’s card.

3. I want him to make me question my morals

This is the holy grail of attractiveness and a man usually reaches this status by being really sexy, really smart, or really dirty. They don’t come around very often, but when they do, these men cloud my judgment in dangerous ways. A man in this category could get a coochie shot even though I am against them and he might even rate a sleepover, if for no other reason than he’s had his way with me and left my clothes in shreds.

Is it just me, or is this attractiveness-classification that my ladyflower brain automatically conducts a little odd? Am I the only one who does this? What categories do you put the objects of your lust in? Speak on it in the comments.

Any 10 on Tuesday

I'm nominated for 3 Black Weblog Awards! Don't forget to vote for me - all the info you need is right here.

So Throwback Tuesdays was getting a bit stale so I thought it was about time we did something new around here on Tuesdays. This week we start “Any 10 on Tuesdays” – each week I’ll ask some poor sucker an interesting person a bunch of questions and they can answer any ten of them and you guys get to experience someone else's point of view for a change. Sound like fun? And because I just made up these questions five minutes ago it's my blog, I figured who better to start with than myself? Let's begin:

Describe yourself in three sentences or less:

Blogger. Bag lady. Weirdo. Advertising Nerd. Dirty Bird. Girly girl.

1. Is there something about your life or lifestyle that makes your perspective on dating/relationships unique?

I’m a blogger, and that scares the living daylights out of men. They live in fear of being written about…and sooner or later they usually are so I can’t even fault them for it.

2. To what extent are you willing to adapt this lifestyle to that of your partner?

If we were talking about an actual partner as in a serious boyfriend or a husband, I’d be willing to do a lot of adapting; for a casual thing; not so much. I mean, I’m not going to call anyone out of his name on here but if I’m given good material I will write about it…I have no choice!

3. What is your current relationship status? Are you happy with it?

I’m happily single…I love my hedonistic, max-centric lifestyle. I’d like to have a lot more sex few more dates but all things considered I’d say I’m doing alright.

4. What are your must-have qualities in a partner?

He must be smart. I will run rings around a dumb dude and that’s not fun for anybody.
He has to have good manners – you guys have heard me rant about that enough that I don’t need to say anything more.

5. What’s the stupidest thing you see women do in their relationships? The biggest mistake you see men making? 

The dumbest thing I see both genders do is letting pride or principles get in the way of peace. This is what we're doing when we're keeping score in our relationships, or when we're getting ultra-pissy over dumb shit like toilet seats, or when we refuse to apologize just because we're convinced we're right. It's basically like giving everything we've got to win a battle without even noticing that we're losing the war.

6. What is your fundamental relationship truth?

What goes on between a man and a woman is between that man and that woman. No matter what anyone else thinks, knows, or thinks they know; there are only two people who really see the truth of a relationship.

7. What’s the #1 thing men/women don’t realize about themselves?

Women – how much of what they say and do is driven by a need for validation. For men – how much of what they do and think is driven by ego.

8. What’s your fatal flaw in relationships?

I’m way too easy-going. I need to start kicking some ass!

9. What turns you on?

Dirty talk. Smarts. Confidence. Muscles. Beer breath. Big words.

10. Which habit of your most annoys the people you date?

Smoking!

11.What’s the first thing you notice in a man/woman?

Shoes. Or I should say shoes are the first thing that matters. I may not look at your shoes first but bad shoes will negate everything else.

23. How often do you believe it is normal to want sex?

Daily during the week. 2 or 3 times on weekends.

Okay so I went a little overboard there...but I'm nothing if not extreme, you guys know this already. If anyone's interested, you can see the questions I didn't answer here.

What say you about the questions and answers? Weigh in, discuss, heckle, what have you in the comments.

Things You Can Blame on My Ex

Like any evolved human being, I’m on a constant quest to improve and grow as I travel down life’s long road. I try to cultivate good habits and phase out bad ones except smoking; I love smoking and recognize the roots and triggers of my behaviour. I also try to get rid of as much past relationship baggage as I can. All things considered, I think I travel pretty light for a perpetually single girl staring 35 in the face.

Lately though as I’ve been scrambling for more past experiences to exploit in this blog giving my past some deep thought; I’ve realized that I do have some ways that can be directly attributed to my past experiences in relationships. But I’m not sure whether that’s such a bad thing.

And as with anything I can’t make my mind up about, I figured, why not blog about it? So without further ado, I give you Things You Can Blame on My Ex. You guys tell me whether I should try to overcome them or thank the asshole ex who caused them.

1. I don’t know when to pack it in

Most of you guys have heard this story enough times that I don't need to go into much detail here...threw in the towel with my first love way too early, regretted it for the rest of my life, blah blah blah. Ever since that happened,I have this pathological need to see every significant relationship through to its bitterest end. Although I'm good at counseling people to recognize signs of trouble ahead and get out early; I seem to stick around until I'm a beaten and bloody mess. Which obviously means I endure a little more pain than necessary; but then again when all is said and done and I finally do move on it's without a backward glance, because I know for sure I did all I could.

2. I cannot handle bad manners

Most of the men I've been in relationships with started out with bad manners; not returning phone calls in a timely manner, showing up late, not calling the day after the first slam and just being generally unreliable. But like many stupid women, I dismissed it as it being too early in the relationship to concern myself about these things; only to end up with the same behaviours repeated ad nauseum as the relationship progressed. These days you get only a few chances before I dismiss you as a jackass and relegate you to jump-off status.

3. I don't do secret relationships

Although I respect the inclination to keep one's private life private and have experienced on more than one occasion the damage that gossip can do; I do not rate a man who wants to keep his affection for me a secret. If we're just boning that's one thing - I have as much to gain by holding that down as you do. But if it means something; we're friends, we're dating, we're falling in love and you a)ask me not to tell anyone or b)are going to lengths to make sure no one knows, you fail at life and I'm taking my goodness elsewhere. I just can't with that situation ever again.

5. I don't sneak around

I can keep a secret, but I don't like doing it. So I don't do things that necessitate being sneaky. If I'm in a relationship and I don't want to be monogamous; I just say so. That way I don't have to hide the fact that I'm sleeping with your homeboy seeing other people. If I write a salacious blog that gives immature men that I'm a big whore-bag; I'm not hiding it. Oh wait - yes I am. Scratch that one. But you get what I'm saying.

6. I don't (blindly) trust my girlfriends

I learned this one from a dude I dated who was a spectacular asshole but opened my eyes to a lot of stuff I was oblivious to. Things like girlfriends who encourage you to break up with your man because he's a player but then are quick to press up on him once you turn your head. Or just single and miserable girls who will sabotage your relationship just so they can have company on their girls-only flex. And things like girls will flat-out lie to your face just to salt up you relationship if they have a "reason" to.

Sidebar: the friends I have are different now than the ones I had when I was learning these tough lessons. I don't think these ones would pull this shit. But still...

So what do you guys think? Should I be working harder to unload the baggage that my exes have left me with or are these lessons worth applying to my current life? What good/bad ways do you have that you can attribute to your ex? Speak on it in the comments.

A Change is Gonna Come (Max in Real Life)

When I was a little girl I knew that I would grow up and move to Toronto. And I did. There were three specific streets I wanted to live on and I've lived on nearly on all of them.  So that's pretty much mission accomplished too...so now what do I do?

Moving here was by far the biggest change I've ever inflicted on myself. Way bigger and way harder (pause?) than I thought it would be, but definitely the best move I ever made. Every time I make a trip home, every time I look through an old friend's photos on Facebook, every time I hear about another friend getting married or having a baby I'm convinced that moving here was the right thing to do.

After 12 years though, I'm starting to feel antsy. Toronto is amazing, I love it. My sister is here, my friends, and a lot of my family even though I do everything I can to avoid them. If I have a home in this world at all (I feel like I don't but that's another post for another Thursday) it's Toronto. But Toronto is just not that fun anymore.

Maybe that's the wrong way to put it, considering my life consists of laughing my ass off with my friends, dressing up and strutting my hot ass when I feel like it, and retreating to the solitude of my apartment when it all becomes too much. I can't say that that's not a fun life. But it's just...it's not new anymore. Everyone I've ever wanted to befriend here is now my friend. I have now (as of last Wednesday) attended every party I've ever wanted to attend. I've slept with met every dude I ever crushed on. What's left?

The idea of packing up and moving to a new city has been calling me lately. I'm dreaming about it, day dreaming about it. Researching it when I should be working and writing and re-writing my top 5 list of cities I want to live in. Discussing it lengthily and lustily with my sister. All of a sudden I - the queen of routine, she who shuns broad horizons - want to pack it up and plant my fork in uncharted territory.

Unfortunately I no longer have the blissful ignorance of my early twenties to stop me from considering things like what if I can't get a job? What if I get too lonely? How will I move all my books? I'm not leaving my books! What if I never find anyone one to have sex with hate it? Not to mention that if I were to leave the country I'd be forced to say goodbye to Timothy's and Tim Hortons (I know they have Tim Hortons elsewhere in the world but I just don't believe it will taste the same). And the fact that I hated it here when I first moved makes me wonder....what if I uproot my whole life and decide I want the old one back?

All the same though I think I'd like to try it. At the very least, it would give me a lot to blog about.

But what do you guys think? Should I take a leap and head for parts unknown or just "stop home" as my dad would say? Have you ever made a big move or taken a similar leap? Do you regret it? And if you have suggestions of where I should go....drop em in the comments.

p.s. I know I've been uncharacteristically maudlin on here the last little while but I'm coming with some comedy for you tomorrow....fret not.

Why I'll Never Get Over My First Love

"The magic of first love is our ignorance that it can ever end" - Benjamin Disraelier

Longtime readers of this blog probably already know the basic story of my first love, but I'm gonna tell it again in more detail for the newbies. I apologize in advance because this is gonna be a long one.

I met Snickers when we were in high school at a mutual friend's party. He had a girl but we became fast friends - he and his cousin and me and my sister were a tight foursome; spending countless hours in each others' basements watching basketball, playing Come Clean over and over and over, and talking sh*t. We probably fell in love with each other about two seconds after we met but it took about two years for us to finally get together, and that was only after I gave him an ultimatum - be with me or we can't be friends anymore.

I know it sounds crazy to say this, but for a long time we had a perfect relationship. We hardly fought, loved each other hard. We knew we were going to be together forever. The only problem was that it was a long-distance relationship in the days before email, before cell phones, before facebook and twitter and all the ways we now have to stay connected to people even when they’re far away. We wrote each other letters and my parents allowed me to call him like once a month for half an hour – at something like $0.45 a minute.  There was never enough ink in the pen or minutes on the phone to say all there was to say, but we made it work. We were happy.

But we were also stupid. See here’s the thing – he was a basketball player on scholarship at a school in New York. After two years he decided he wanted to change schools; he wasn’t happy where he was. But changing schools meant that he’d have to start over from scratch somewhere else and instead of waiting two more years to be together we’d have to wait four more years. For some reason we decided that we should “separate”. We didn’t call it a break up because we would still be together when he was home but when he was at school we would be free to do our own thing. I remember being nervous about what “doing our own thing'” might lead to and I remember that he wasn’t nervous at all….he told me that no matter what happened, no matter how far apart our lives might take us, no matter what one day he would show up on my doorstep with his hand outstretched saying '”we gotta go”.

I would ask him things like “but what if I marry someone else? What if you marry someone else? What if you show up on my doorstep and I’m pregnant with someone else’s child?” And he’d tell me that he would stand there with his hand outstretched until I came with him. No matter what. And so I believed him.

Needless to say, time passed and “doing our own thing” led to huge problems between us. Our separation turned into a breakup that took about three years to complete. And when it was over there was nothing left but the love. We weren’t friends anymore. There was no closure - we never talked about what went wrong. He never talked about showing up on my doorstep one day and I stopped expecting him to.

More time passed and I dated other people. Loved another person. It took about 5 years but eventually I was able to picture myself marrying someone else without feeling like I was betraying him. I was over it, I thought.  Until he died.

The afternoon I found out I could not stop crying. I thought there was something physically wrong with me and I called my mother half-terrified that something had permanently shifted in my brain and I would never, ever stop crying. She said to me “now you’re going to have to really get over him.”

My mother – if she lives to be 112 years old – will never be more right than she was with that statement. I thought I was over it but what I was really doing was burying my feelings. I thought I had accepted that we would never be together but what I was really doing was biding my time, waiting for that knock on the door. And when I found out he was dead I was crying as much for the fact that I would never know if that knock was coming as for the actual tragedy of his death.

It’s been three years now and if you come into my home you will see more pictures of him than of anyone else in here. I know they should come down at some point and I know that I will probably never take them down. I resist everything that I see as a threat to his memory, even as my mind gently pulls me away from it. Earlier this month the anniversary of his death passed without me noticing it.  The horror of realizing that I am no longer fixating on it – and him – sent me into a tailspin of tears and self-recrimination. And that was an unconscious step forward from my past….what would a concerted effort to move on do to me? This isn’t just moving past a relationship that was meaningful; this is exorcising someone who is part of the fabric of who I am. Someone I was in love with when I became myself. I don’t know how to get rid of that and leave myself intact.

If I were reading this story about someone else I would have two things to say about it. First – that this person is caught up in the tragic romance of it – two star-crossed lovers separated by tragedy. It’s so poetic and beautiful…it’s like starring in your very own romance novel. And second – this woman is using her dead first love as an excuse not to try again. And both of those things are true. They’re part of the reason but not the whole reason.

The rest of the reason is who he was and what we had. He is the only person who ever made me feel that he loved me just for me. Not for what I did for him or how I made him feel or what I looked like, just who I was. Nothing I’ve ever had with anyone – friend, lover, whatever – has ever come close to that. And I fell in love with him at an age when I didn’t know what a broken heart felt like. I didn’t know about the horrible things that people can do to the people they love. I didn’t know that finding love is the easy part, that staying in love is the hard part. And honestly if I had known all of that back then I might not have bothered.

Why can’t I get over my first love? I don’t see the point in it really.  Even with everything I’ve learned about love and relationships, even with all the effort I’ve put in to make relationships work, I’ve never had anything like what I had so effortlessly with him. So it doesn’t seem worth the bother. I’m content with the memory of something amazing, coupled with the sheer comedy of my life as the perpetually single gal. It doesn’t seem like much but it’s enough for now.

So what about you guys? Do you have big loves that you can’t get over? Do you let them stand in the way of falling in love again? Can anyone see where I”m coming from? Give me your take in the comments.

Throwback Tuesday - One is the Onliest Number

For most of my adult life I've been a one-woman show. And notwithstanding my auntie's prayers for a husband for me and my mum's assurances that "my time will come", I'm okay with it. Let's face it, I’m way too weird and way too solitary to really flourish in a long-term relationship.

I’ve really never bemoaned walking through life alone, but lately I’ve caught myself wondering if I should have married young.  Then again, the catalyst for these musings is always either some calamity that I don’t want to deal with or something heavy that I don’t want to lift, so I don’t think I have a crisis on my hands just yet.

It does make me wonder though whether I'll ever be willing to give up the sublime joy of living alone and let a (gasp!) boy move in here. Right now the idea holds just about zero appeal, but I’m still young(ish) and hot and running the streets every chance I get. Having a man to tend to will just slow me down! Ten years from now it might be a different story.

So in order to prepare myself for the possibility of co-habiting again, I’ve been giving some thought to the possible benefits of having a live-in man at casa max. This is what I’ve come up with so far:

1. He could take out the garbage.

2. He could investigate when I hear loud noises in the middle of the night.

3. He could lift heavy things.

4. He could nag me to do the things I am too lazy to do such as take my vitamins.

5. He could help me figure out which shoes to wear with my outfits.

Hmm that's all I can think of. That's sad.

Oh wait!

6. He could untangle the knots that I always get in my necklaces.

Oh good lord that's all I can come up with.  But I did come up with a few cons of having a man around. Let's take a look, shall we?

1. He will complain about the number of toiletries I have strewn all over the place.

2. He will complain about the number of shoes I have strewn all over the place.

3. He will talk to me when I am reading.

4. More laundry to do because I do not trust men to wash clothes for me. (Oh but I just thought of a pro! He could iron for me!)

5. He will snore. And while I don't really mind snoring so much, given a choice I'd prefer not to listen to it.

6. He will turn the television up too loudly. I know he will.

7. Although he could take out the garbage, in actuality he wouldn't and that would irritate me.

8. He will want to keep his clothes in my closets after I've finally gotten them arranged the way I want them

So yeah, all things considered it doesn't seem like having a man around wouldn't accomplish the same thing as hiring a handyman and a housekeeper. And I would have a lot more closet space.

Am i missing something? Enlighten me please!

What I Won't Do for a Date

Have you nominated me and my blogging buddies for the Black Weblog Awards yet? You can get all the details and sh*t over here.

When I called my daddy to wish him a happy father's day, I ended up getting sucked into the vortex that is a phone call with my mother. My mum (the one exception to my phone rules because it is more painful to get in trouble for not talking to her than it is to actually talk to her) has an uncanny ability to either enrage, infantilize, or reduce me inside of five minutes when I get her on the phone. Virtually every topic we might discuss can be turned into a way to make me feel dry. Her latest topic: why I don't date more often.

I patiently explained that I rarely meet men and that when I do they usually don't ask me out. Ever helpful, she began suggesting 9,999 things I could do to increase the number of dates I go on. All of her suggestions were unacceptable for various reasons, but the following four really stood out as things that I just will not do for a date. Right now, anyway. But ask me again after I turn 35 in a couple of months.

So here we are: What I Won't Do for a Date

1. Online Dating

Whenever I think of being on E-Harmony, Lavalife or Plenty of Fish, my skin starts to crawl. It just reeks of thirst to me. Now I don't mean for that to be a diss against anyone who does participate in online dating, and lord knows enough people find love that way these days, but for me it just seems so sad. Plus I've been following a certain blogger's chronicles about her experiences on POF and they make me just want to stab myself in the eye. Maybe I could have done this when I was younger and felt more compelled to find "the one" but now? Nah sir! I'd sooner stay single for the rest of my life.

2. Broaden My Horizons

This is a big one. The fact that I get this advice from people other than my mum gives it a little more credence, but it's still highly unappealing. I like what I like. And even though I've had a very poor rate of return on getting involved with the men I like, the idea of going outside my normal extended social circle in the hopes of finding some previously undiscovered gem just does not interest me.

3. Ask to be fixed up

Three reasons why I would never do this:

i. After online dating, this seems like the thirstiest thing in the world to me. To me there's just something so distasteful about asking someone to help me find someone to bone love. I know that's just pride and pride goes before the fall and all that but yeah no.

ii. Asking to be set up disturbs the natural order of things. I don't like to orchestrate too much in my life, I prefer things to happen magically organically. Asking for a setup is the opposite of organic.

iii. I do not trust my friends to set me up. I'm sorry, but I just don't.


3. Date outside my race

You guys are well aware by now that I don't do this right? I tried it twice and it's not for me. At all. Yuck! No judgment at all of those who do, but it's just not for me.


4. Ask a man out

No matter how many times people try to convince me that this is okay, no matter how many times I'm momentarily convinced that they are right and I am wrong, I just can't do this. I just cannot. Actually no that's not true, it's not that I can't - I will not. I don't believe it's my job, it goes against everything that I believe in, and it's for homely girls and I believe with all my heart that it permanently tips the balance of power in the man's favour. We can't have that can we?

Now I know you guys are just dying to school me on how wrong I am for having these standards and how I will die alone if I don't compromise, so please do so in the comments. And if you have any things you will not do for a date, please share them so I don't feel so alone.

And don't forget the nominations for the Black Weblog Awards! Easy instructions are right here.

Bi? Curious?

Have you nominated me and my blogging buddies for the Black Weblog Awards yet? You can get all the details and sh*t over here.

One of my very best friends in the world is a man to whom I'd been introduced about 15 times before he remembered who I was...and that was only because after the 15th "nice to meet you" I screamed "you've already met me 15 times!". My outburst would have resulted in him branding me as a psycho and shunning me for life had we not had the following exchange later that night:

Him: What do you think of that girl?
Max: She's kinda hot
Him: But would you eat her pu$$y? (my friends are effing pigs)
Max: Her pu$$y? Probably not.
Him: Would you eat any girl's pu$$y??
Max: Of course!
Him: OH MY GOD I F*CKING LOVE YOU!

And that was it. Friends forever.

Now if you read my blog with any kind of regularity, you know how much I love the pipe. I am a Deaconess in the church of the one-eyed snake, the high priestess of coitus. You know this. And ordinarily when I love something so I allow no distractions to take away from my devotion so it would stand to reason if I were completely sexually disinterested in women. And yet....I'm so not.

I'm not one to make New Year's resolutions, but every January 1 for the last three years I have vowed that this would be the year I would get it on with a girl. I haven't done it yet and to tell the truth I'm a little afraid of what will happen when I do.

Let me tell you a little story about myself. I have been a devoted tea drinker for my entire adult life. I love tea, it soothes my soul, I've never had a complaint about it. I went 15 years without drinking coffee and never wondered what life would be like on the other side of the coffee-tea continuum. Until three Fridays ago. On a break from work I went to Timothy's and happened to catch a whiff of coffee. Some vaps hit me and I decided to buy a cup. It was delicious. And with that one cup I went from being a tea drinker for life to a coffee junkie.

This worries me. Right now I'm a straight girl who takes frequent glances and pretty girls with nice asses. But if I break the seal, I don't know what will happen...will I realize that all this time I thought I was bi-curious I was really just bi?

The other day during a slow period at work I decided to take an online quiz to see where I was on the straight-gay spectrum. And because Fridays are over-sharing, here is my result:




According to the quiz, I am "[p]redominantly heterosexual, but more than incidentally. You could be straighter. You're like a rubber eraser - you might look solid but you are a bit more flexible than average. You have a leaning towards members of the opposite sex but generally you love people across the board".

I don't know if this supports or negates my fear of the coochie, but it doesn't nothing to quell my fear that a day trip to girl-on-girl land might turn into permanent residency. So I think I might put a pin in it for now.

What do you guys think? Are you a little bicurious yourself? This is for the ladies of course. Men - I can't see you admitting to bicuriosity so why don't you just encourage me to get with a girl since I know that's what you're gonna do anyway.

And don't forget the nominations for the Black Weblog Awards! Easy instructions are right here.

Max in Real Life - I Hate the Phone!

Have you nominated me and my blogging buddies for the Black Weblog Awards yet? You can get all the details and sh*t over here.

If you judged me solely on the content of this blog, you would think that I live an interesting and sometimes dramatic life filled with bad boys and good sex. The reality however, is slightly less exciting. Yes I do have a little less than my fair share of good sex with inappropriate dudes, but in general my life is comprised of 7:00pm bedtimes, Cheerios eaten in bed, and book-buying sprees at my neighbourhood Goodwill. Without tarnishing your image of me as a wanton sex goddess too greatly, I thought I'd start a new Thursday series - Max in Real Life - where I talk about anything other than men, sex, and dating.

Today I want to talk about the phone. I love my phone, but I hate talking on the phone even more than I hate 5:45am workouts. I hate it more than girls who cry after sex, more than busy dudes, I even hate it more than panty meats. And you know how much I hate a panty meat.

Unfortunately, I have been blessed with a group of friends who - despite being otherwise superior human beings - effing love the phone. Their penchant for wiling away hours on the phone coupled with my puss-puss inability to extricate myself from said idle chit chat creates a big problem.

At first I sucked it up and stayed on the phone for as long as the conversations lasted. But then I would look at the time and see that 1, 2, 3 hours had gone by and heave a huge sigh. With a burning cheek and ear I would look over at my unread book, my unwritten blog post, my unfolded laundry, and bemoan the phone vortex that sucked away all my time and energy.

Then I implemented a unilateral no-phone-answering policy. Calls from known time-suckers were summarily ignored. If I had the idea that they might have been calling for a real reason, I would text or BBM asking what was up. This was met by all manner of rude and ignorant responses and that mission was quickly aborted as well.

I resumed accepting all phone calls on good faith that my friends would respect my feelings about the phone and not call me just so I could listen to them breathe as they watched tv, read emails, or talk to other people in the room. That went okay for a while but a recent 3-hour long call with a girlfriend (who then had the audacity to call me back twice more that night) showed me that the situation was becoming out of control. A few weeks later I was on the phone while doing my post-workout stretching and realized that this is a crisis…

Now before I continue, let me explain to my phone-loving readers why I hate talking on the phone so much. For one thing, it’s a time-sucker. I’ll get on the phone thinking it’s going to just be a quick chat and next thing I know the whole afternoon has passed and I’ve accomplished nothing.

Second, phone conversations don’t really lend themselves well to multi-tasking. I’ve tried eating while on the phone, masturbating while on the phone, reading while on the phone, and watching TV while on the phone and none of those activities are anywhere near as pleasurable as they are on their own.

Third, it feels like jail to me. I’m sorry, but it just does. When I’m on the phone for more than 10 minutes, I feel trapped, caged in, imprisoned. No matter whom I’m talking to, no matter what I’m talking about, at least 25% of my brain is wondering how the fuck I can get off this call without hurting anyone’s feelings.

I hate talking on the phone.

The other day I announced on Twitter that I was implementing a “no-phone calls after 7:00pm” policy. I think this is a fair compromise – if you have something to say to me you have the hours of 5:00am – 7:00pm in which to do so. My twitterfriends who don’t have my phone number applauded this rule, while my real-life friends called it rude and dumb. Rude and dumb it may be, but last night, each time my phone rang after 7:00pm and I pressed that beautiful button that silences the ringer, I smiled.

What about you guys? Does anyone feel me on this or am I getting a collective side-eye right now? Tell me how you feel about the phone.


And don't forget the nominations for the Black Weblog Awards! Easy instructions are right here.

I Wanna Little Sugar in my Bowl

If you've read this blog even once before then you know I'm a pretty forthright person. Despite that, I tend to keep the more um, intimate details of my life out of my blog. But at the risk of over-sharing, I have a confession for you all today: 

My sugar bowl is empty.

Sidebar: If you're not a Nina Simone fan and/or have never seen Point of No Return you might want to go over here now and get caught up. I'll wait for you to come back.

Okay so back to my sugar bowl. It's empty. Depleted. Devoid of even so much as one grain of sweetness. And I'm starting to get real salty because of it.  As anyone who knows me in real life can attest, when I run out of sugar I get cranky and obsessed. It's pretty much all I can think about and all I want to talk about. It bores me so I know it must be stultifying for my friends but I figure if I'm suffering, I'm taking everyone I know down with me.

But despite my ire, I recognize that a dearth of sugar is one of the by-products of the single life. When you choose not to sign on with any one sugar distributor, it stands to reason that you will occasionally have to endure gaps between shipments. But what's a gal to do when her sweet-tooth is calling and there's no sugar in the bowl?

Now before my various inboxes become flooded with offers, let me qualify something here. I'm out of sugar but I'm not looking for the generic stuff. I live across the street from No-Frills, I could run across and pick up a box of No Name brand for 89 cents and be on my way. But no - when my wet thumb has picked up every last granule from the bottom of the bowl I'm looking for premium sugar. The kind that has an ICUMSA number below 50. You know, top of the line shit. And I want my own sugar, not a cup borrowed from a neighbour or stolen from a coffee shop. And I want it to be sweet as possible, not the cheapo stuff that's almost sour.

So again, what's a girl to do? A quick Google search came up short, so as usual I took it to the streets. I wanted to know what other people do when they've squeezed the last drop of juice out of their last piece of sugar cane. It seems the most common way to deal with a sugar-famine is to sublimate: you eat it, drink it, or work it out.  The first two definitely don't work for me; stuffing alternate orifices seems to only remind me that my most important one is agonizingly vacant. Working out is a mild form of torture in my mind so I doubt that would work for me either. A lot of people also recommended um, banging it out myself but I fear I'm past the point where that would be helpful. As I told my bestie the other night (and here is where we part ways with the euphemism), masturbating when you're horny is like eating a chocolate rice cake when you're craving brownies. Yeah you got chocolate and your belly is full but it's just not the same.

So I ask you, dear readers, what do you do when your well has run dry? Are any of the suggestions I was given worth a go, or do you have a tried and tested trick I'm not yet aware of? Does everyone get stabby when they run out of sugar or do I have some kind of problem? Educate me - or commiserate with me - in the comments.

A little fun on a Monday: My Market Value

UPDATE: I don't know what I was smoking when I posted this, but I've updated it so that the link to the test actually goes to the test. My score is posted in the comments.

This past weekend I was searching for inspiration and came across this "Dating Market Value Test" on Citizen Renegade. There's one for women and one for men and the number of points you get determines your value on the dating market. I think you should all take this test and tell me your score in the comments but in the meantime, take a look at the possible outcomes and guess which one I am?

-83:  You are proof that God does not exist, but that Satan does.

-82 to -56:  You’re an omega.  If it makes you feel better you will have your choice of male omegas to bang.

-55 to -40:  The majority of men are disgusted by the sight of you.  Your kind will suffer most when our sexbot overlords arrive.  Losers hit on you constantly figuring they have a chance.

-39 to -20:  You were born to cockblock.  But you’ll manage to marry a table scrap.

-19 to -5:  Lesser beta.  The men you want make fun of you out of earshot.  You spend many years learning how to settle for mediocre betas.

-4 to 14:  Classic beta.  Your hot friends always gets hit on first, but if you really tramp it up you can snag a slightly better than average guy to take you home for a single night of commitment.

15 to 29:  Greater beta.  More than a few attractive guys will approach you.  But if your personality is flawed you risk becoming a pump and dump victim.

30 to 43:  You are officially a nascent alpha female.  A lot of quality guys will hit on you and you will be able to pick and choose at your leisure.  But don’t push it.  You’re not quite hot enough to string guys along forever.

44 to 55:  You’re a bona fide hottie.  Nearly every guy who meets you agrees you are a hottie.  So does every girl.  This puts you in the top 1% of worldwide womanhood.  With great power comes great responsibility, so try to limit the number of men you torture with blueballs and LJFB rejections to fewer than 100 in your social circle.  As long as you are not a complete bitch, marriage with a top quality man will come easily to you.

56 to 63:  Guys want you, girls want to be you.  You are just short of perfection, which paradoxically means you will get hit on more than the super alpha females.  You are a player’s greatest challenge, and his greatest reward, because unlike the perfect woman there is still something human about you.  Sex, love, security, commitment, easy living… you have it all.  Only your demons can defeat you.

64:  Super Alpha.  The world is yours.  Life is an endless parade of joy and excitement.  Your power is illimitable… for now.

I'll post the correct answer tonight. Whoever guesses right wins the Hands-Down Favourite Commenter of All Time prize.

The Crush Not Taken

In general, I’m a pretty happy person. No matter what’s going on in my life, I’m usually able to put a smile on my face and joke around as if I don’t have a care in the world. I’m one of those nervous-stomach types who gets sick whenever I get upset, so when bad things happen -  arguments, breakups, the Raptors lose – I don’t let them get me down.
But there is one thing sure to send me into the doldrums and that is when a crush must be prematurely or abruptly abandoned.
This has happened to me a lot and the reasons vary; sometimes I discover that the guy is a dickhead. Or he gets married or otherwise committed. Or he moves away. Or he turns out to be a cat-lover. Whatever the reason, having to drop the pebble of hope I’m carrying that my crush will one day wake up and see how perfectly suitable we are always sends me into a tizz.
See the thing is, I’m a big daydreamer. And when I have a crush on someone I’ve usually created my perfect fantasy of when and how he is going to fall in love with me. What he’ll say, what I’ll be wearing, our first fight, all that shit. I spend a lot of good, quality time (that could be put to much more productive use I’m sure) making sure every detail is suitably realistic and dazzling. So when I have to give it all up before it has a chance to come to fruition I feel as though my life’s work has gone to waste.
And call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure I’m not the only girl who has trouble giving up on a crush.
Why is it that we are more easily able to deal with the ending of an actual real-life relationship than we are to give up on a fantasy? To be honest, I blame the media. There are craploads of magazine articles and books out there to help a woman get over the end of a relationship. There are do’s and don’ts for it. But if you have to give up on a crush you get nothing. This is why I’m walking around with all these semi-abandoned crushes on wildly unsuitable men so I’m forever gasping in excitement when I see someone before I remember that he’s been crossed off the list.
I’m going to write a guide for women to help them get over unworkable crushes. I’ll make an effing killing and you guys can say you knew me when.

I Just Wanna Get to Know You

I'm a curious person. The kinda person who knows a little bit about a lot of things and wants to know something about everything. The kind of person who can easily spend two hours on wikipedia clicking on link after link learning about everything from Basquiat to escovitch. So it stands to reason that, as I'm going along living my fabulous life, I encounter someone about whom I'd like to know a lot more. Now when this person is a woman it's easy - all I really have to do is talk to her about shoes find a common ground and we're fast friends. But when the person is a man it can be a little...problematic.


See the only way to get to know someone is to stalk get close to them...pay attention to them, ask questions, suggest outings, stuff like that. And through the shared interests and experiences you will, if you're lucky, forge a friendship. Or get bored - if the person doesn't live up to your expecations. But when you're a single woman trying to get to know a single man, nine times of our ten he's gonna think you're trying fuck date him; and your assurances that you're interest is purely platonic will likely be met with a big old side-eye.


So what's a curious gal to do? My fab friend Jem says I need to stop lying to myself and that my so-called desire to get to know a dude is nothing more than a hard-on wrapped up in lofty talk. But I don't accept that.


To me, wanting to get to know someone I'm attracted to is a crush. Wanting to get to know someone who doesn't give me that 'funny feeling' is just...wanting to get to know him.


So what's the right way to do that? Educate me people.

max about town: sex, relationships, and sometimes love

Last week my girl Jem and I attended the media launch of Sex, Relationships, and Sometimes Love, a GLAAD- nominated Off-Broadway hit running in Toronto until November 9.  It's not a play so much as a series of monologues about love, relationships, and sex. Some of them are funny, some of them are sad and everyone will probably find at least one or two they can relate to.  


If you're looking for something different to do in the city you might want to check it out. Check out their website for showtimes and ticket information.


If you see it, let me know what you think.

the one that got away

My twitterbuddy Darling Nicky asked this question in her ladies quiz a couple of weeks ago:

Do you feel at this stage in your life, that you've already met the love of your life (even if not together)?

This was a no-brainer for me (if you've been paying attention, you should know the answer) but it did get my wheels turning...which led me to the notion of 'the one that got away'. Not in the traditional sense of the person that you met, fell for, and planned to have a future with until some bullshit went down for whatever reason you didn't end up together. No, today I'm thinking of the one that got away 2.0 - aka the man that got the better of me.

Let me just stop to fill you in on a fundamental fact of my life - I am slick. I am sooooo slick. I actually scare myself sometimes when I think about what an effing evil genius Ii am. When I turn my evil powers on, I have an uncanny ability to bend people to my will while they're walking around believing that what they do is their own idea. This is a great skill to have, but it does mean that I can get bored really quickly if I can work a man too easily. Which I almost always can.

Back to the one that got away. I was chatting with a friend a while back about a pebble I recently dropped (that's code for a crush i gave up on). This dude was the best thing I've come across in a while, smart and literate, masculine and well-dressed, funny and charming. And he had the nerve to be dark-skinned on top of everything else, the bastard. But after over a year of not-so-subtly sweating his ass, I had to let the crush go because it just wasn't fun anymore. Or at least that's what I thought the reason was; until my girl pissed on my parade englightened me by pointing out that this dude had out-played me.

Ii felt like Marcus Graham in when Jacqueline tells him he's getting too caught up. Just - destroyed. How can anyone beat me?

But looking back over that saga, I realized that there has never been a single moment in which I had the upper hand over this dude. No matter what slick move I made, he anticipated and countered it with a level of slickness I can't even comprehend. His game was so good that I didn't even know he was playing - and please believe me I'm a veteran (hi steve!) game-spotter.

Now the old stupid max would be so turned on by the realization of how slick this dude really is that she would immediately resurrect her crush. Max 2.0 knows the definition of insanity and is not gonna waste any more of her time. So i'll remain over my crush but this man will always hold a piece of my heart as the first - and hopefully only - man ever to out-slick me.