018 Biff Retch

His Icebreaker: “I'm alright."

You've seen him. He is usually down on all fours. His breath smells of  beer vomit residue and semi-digested pretzels that have been marinated 
in stomach acids. 

You must have seen him, he is always sporting the latest in designer sweat stains and crusts of dried puke on his signature black teeshirt. A true pioneer, he was the first of his generation to physically inhale beer. 

The night ends when every surface on his body is smack against the pavement.

Approach him if you enjoy doing laundry.



 

016 Bill Mee

His Icebreaker: “I'll get it next time."

You sooooo know him. He's the guy who always forgets his wallet. He's always the last to reach for the bill. And without fail, always orders the filet mignon. Then, suggests you split the bill evenly.
That is, you pay all of it.


He is anatomically correct. Yet, his arms do not reach his pockets. Same difference. Particularily since the only thing you will find inside his pockets is lint.

He might have dated Beyonce over a decade ago. The one she sings about in Bills, Bills, Bills. Imagine being stuck with a triflin' good for nothing type.  
No worries, everything was placed to the left, to the left. Yes, everything he owned in the box to the left. Including the left over filet mignon from last night's date. ... In the closet, that's HER stuff.

Thank God Jay-Z came along.


Approach Bill Mee, if you are into the sugarmama thing.

Saturday Morning Delights

(absolutely delightful... until someone tried to ruin it.)

Great illustration found on the business card

 Enjoying a lovely cappuccino and mini-amandine with a lovely pal, while sitting at a lovely sidewalk terrace - chairs set-up Parisian style. A handsome man sits two tables to the left. He is enjoying a captivating news article.  My pal and I are soaking up the sun. Pleasant start to any day, right?

No doubt! That is until a less handsome man sitting one table to the left, drops his croissant on the ground...  In less then 56 seconds, he picks it up, shakes it off, AND... eats it!

I can only imagine the microscopic horrors that latched onto the bottom of his croissant. Anything ranging from pee residue of dogs that had sat at that very spot only moments before... to the gunk from someone's shoe. Not to mention the bits of pebbles that you expect to find on sidewalks.  It is called the 2 second rule, dear sir, NOT the 2 minute rule. Regardless,  I believe there are limits to the 2 second rule.

Dude, my pal and I would kindly pool together our money and give you two dollars to purchase a new croissant. Just ask.

What can I say, I guess he is passionate about the croissants. You can imagine how wonderful they are! The name of the spot: Boulangerie de Froment et de Sève (2355 rue Beaubien E. Montreal).

011 Juana Salsa

Her Icebreaker: “Wanna dance?”

You must know her. She flamencos, glides, sashays, slides, salsas, and twirls her way right through any room. All the while shouting “cuchi-cuchi” as she shakes her ta-ta’s in your face.

You know her kind, she says she has Spanish roots. Her great-grandfather’s dog’s breeder was from Barcelona. And her aunt’s best friend is from Madrid. So... you know, they must be related. The truth is, she was born in Fort Worth, Texas.

Juana you are not Charo. You can never be. Charo studied classical guitar. You studied classical Spanglish.

Approach her if you are bored.

005 Mariah Freezedriedz

Her Icebreaker: “How do I look? ...How about now?... and now?”

You’ve seen her. She poses relentlessly. She is one of those girls who ALWAYS thinks that she is on camera. When she finds her perfect cover girl pose, she can keep it for days. 

She is not fond of complicated movement. Walking is ok; running is a no-no; riding shotgun in any German- engineered ride is euphoric. She does not dance, simply because she can’t, and sex is tolerated.

You must have heard about her. She is one that commissioned a wax statue of herself from Madame Tussauds. That did not go well. Especially since, the wax artist was rushed to hospital for shock. He accidently tried to remove excess wax from the ear and nostril areas. He quickly discovered that he was no longer working on the wax figure, once blood started to pour out of her right ear. 

These are the sort of things that happen when your pulse beats at less than 20 beats per minute. Girl, MOVE!

She matches up well with necrophiliacs. Ask her out if you are into hybrid corpses.

004 Rex Conner

His Icebreaker: “I’ll call you.”

 You’ve seen him. He sports a soul patch. He believes it to be the least conspicuous spot on his body to hide weapons. You’ve heard of him. Rumour has it that he is the illegitimate son of Charles Ponzi. But this rumour is  questionable, seeing as I made it up... just now.

Of course, you are the one to befall upon the 1 out of 272 million sociopaths worldwide. Sheer luck! Given that the world’s population is 6,852,472,823. Obviously this is big. Especially since it is not the type of math that can be solved on just any random calculator.

He’s the guy who says, “I’ll call you”. But never does. Maybe it’s because he is back in jail. Maybe it’s because he has Machiavelli-ed* his ass out of here.

Approach him if you are interested in 25 to life. 

022 Duke Stalkwalker

His Icebreaker: “... What a coincidence."

You’ve seen him...
The guy who always gets there right before you do. Every time you turn around, he is just outside the limits outlined by the restraining order. You wonder if you are destined to be together. Maybe it is the universe’s way of telling you something. Then, it dawns on you. You’re crazy. There is no way in hell that the universe is that cruel. 

You know... he is the one who sprints off, at the first sign of a siren.

Don’t approach him. Ever.

013 Jenna Lopelosity

Her Icebreaker: “They tell me I look like Jennifer Lopez from behind.”

You know...She always talks to men while looking over her shoulder. At first you think you are observing the scene from the Exorcist where Linda Blair’s head goes 180. Then you realize, this girl is just trying to draw attention to her booty. Not sure what kind of damage is being inflicted on her spine. But, whatever.

You know her. She’s the The jLo wanna-be. Owns Glow, Deseo, and Live. At times, she will spritz all 3 on at once, so she can have her own signature scent.

Approach her if you look like P.Diddy or Ben Affleck. If you look like Mark Anthony, maybe you’re pushing your luck.

leelee’s leeeeeast wanted list

Compiled in the hopes that when you know better, you do better.

If even one person can be saved from dating any one of the following anthropological mishaps, then we stand a chance at weeding out the genetic pool of creepies.

Here are the first 25 (in no particular order):

001 The Itzallreal Sisters

002 J.P. Baller

003 Elaine-Jaine Crooked

004 Rex Conner

005 Mariah Freezedriedz

006 Chero Tutti

007 Maude Faasion

008 Guido Tutti

009 Emme Ivanity

010 Faak I. Dee

011 Juana Salsa

012 Mr. Goticoins

013 Jenna Lopelosity

014 Suave Brothers

015 Susie Makeway

016 Bill Mee

017 Thasa Amore

018 Biff Retch

019 Tally McVeal

020 Ian Scared

021 Ms Nahoop (aka Not a hair out of place)

022 Duke Stalkwalker:

023 Tanya Lynes

024 Mr. Technology

025 Sandi Gimmian

In upcoming posts, you'll get to meet each one in more detail!

the accountant [if you count to 10 one more time...]

it happened one year on jan08

8:10pm After weeks of online chatting, the Accountant and I finally meet up for dinner. So awkward. What the hell did I get myself into.

Not exactly sure what I think of him. He’s quite average. Average height, average shape, average voice, average style... average looking. And, VERY conservative. For all I know, he feels the exact same way about me, minus the conservative part. Definitely not a cartwheel moment. 

 It’s already 8:12. I do not want to be here anymore. 
  

My instinct tell me to call it a night. My conscience insists that it would not be gracious of me to do so. They fight it out, as I patiently wait for a verdict. My instinct presents a number of very valid and compelling points, including how it has saved me endless times from compromising situations such as speed traps, backstabbers and possible muggings. Her royal highness of cucumber sandwiches and hight tea, my conscience, insists that it would be wrong to leave so soon. At the very least, wait another 15 minutes. Fine. In that case, I will use this as a field experiment in flirting.

The waitress arrives. He orders for the both of us.

I decide to watch for body language cues. According to some experts, mirroring is the best indicator of interest. This evening, it is the least disingenuous way of observing his interest level without misleading him into thinking that I am interested. I catch some mirroring action. I also implement the pullback test. I’m perched ...leaning forward . As he starts to talk, I slowly lean back into my chair. He moves forward. But, this may be due to vanity. Maybe he is one of those guys who likes to be sought after. Findings so far... inconclusive, as well as irrelevant.

It’s 8:27pm. Too early to leave, especially since we haven’t even receive our meals yet.

I am not even listening to what the Accountant says. He’s so boring. Instead, I continue with my field experiment. Other signals of interest I’ve been told to watch for include: preening, straightening up, generally open facial features including raised eyebrows and dilated pupils.

His eyes get shiny and moist at times, but maybe this is because he just wants to cry. He constantly looks off to the right. And for the life of me, I cannot remember the size of his pupils - the ultimate telltale sign! He utters no compliments. No visible preening gestures. The lulls in the conversation are filled with awkward sips of water. He is secretive about where he works, where he lives.
 

All of this leads me to wonder where I can find the mirror he is staring into? The one that reflects a blessed disillusion of grandeur and ressemblance to George Clooney.

Reality check, you are average looking - and I am being nice! So, what is with all the secrets? Hey Accountant, please give me insight into which body language signals I may be sending you, that would have you believe that I will stalk you. Is it my bland eyes, my fake smile or the fact that I would not touch you with a 10ft pole? You must realize I am deleting your contact info as we wait for these damn sushi rolls to arrive.

Finally my 6 pieces of Spicy Tuna arrive! We spoke about ordering sake; he must have changed his mind. Would it be wrong to offer him a 20 dollar bill? Could be perceived as emasculating. What if he is short on cash? After all, Canada Savings Bonds are very expensive.

Oddly enough, this date lasts for three hours. Lucky for me, I do not remember anything that was discussed past 8:30.


Finally, we leave. WE LEAVE!!! Seeing as he walked 5 blocks to get to the resto, I kindly offer to drive him home. He opts to walk instead. Please do not mistaken my act of kindness for infatuation. I was there with you, dear. I experienced the same flood of nonsexual desire and blah chemistry. The blandness was a two-sided experience. Maybe it would have come across less intrusive, if I would have offered him $15 for cab fare? Who knows.

In true Montreal style, we kiss good night on the cheek. I lie and say it was fun. He says bye. Conscience, you owe me three hours of my life back. Instinct, I am so sorry I doubted you!

I walk to my car alone. No worries, I’ve got my instincts to ensure that no harm comes my way.

captain caaaaaavemaaaan!

it happened one year on sept24

10:11pm Out hoping to spot one of the New York Mets. No such luck. Instead a different set of strange events transpire. As I walk into the club, my animal magnetism radiating like wild fire, I instantly attract the drunkest, shortest, cowboy in the place. I am so irresistible that he believes it is his right to place his arm around me and give me the once in a lifetime opportunity to feel the wetness of his sweat-drenched teeshirt. I do manage to wriggle out of his slimy, slithery grip and politely brush him off while he continues to chat it up with my boobs.

It gets better. The original caveman walks in with his best friend Barney.


"This the sort of guy that directors, writers, and movie producers pray to meet."


Background info on the original caveman. What an attractive and sexy guy. Honestly. But, dumber than fungus. There does not exist a dumber, more inappropriate character. This the sort of guy that directors, writers, and movie producers pray to meet. The amalgam of "The Godfather’s" dimwit son Fredo, trapped in a young Marlon Brando’s body with a hothead Sonny attitude. A ticking time bomb of an intense Italian miniseries melodrama.

He has three cells in his head, and one is a phone.

Well, the Cave and I have had a weird social history together. It began one night in the year 1999, when I was sitting next to Eve at the bar downstairs a restaurant called Quelli Della Notte. Eve on my right and Caveman on my left. If it were not for Eve's memorable comment, I never would even have noticed him. "Check out the guy sitting next to you, he’s really cute. He used to be even hotter when he was younger, but he’s still pretty cute... Too bad, he is really stupid." She does not even finish her sentence and he involuntarily proves her to be right, making some dumb inappropriate sexual comment about the smell of fish in the restaurant.

Ladies, the signs are ALWAYS there. I just choose to ignore them.


"One inappropriate comment after another spew out of his mouth."


Fastforward back to 2003. A boring year for me. I spot him at another club, and decide he’d be fun to flirt with. After all, he is good looking and it’s not like I intend to marry him. Please, I would not even sleep with him, with his potential posse of worldly venereal diseases. All I am looking for is an evening where I can wear my red top for a Scarface style date at the casino. So I stare. He stares back. The night ends. This goes on for the next couple of months. Very progressive. Finally one night he asks if he can join us at our table. One inappropriate comment after another spew out of his mouth. Remember I'm bored. So I willingly unwillingly accept a date for the next night. He walks me to my car, kisses me good night on the cheek. Calls me twice to make sure that I got home safely. Maybe I was too quick to judge.

The next night I get stood up. No phone call, nothing. What a mistake. Weeks later, I hear a rumour that we made out. For a split second I am transported back to high school. Who the hell starts rumours about making out with someone at the age of thirtysomething.

He is never to be seen again until one fateful summer night. While sitting with some friends at a local cafe, Eve spots his fat head standing at the bar. Time to seize the moment. Walk over to him, confront him about the childish rumour. While he wears out the wood under his feet pacing back and forth, he surprisingly comes up with the most ludicrous excuses of unawareness, blame and denial. Whatever.

Fastforward to New Year’s Eve 2004. He’s at the same party as I. It a new year, I’m not in the mood to hold a grudge.So I send him a drink. I, the woman in the scenario, send him, the caveman a drink. He raises his glass in response. Walking backwards he moonwalks his way closer to me. All the while being guided by the skillful hands of his best Friend Barney.

He can go no further. He has reached an obstacle. My body. I’m not invisible.

Turns out he cannot walk right through me. As karma would have it, at the very moment he is standing on me, my friend Chris asks me to dance. The Caveman looks at Chris. Then he looks at me. Then looks at Chris again. Not liking what he has just witnessed, the Caveman crybaby leaves without saying a word to me. I’m serious.


"Apparently he was expecting a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader salute"


Fastforward to now. It seems that that’s his thing. Moonwalking to get someone’s attention. Although slightly altered, he pretty much approaches us in the same way. Stands around us, waiting for me to notice and acknowledge him. He literally positioned himself at every possible spot in the club, until he finally came to stand right in my view while hiding behind Barney. I look at him until he finally decides to pretend to see me. I wave before he can make his way over to kiss me hello. He does not respond well to the wave hello. Seems like I crushed his ego. Apparently he was expecting a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader salute. Well, I offer something better, the one finger salute. Fug you. It’s self-explanatory, I just could not be bothered.

Why the hell do I even attempt to socialize.

first impressions

If you take yourself too seriously, then you're not for me.

[Miss. Behaved, July 12, once upon a year]