20171022_131643.jpg

Hello My Name is Rugged Fox

I am a 30-something bachelor living in Vancouver, BC, Canada. Pour yourself a glass of wine and join me on this tale of questionable fashion choices and epic dating fails.

Rugged's Revenge

It has been almost a full month since the last time I posted and I know the pressing question on all five of your minds: where is Rugged Fox? Well, since the beginning of July I have been drinking too much in order to gather material for the site. (I still cannot wait for the day when I can write-off my tab as research!) Maintaining a steady diet of beer, vodka coolers and double-gins, I have been away from the keyboard in order to get right in the centre of trouble. And just to prove to you this time has not gone to waste, since the last time we spoke I have:

  1. Touched not one, but two Chippendale’s dancers.
  2. Been kissed by the only gay in Langley.
  3. Bought a new pair of “I’m trying to be Tom Ford” glasses.
  4. Tried to seduce the groom at my best friend’s wedding.
  5. Tried to seduce a groomsman at my best friend’s wedding.
  6. Listened to Katie Perry’s “California Gurls” sixteen-thousand times on the radio.
  7. and Stared a little bit too long at a number of delicious straight boys on the beach.

Now that I am back inside long enough to detox with a cup of black coffee, I have no clue where to begin – and so I will skip numbers 1 – 3 and jump right to #4.

A couple of weeks ago I returned home to Winnipeg to attend a best friend’s wedding. After being home for ten minutes, it seemed I got out of there just at the right time last year; because every prairie person I am friends with is now engaged and/or expecting. With wedding dates set into the year 2012, accompanied by the rising costs of plane tickets, presentation gifts and tuxedo rentals; it is clear these heterosexual friendships of mine are going to send me straight into bankruptcy. That said, so long as there is an open bar and I still have liver function, I am content I can get my moneys worth.

The Groom for this particular ceremony, whose name I will say is Jack, has been one of my best friend’s since the day I started high school. I can still remember vividly, the first day we met eleven years ago at grade nine orientation. After all the school-tours and “meet the priest” sessions were done, all of us good Catholic boys were sent outside to the field to play a friendly game of soccer. Divided into shirts and skins, the second Jack revealed his tanned six-pack I knew we were going to be friends for life.

With biceps to kill and a boy next-door smile, the day he announced that he was going to be married to a girl just as, if not more gorgeous than he, there was no doubt in my mind I was going to have to break up the wedding. And so, as soon as our conversation was over, I hung up the phone, searched for seat sales on West Jet, and called my best friend Lady J in Toronto to inform her she had just been cast in a starring role in "My Best Friend's Wedding 2: Rupert's Revenge."

Two years later, also known as last Monday, I touched down in a wheat field knowing full well I was not going to have much time to break-up a wedding and close down every bar in the city each night. It was imperative that I used every waking moment to my advantage, and so with that in mind, I ordered a mimosa at the airport and started drinking earlier. My objective to seduce Jack was simple enough but what I did not account for on the mission - was all the good-looking male distractions.

Oscar Wilde you bitch this is a picture of me plotting in my new specs.On the first night all the guys met, I lost complete sight of my target when one of the groomsmen walked by. Danger Will Robinson, Danger. (PS. Italicized words extremely hilarious if you repeat them back to yourself out loud in a gay voice.) Like the Groom, he was everything I was attracted to in a man: unavailable and straight. For the next three full days I got happily side-tracked from the mission at hand.

The pressure mounting and time waning, when it was finally time to get fitted for my tuxedo and I had still not managed to seduce Jack, I had a complete meltdown. With Lady J by my side, I went TB (total bitch) on the formal-wears lady once she denied my third request to have the pants, jacket, vest and shirt taken in once more. In my most calm voice, I tried to explain to her that so long as I could still breathe, the tuxedo did not fit properly. Unlike the bridesmaids who had low-cut dresses and cleavage to their advantage, I on the other side of the party, had to rely on the tight fit of my pants if I was ever going to make a man make love to me. Dragging me kicking, screaming and chain-smoking out of the penguin palace close to an hour later, I do not know how she did it, but somehow Lady J got me out of a potential restraining order and in front of a glass of a red wine.

Fourteen “I object” texts sent to the groom later, it was the night before the wedding and I had received a private invitation to sleepover at the Groom's place. Instilling every doubt about marriage in his mind, I became somewhat dismayed when Jack resisted my multiple attempts to pour him another drink. When it finally came time to hit the sack, I promptly showed myself to his bedroom before he promptly turned me around and escorted me back to the couch in his living room. Slightly heartbroken and completely inebriated, I slapped the mosquito on my leg, pulled a blanket up over my tearful eyes, and repeated the words made famous by a one Ms. Sara Brightman: it is time to say goodbye.

The next day, the wedding went off without a hitch and no relationships were destroyed. Still filled with residual sabotage, for a moment I debated taking down the two adorable-twin-four-year-old flower girls, but then stepped back when they started to make-out half-way through the Church ceremony. I was like “damn girls, I cannot compete with that.”

Later that night at the wedding reception, the head table was unfortunately not what I thought it was going to be; but that was ok, because at every moment there was a server over my shoulder making sure my glass of red wine never went empty.

Looking over from my seat (which just happened to be farthest away from the groom), I remarked “damn” upon how beautiful the newly-wed couple was together. Sometimes you have not-so-good-looking weddings (as we all know ladies there are some things a white dress simply cannot fix) and sometimes you have good-looking weddings; but this one – this one was a really, really good looking wedding: like a “where can I pre-order the sex-tape?" type wedding.

Even though by the end of the night I had proved myself a complete failure, I still had Lady J by my side and that was all that mattered. That and the open bar.

The Emasculation of Rugged Fox

Attention: Smalltown Boys Moving West

0