Oliver speaks! “Give me f’cking more!”

oliver-twist
More Sir. I may look poor but I’m bad-ass.

Over the last few years I have declared on numerous occasions how I have bore an uncanny, metaphorical resemblance to a modern-day, pure-hearted ‘Oliver Twist’ (only with furniture and diamonds). As generally during the holidays I usually found myself alone, broke, and ‘surgelato’ in my cold, damp, heat-less Italian digs, making my own traditional holiday curries with my coveted supply of ‘Asian Home Gourmet’ curry sauce, (you really can’t fail with AHG), wearing fake fuchsia Crocks over thick ragged wool socks, wrapped in a horrid pink and grossly pilled acrylic-blend cardigan, while intermittently rotating in front of a propane heater like a rotisserie chicken. On the occasions I did receive invites, I was forced do decline as apparently every resident in Italy (except me) had access to a vehicle or family with a vehicle, thus no need for public transit to function on holidays in order to cater to us insignificant, wayward expats that may have had dinner invites. (Jerks.)

This year (I suspect) will fare slightly different as I will become less of the beloved yet unfortunate broke-ass Oliver asking for ‘more,’ due to a monetary bonus being transferred to my bank account in the near future (no more scouring inside pockets!). Plus I will have indoor heating, and effortless access to epic, traditional holiday spreads NOT prepared by yours truly.

xholidaydinr

“Please sir I definitely want some f’cking more.”
Bring it the hell on!

However despite the possibility to exercise excessive gluttony via filling one’s face, on off-time there always remains the mentally hazardous, mind-numbing boredom in this particular ‘winter wonderland shit-hole,’ where I currently reside – complete with dismal downtown core and a seemingly endless strip-mall hell.

P06-12-12_21.32

In all logic, what’s a single girl to do?

Recently and without warning, my  Walter Mitty tendencies aka. ‘survival mode,’ kicked in with a vengeance and has been working round the clock ever since I arrived. Indeed a blessing in disguise, forsaking me without a horrid anthem such as ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ jammed in my cranium, only to be imbedded with something more fabulous and fitting to inspire me all year round to promote love, creativity, commerce and future spending…

Along with fantasies of  fabulous weekend-long holiday soirées with most precious of friends and  in held my 8 bedroom Victorian Estate (actually 10 bedrooms if you were to count the attached cottage on the property) – which of course comes with equestrian facilities, beautiful gardens for my English Setters to frolic, and especially for me: A closet of silk kimonos, several Diane Von Furstenburg wrap-dresses and vintage Halston…

What would a proper soirée be without…
My own dashing, charming co-host and partner in crime,
The finest fare prepared by an on-site chef,
The richest most delectable cakes and free-flowing champagne, 
Luxe holiday stocking stuffers for my lovely guests,
And non-stop laughter echoing throughout the halls…

Cristal anyone?

But alas, until then (the arrival of such fantasized mass riches)
First thing’s first..

pack sc

Commencing New Year’s Eve an 8-day mini-break to a big metropolitan city!…
Hey wait! Make that 2!
My old hood Toronto, and wonderful Montreal – Here I come!

I can't skate, but who the f'ck cares? It's Montreal!

I can’t skate, but who gives a crap? It’s Montreal!

Sure, it’s not a fab n’ lux weekend at an 8 bedroom Victorian estate… 
But a girl’s gotta start somewhere.

martinis

Line ’em up, baby.
Oliver wants more.

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About Cakes McCain

Aka. 'Oliver Twist with Furniture and Diamonds' Ex-pat, lunatic, survivor - A Bridget Jones/Shirley Valentine hybrid, epically flawed, neurotic literary ‘dirty apple’ with a penchant for broad shoulders, epic orgasms, & lazy Sunday mornings eating cake in bed. Almost always broken-hearted, forever analysing everything to a bloody pulp and eternally obessing over 'Pasta for One - The Manuscript' a chick-lit memoir about living single in fabulous Italy, while trying not to throw yourself in front of a speeding bus.
This entry was posted in boredom, cake, depression, desserts, Eating, food, friendship, holiday baking, humour, Italy, Italy living, Life in Italy, Living in Italy, losers, materialism, positive thinking, self examination, self help, single girl, social misfit, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Oliver speaks! “Give me f’cking more!”

  1. I say this Christmas you live it up. You eat all the things, be warm… buy not crocs! And most of all be merry because you deserve it! (And avoid radio stations that are 24/7 Christmas, that is too perky even for me.)

  2. MJ says:

    Old estates are cold in the winter anyway and Setters are notoriously a dumb breed. Go to the city and have a fab time!!!! xo

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