Wanna know me? Don’t read my blog.

Ignorance is bliss. I’m fabulous, really.

Early this summer (2012) during my adventures in the fish pond I told 2 individual I wrote “articles.” “Articles” is the word I hide behind. I harbour no illusions on this front, as I know the minute I use the word “BLOG” I am in deep shit without hip waders, because anyone that I have already had a date with or is entertaining the idea of taking me out, or getting to know me better – is going to be looking to get the goods on me before his fingers even hit a keyboard.

This means trouble.

I was already busted by ‘Toscano’ aka. the Mad Genius, back in January 2012 after nailing his wishy-washy rear to the fire of the cross via my opinion over his skewered persona and questionable authenticity. It was written cross my blog’s gigham wallpaper for all in the blogsphere to see, and rightly so. I called it as I saw it: Esoteric Zeitgeist and I didn’t apologize. It was the truth according to me. He indirectly asked for it, and there was no doubt he set me up, then came looking for an excuse to bail. My guess is he was married or at least had a fiancée.

In June I had joked about my “articles” with ‘Italian Clark Kent’ who seemed to be more or less content for letting the whole issue rest. No worries now, as he has long vanished within the ‘I went a date/s with Cakes McCain Witness Protection Program,’ and hasn’t been seen or heard from since.

Where could he be?

However, this issue of ‘articles’ came up later with another individual a month later that I had met online and with whom shortly thereafter I met up with in person. Not so much for an ‘official date’ but just to meet, greet, hang out and chat. Let it be known I never said the ‘BLOG’ word – he did. (Damn, at least I think he did). In spite of that, somehow I inadvertently went along with it, and my little literary snowball dilemma grew and grew.

He’s curious… “I can find anything, I’m really good at that” he says. He’s sharp, so I don’t doubt it for a second.

Hey MM…
Are you sitting comfortably reading this?
Let me know the Google search criteria you entered.
btw… you inspired this one.

The honest-to-god truth is, my skeletons aren’t cowering n some 3×4 crawl space under the stairs, they are having a schmooze-fest in the metaphorical Pasta for One Lounge, smoking Monte Cristos, drinking single malts and designer brew while listening to the White Stripes.

The voice here in this forum is CAKES MCCAIN. Me? Yes. She is only one miniscule portion of the entire me, but far less watered down and highly concentrated. Forgive me if I start to sound like a fruit juice commercial.

With no further adieu, I give you the pre-view of Pasta For One.
Here in my Blog you can read about:

  • My germaphobic, moralistic holier-than-thou ‘Stalker-ex’ who told my male-friend that the Canadian police were after me for murder. And who also – while we were still together, and after our break-up (when he was calling me a “dirty whore”), had set-up online profiles on sexual encounter websites looking for women, couples, bi’s, anyone basically – to have sex with. OOPS! Beg your pardon, I haven’t blogged that one yet! Here’s his profile though! Enjoy!

My ex is a douche.

  • All the sublime and supremely crummy details I immortalized from my last relationship with “The Englishman.” The man (frozen cod) I actually thought I loved in my haze of false perception during his ‘faking’ of his real personality (until of course he crucified me over the last banana). And the Oscar goes to….
  • Then the other bits like my overall neurotic tendencies, my ‘Formula 1’ sex-drive (in reality I have very few partners), and my resilience – because despite the fact my heart is always going in the Moulinex, I still pick myself up, dust myself off and get back to business.

Then of course my other proverbial anvils of shame and epic regrets:

  • “The Virgin” with about a million Euros in assets, whom I pitied then became involved  in a moment of pure insanity. Then in the end all I got were several kilos of oranges, potting soil left in my bed, and that sinking feeling.
  • Roberto, a sexual tape-worm/perverted stalker-creep that drove a crappy blue fiat and with whom (against my better judgement), I had a brief encounter with in order to rejuvenate my mojo after my emotional train-wreck of a relationship/break-up with The Englishman mentioned previously. Despite my objections, Roberto later attempted to ‘milk the one-night-stand’ and at one point (to my extreme objection) masturbated in my living room while I was preparing for a dinner party. After the whole debacle I felt the incessant desire to cleanse within a drum of acid.

Then there are ‘the others’ I openly generally discuss here in my Blog:

  • Online singles that have made my eyes roll with their ironic, brilliant-stupidity and online banter.
  • And especially Italian men: those beautiful, infantile specimens, some of which – to my horror dry-humped me in my kitchen, and most of which couldn’t find my clitoris with magnifying glass and GPS…

Fab Corona: The Qunitessential Italian Creep
Would I sleep with him once? Maybe.
Would I hate myself thereafter? Absolutely.

To the Men: All of whom I emasculate, and metaphorically tear apart from my little black rectangle that sits across my thighs…
I once had a favorable opinion of most of you at one point.

But all men are not created equal…

To whoever reads this…

You want to see that I am NOT a completely a psychotic, egocentric, Italian-man hater, or man-hater in general: You can always read about my best friend Khan back in Toronto whom I trust with my life, my Italian friend “Dog-guy” that has always been decent and a good friend to me despite some suspicions I had about him in the beginning (ie. wanting to jump my bones), and especially “LL” an ex-stripper and my Ital homeboy/former wing-man, someone I trust implicitly and consider a national treasure.

If all of this, and the entire content of my blog prove anything…

It proves I am by no means perfect, I sometimes make piss-poor decisions, but despite a battered and bruised heart… I’m (essentially) still human, and haven’t lost faith in the good that exists in people, that things always get better, and good friends are golden.

So strangers, quasi-friends, aquaintances…
Don’t expect to like everything you read, or perhaps even ME if you decide to read on. From here on, this is your can of worms…

peace and love. CM

8 Responses to Wanna know me? Don’t read my blog.

  1. When Jillian has daughters we will make them read this to know what it is to be an unapologetically fabulous woman – today you are my hero Cakes 😉 …Lill

  2. I have fallen in love with your blog!! I love how candid you are!! You seem to have an amazing personality and I can’t wait to read more.

  3. S. says:

    You’re honestly is refreshing. Especially because you live the life I dream of.
    I’ll be back,
    oo – S.
    P.S. We are in the same city for two days til I move home as I broke up with my partner of five years. Coffee?

  4. Hello, I nominated you for the versatile bloggers award. 🙂 Follow the link. And check out the rules for the nomination. http://jennessjohnston78.wordpress.com/2013/04/24/versatile-blogger-award-nomination/ I am still very much enjoying your blog.

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