2+ months: Sex, death and champagne.

I had a good month…
That was all the time I actually spent in the UK with the lovely Sir English.

We drank champagne and ate cake…

bp and c

Made-out on the banks of some river while being ogled by intrusive sheep…
Frolicked with Miss Big-Paws in meadows like cool Anglo-Saxon VonTraps …

bp meadow-horz 2

Chilled in London…

DSC00180 ps bw 2

Had morning sex, crumpets, and pancakes several mornings in a row…
Saw a production at the theatre…
Took in local historical sights and museum openings…


Look what showed up at the local museum…
If only it worked.

Dressed in costume to attend one of London’s biggest costume parties…

me and mr t

Me, Sir Rupert The Black,  and my new friend Mr. Tumnus…
I would have taken him home and made a pet of him if I could.

But of course that was all before I received the news that my father had passed away. No matter how well prepared  I thought I was for the inevitable – I wasn’t. I was/am flattened. I have been back in hometown purgatory for 6 weeks now, and aside from dealing with some sort of my own personal warped version of grief, I am back to square one and certifiably in the bell jar.

I applied for a UK Visa. Within 10 days it was in my hand.

Here we go again.

Kill me now.

Kill me now.

I am up to my eyebrows in responsibility I can’t possibly handle. I am off packing all kinds of shit I will probably regret and hate myself for later, all to move to another f’cking country and start all over again NEXT WEEK.

What the fuck am I doing?

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Welcome to the ‘Man-Cave’

barsThe voyage via ferry from The Netherlands to The UK was uneventful to say the least. Feeling abunbdantly sorry for my travelling companion Miss Big-Paws  – I spent most of the time sitting in the ship’s kennel room keeping her company.

Upon arrival at border control we were ushered into the ‘other’ line, where I was met by a cordial 20-someting border guard who proceeded to ask a lengthy series of questions while risking carpal tunnel syndrome by feverishly taking notes as I replied. “Yes I travelled to the Netherlands with my dog, it was easier and less expensive to go ther first. I was there 2 nights, I had dinner with a friend one night – actually a ‘Couchsurfer’ that I hosted at my apartment 2 summers ago. You know that website? Anyway, I was in Rotterdam, then came here. I don’t know how long I will be staying  – ideally 3 months maybe, but my father isn’t well… is this too much information?”

I have not packed drugs in my orifices. I am not illegally defecting from my Canadian homeland despite it’s freezing cold and snows way too f’cking much, and I’d be hard pressed to find decent employment or affordable housing there anyway.
( I didn’t say that, but wanted to.)

 Why all the notes? Was I ‘under suspiscion and considered a threat to The UK’s national security? Does Her Magesty’s Secret Service need to compile a file on me? Will middle aged men dressed incognito a la 007  be coveting my every move? I hope they at least bring martini fixings along, and look like Daniel Craig or a young Sean Connery.


 Shortly after my temporary detainment from border control I was picked up by Sir English and driven the 90 minutes back to his flat. During which time we exchanged pleasantries and got reaquainted.

Upon entry into his small apartment, my eyes widened in disbelief as I had assumed he would be some sort of urban male minimalist. However I was entering another completely opposite form of quintessesntial man-cave adorned with the standard vast quantities of wall-to-wall magazines and books, dvds, testosterone art aka. film posters à la James Bond,  even car parts and anti-freeze under his kitchen table, and fittingly furnished with man-cave furnishings of the IKEA pine variety… but I was not prepared for this LITERAL decor monstrocity…

I feel dirty already.

I feel dirty already.

An item so aesthetically awful and disturbing, it could only make me cringe and feel as though I had been molested if I were to  ever sit in it.  Italy gave me crappy blue Fiats and MacDaddy Gorillas, instead England gives me pervy King Kong severed hands to fondle my ass.

Fortunately Miss Big-Paws immediately frond space, made herself at home, and appeared content enough.


Is good taste subjective?
Ask Big-Paws.

Alas, let’s see how things unfold, shall we?

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Departures and (various) Entries…



There are doctors…
then there is THE Doctor.

I decided months ago I was not going to spend my entire summer in a social coma dressed in my pyjamas 24-7, sitting in bed, a Linda Blair-Cyndi Lauper hybrid, yet again watching the complete series of Doctor Who on my laptop. (Though I really do love Doctor Who  – #10 David Tennant that is.)

Soon I leave for big city, in a few more days I depart for the land of windmills, wooden shoes, and pot smoking, and then The UK. I have had mixed feeling about my 6 months stay here in the homeland. Aside from the depressing, frustrating, and creatively stifling life in  this ‘urban hemorrhoid (aka my hometown in Canada), I now realize how much I have missed my close friends from Big City. But as much as I want to be close to them I know trying to live here would be nothing more than a far-gone square-peg/round-hole epic waste of time and road to nowhere.  There is so much happening   – an entire world out there waiting, with fascinating people, things I have never experienced, and a life far less ordinary to live.



I’ve made it! Quasi glitch-free. I think I must be getting better at this… dealing with the uncertainty of travelling, late flights, heavy baggage, customs issues, knowing anything can happen and never knowing if what I find when I get there is really what I am expecting. (It rarely is.)

I first arrived to a gray and drizzling Rotterdam, complete with an assortment of bumps and bruises from attempts at lugging my cumbersome backpack wedged into a dis-assembled dog crate secured with bungee cords on to a luggage caddy.

One of several...

The result?
Legs get in the way.
(one of several)

There I was, ‘Super-Traveller meets Quasimodo’ trying to control a dog on a leash,  flipping my bangs away from my eyes, while struggling up and down stairs and sidewalk curbs, then onto escalators – along with carrying hand luggage with any other free appendage… and like a star. (The ‘doe-eyed female’ look can b=very effectively recruiting help ie. an extra hand during those tough trapped-in-the-turnstyle situations.)


Yes, I made Miss Big-Paws carry her own backpack.

My attempt at travelling light, effortlessly – EPIC fail. 
I have dubbed myself ‘The World’s Most Cumbersome Traveller.’
I suppose it could have been worse.

 Miss Big-Paws was not thrilled about the lack of sun and absence of pigeons to stalk from Rotterdam rooftops while stuck indoors.

Considering the weather conditions I spent most of my 2 dreary days there, indoors while snacking on ‘stroop waffels,’ battling bouts of jet lag as opposed to tip-toeing through any tulips, or taking advantage of The Netherland’s liberal pot-smoking regulations via their urban centres’ smoking venues, and of course thinking about THIS…

The Dutch dare to ask their own, and this wandering Canadian…

What polyester tops, skinny jeans and fruit have to do with coitus is beyone me. But ENOUGH? More appropriately would be:  'ANY?'  (The answer of course being NO.)

What polyester tops, skinny jeans and fruit have to do with coitus is beyone me.
But ENOUGH? More appropriately would be: ‘ANY?’
(The answer of course being NO.)

I actually had bought an adequate supply of bananas at a nearby supermarket just before I came across this retailer, however I wondered about the ‘S-word’ and what would happen when I finally got to The UK. Would Sir English and I pick up where we left off and eventually ‘go there?’ Would our chemistry have withered since we last saw each other a month before?  If it were to be become a possibility, would I end up being disoriented and clumsy from lack of practice? It’s been at least 10 months since – that being Mr. Frozen Vegetable. (An epic disaster last summer in Italy that lasted a mere pointless 15 seconds.)

I suppose if I don’t get myself and Miss Big-Paws on that ferry destined for Harwich, UK where he is picking me up in a few hours…
I’ll never find out.

Thus the story continues…

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The saga of my relative homelessness, uncertain future, travel neurosis and dating a NICE man… Begins.

It’s official. I will be on a plane, blowing this popsicle stand, and off this continent come May 15.  My mandate is to scope the far corners of various hoods and revive my creativity as it has suffered from acute asphyxiation recent months, first by flying to the land of windmills, tulips, grass, and  really weird souvenirs…

Your one-stop shop.

Rotterdam, you’ve got me for 48 hours.

The Inquiry Mind: Cakes, Cannabis smoking is also legal in Rotterdam, no?

CM: Yeah. Your point? When in Rome…


Where we going?

Of course I did not choose to land in The Netherlands specifically for that. It just so happens that flying directly to the UK along with my travel companion –  Miss Schatze Big-Paws, is not possible due to animal import regulations. She would have to fly cargo separately at a whopping cost of $1700.  Therefore, it is only natural for me to want to save money by flying to Amsterdam first, spending 2 nights in nearby Rotterdam (never been and much cheaper accommodation) to chill and enjoy the fruits of the city.  Technically, I should probably forsake the Cannabis, before I have to be my charming self when I arrive to meet Sir English, who has very kindly and most generously offered to pick up yours truly at the ferry docks, along with said canine traveling companion…

After all I don’t want to show up looking like Keith Richards.

The horror. Angie and me Amsterdam 2007

Or like this.
Angie and me –
Amsterdam 2007

However I shall NOT forsake my ‘other vice’ which is at par with cake…


Heaven in a biscuit.

I give you the ‘Stroopwafel’ in all its sublime caramel goodness, in which I once had a 24-7 constant supply in my handbag during a one-week 2007 trip to Amsterdam, then later in 2011 during a stop-over – I bought an entire case consisting of 16 packages. This time around the slight danger being I arrive with a face like Keith Richards and a 2-day massive weight-gain a la Honey Boo Boo’s Mama June.

Shall I risk it?

Keith Richards....1978 AP file

Perhaps an exaggeration, but nonetheless I had further concerns.
Considering he is acting the gentleman, and offered to host me…
‘HOST:’ def.  A ‘sleep-over’ invite in a non-creepy context because I’m a sort-of tourist.

Thou shalt  wear respectable, appropriate sleep attire, as Sir English is of high moral fibre and not some slimy crappy-Fiat-driving MacDaddy creep from the old Ital hood.

Realistically I couldn’t very well bring along my regular springtime/summer sleep attire that consists of either a sheer Minnie Mouse red polka-dot baby doll, or ratty Wonder Woman T-shirt with pink gingham pyjama pants). However, seeing I DO NOT OWN respectable, appropriate sleep-gear for sleep-overs, I was forced to scavenge through local department stores only to find slick ‘sateen’ polyester robes and shorts made in china – perfect for sliding out of bed and hitting my head on a nightstand then taken away by ambulance attendants while dressed like Sugar Ray Leonard, otherwise ensembles made for a starring gigs at London burlesque shows. Therefore I was forced to comb to the far ends of cyberspace in a quest for the most fitting sleepwear.

Unassuming PJ’s reminiscent of a Japanese take out menu.


Make him think about food instead.

The saga of my relative homelessness, uncertain future, travel neurosis
and dating a NICE man…

Posted in dating, Eating, European men, food, friendship, hook-ups, humour, internet dating, Italian men, MacDaddy, online dating, perverts, relationships, self examination, sex, single girl, social misfit, travel, Uncategorized, web dating, x-pat, x-pats | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Functionally freaked and hitting the open road…

Back CameraI have been here almost 5 months, with the exception of the week I spent in Big City. I don’t work, I can barely write anymore, I’m bored, isolated and rarely leave the house more than twice a week – and not for more than 2 hours at a time. There is still a world out there I need to explore in order to find my own quasi-Utopia, but I still feel trapped in this ‘situation’ knowing the inevitable outcome, but not knowing WHEN… and waiting.  My father could live another month, or a year… who knows? I need a place to live, or to at least pick a town some where, on some continent – it’s a start.

Tracy (my life-guru), recently helped me put it in perspective…

“ANYTHING could happen, but if you wait around waiting for it…
‘anything’ could end up being nothing…and that’s more time of your life gone by…”

“So while you can control necessary stuff like travel arrangements and etc…getting too caught up in the future is a waste of mental power. Control what you CAN control…  And allow the rest to be an exciting unfolding surprise.  And also know that even if something does happen, you will be able to deal with it when it happens.”

It’s time to go…

I have sufficient cash, my passport, my dog’s EU Passport, my new backpack just arrived, and I’m buying a butane curling wand and a one-way ticket for Amsterdam –  leaving the middle of next month, then heading to The UK to spend a few days with Sir English, then go wherever else from there. I have few – almost NO plans, and this is really f’cking scary…


But it feels great.

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Post-clarity and more cake!

He’s so nerdy, smart and funny. He grabs my glasses and does Michael Cane imitations – I love it. It cracks me up. I make him do it for my friends, however it’s mostly for my benefit.

mich c

“I’m Michael Caine, not many people know that.”

Post kiss dialogue…

CM: I thought that was never going to happen. I thought you didn’t like me, and that I was in ‘The Friend Zone.’

SE: I thought the same. That was fast for me, it usually takes me longer. But to be honest, from the moment I saw you at the airport – I thought you were absolutely gorgeous.

CM. Wow. Thanks, that a really nice complement.

SE: It’s not like I never thought about making a move. I did.  After the bar we were both a little intoxicated, that would have been an opportune time – but  I only thought of it later as I was going up the street after walking you home. Then there was last night on the Island when you were cold and I was trying to help you get you warm. But I thought if I did anything you would think I was talking advantage.

CM:  I never would have though that.

He had just picked me up, and as we were walking down a windy Queen Street West, arms around each other (I am getting very used to this and liking it), we passed a 30-ish man who exclaimed quite ad-lib “WOW!… You better hold on or she is going to get away.” Whatever he really meant literally in respects to the latter was inconsequential, the ‘WOW’ was enough to make feel invincible, the ultimate catch, and quite frankly – even more f’cking fabulous.

Sir English was to fly out later that evening, so being our last day together we planned to visit Casa Loma (aka. The interior for ‘Professor Xavier’s School for the Gifted’ If you’re an X-Men fan, as I am!)


‘Wolverine’ my ‘Holy Grail of Manhood’ was HERE.
Yes, we kissed in the top of the tower…
Me and Sir English, not me and Wolverine.

cm small

Outside Casa Loma

After our Casa Loma visit which highlights were kissing sessions in the tower, underground passage, staterooms, and various other locals within the property, for lunch we fittingly returned downtown to ‘Queen Mother Cafe’ where we had been a couple of nights before. It was no surprise after we finished eating that both of us  scoured the display case for cake, as their supplier was the infamous Dufflet’s… maker of the ‘magic chocolate cake’ we had eaten a day earlier. As there wasn’t any of the same,  we opted to select and share another…

SE: This isn’t like the one we had the other day.

CM: No, but it’s still quite good. This one is lighter, the other was so rich… There was something in that cake, it was intoxicating. Magic cake. *smiles*

SE: Yes, it could make one behave in VERY strange ways.

I thought this only happened in the movies.

I thought this only happened in the movies.

CM: Yes, indeed.

SE: *smiles*  For example,  if I had eaten a piece of THAT cake just now, I would have had to throw you on this very table – even infront of all these other restaurant patrons, and ravage you over, and over again until you were begging for more.

CM: *slowly leans over the table looking Sir English dead in the eyes*…

I    never   beg.

*Sir English turns 3 shades of red, and much laughter ensues.*

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Part 4: 4 days, first dates and a slice of cake

I had plenty of friends I could have asked for relationship advice. However most of them seem to have their own set of issues. If they are single they are about as confused and jaded as I am, and the others who are married are wishing they could wave a magic wand and make their significant other, disappear. I knew there had to be someone who fit my criteria: in a functional relationship with a great sex-life, smart, sane, intuitive, and has the inside scoop on English boys…

Therefore, who better than Alice?

When all else fails...consult thy oracle.

When all else fails…
consult thy oracle.

I wasted no time in sending her an email and after I had explained the background of my situation, I got straight to the point…

CM: I think I  may be in the ‘friend zone.’ He didn’t kiss me (only on the cheek) and he’s been here almost 3 days. I can’t win. Ever. This is so fucking depressing.

A: Oh no… But he is British and they are known for taking their sweet time. I know it’s a crazy idea, but why don’t you ask? Or, even better, do the hand trick or otherwise make the first move in a way that will make him think that he did it?

CM: The hand trick? What, like grab his hand?
I am such a disaster. You would think i’d have this figured out by now. I always say I never know if a guy likes me unless he is on top of me. How bad is that? I get all these younger handsome guys hit on me and it’s so easy, but when it comes to someone closer to my own age, a normal guy with substance that isn’t all over me – I’m intimidated and have no idea how to act. I have always waited for the guy to make the first move. I guess I’ll have to see what happens today. He leaves tomorrow evening.

A: Hold his hand, inch closer to him, make eye contact and wait (or make some other ‘accidental’ body contact – go dancing or something). Chances are he’s as shy and terrified of rejection as you are, especially if he likes you… or maybe he’s just trying to be a gentleman, especially if you told him horror stories of unwanted male attention from your adventures in Italy.

Remember my first meeting with John, when I tried to tell him I enjoyed his company and he mistakenly understood that I liked his band? Or how he disappeared for a while because he couldn’t understand how a girl like me was interested in him? So things are not always what they seem and boys can be a little dense.

Good luck with figuring things out! Have fun anyway! xx

CM: That’s great advice tx. I’ll try. xox

A: You’re very welcome, I hope it helps! What do you have planned for today?

CM: Brunch, meeting him probably in 90 min. I’m feeling really freaked – I woke up a short time ago after a really bad nightmare. He was in it. I dreamt a former gf of mine stabbed him. So crazy. I really need to calm down.

A: Dreams are just silly sometimes and they don’t mean anything! My scientific explanation for yours is that is just an expression of your general anxiety and you shouldn’t read anything into it.

What are you afraid of? Wait, you don’t have to go into it if you’re in a hurry. Just remember that he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t like you A LOT and that he’s probably freaking out as well (and he knows the stakes are high). I bet he knows that you expect him to make a move and he finds it scary… there’s so much pressure on guys! So turn up the dial on encouraging body signals (smile, brush against him, make lingering eye contact).. You can do it!! xx You’re a rock star!!

CM: You’re the best! I am afraid of rejection and being told – “I really like you but I don’t think of you in that way, lets stay friends,” or just having him feel I wasn’t what he expected or projected. Last night I tried a little with him – Although it was totally authentic as I was out in the cold a long time and was REALLY shivering. He put his arm around  and was trying to warm me up while I was waiting for the island ferry to go back to the city/home. I stayed as long as I could, but he stayed to get some night shots of the city. Mixed messages. I got an email from him later saying he was happy I got home ok and had been worried about me.

A: He sounds like a really nice guy! Good luck!

CM: Thanks! (It’s the nice ones I need practice with!)

After a fabulous brunch, an extended meet-up with an artist friend in a cafe, more art gallery explorations, and futile attempt a browsing through a downtown Antique market that no longer exists, we found ourselves wondering back in the hood and about to pass the cities best cake shop…

CM: Hey, how about some cake? That’s the place I told you about, I had put it on our ‘list.’ It’s the best in the city!

SE: Sure, let’s go.


CM: Let’s take these seats here near the window. It’s pretty busy in here. How about you stay here so we don’t lose these seats, I’ll go have a look, then come back, then you can go up and place the order. Cool?

SE: Sounds good.

CM: There is some annoying woman up there that can’t decide, I mean it’s not rocket science – it’s cake. So from what I could see – there is this really rich, chocolatey one, I’m up for that.  So go and have a look.

This is what he came back with…

It should have had a warning label on it.

Was it a sugar high or a stampede of endorphins? What ever it was it had the same effect on both of us. We concurred it was probably the best cake either of us had ever had, and as we sat there painted in dumb grins, in a chocolate-cake hazy state of drunken euphoria, and staring at each other from inches away, I immediately remembered Alice’s words: “lingering eye contact… make the move… you’re a rock star.”

Damn right I am!
So, I did…

One kiss, one long second, in the window, after cake…
Pause… Then another, and another, and another…

CM: Well… now that we have that out of the way. Btw, it took you long enough – Wait, that was me.

SE: That was SOME cake. I’m glad you did that.

CM: Me too.

SE: I think I’ll have more…


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