The Crazy German (2015)


The red flags, oh the red flags…

Yes, it has finally come! My new post. For months I have been thinking that it wasn’t such a big deal I stopped posting. I mean I am still single – of course. I haven’t really had anything super worthwhile to write about. I have been going crazy over my channel and trying to get it as famous as possible so I can finally be location independent, work from anywhere and hopefully have more success in finding the man of my dreams than in freezing Toronto with its equally lifeless robot people who barely exchange eye contact with each other.

Until, today I stumbled into my junk mail and realized with a shock that I had messages upon messages of support, personal stories and touching words. When I abandoned blogging for my channel, I thought that my page would soon lose its flow and grow weeds, and when I discovered all your messages I told myself that no matter what – I will continue writing more stories. Actually, I would do it right away… or a few hours later. So, I took out my laptop and here is my semi-latest story.

A couple of months ago, I realized I needed a break. I realize it all the time. Actually I always need a break. Don’t we all? Some of my girlfriends don’t think they are entitled to one due to work or school, but all I ever think about is lying on the hammock on the beach, not going to yet another club, lounge, bar and feeling bored and restless, which is how I feel a lot lately.

miamiLong story short, I ended up in Miami with a German girlfriend Marta, who I met while backpacking in Argentina. That night her and I went to the cheesiest club of all “Mango’s” and had our two other hostel roommates join. As soon as we walked in men surrounded us like prey. I guess they sniffed out fresh blood of newly arrived foreigners. I managed to break free from the grasp of a puny and sweaty Chilean guy before he managed to kiss me and went to watch the show, wondering how I was going to get home now that all of the girls were occupied.

Just at the moment when I was getting bored of standing in the corner watching a Michael Jackson show, I saw an enormously tall, blond and built guy coming into the club. He was joined by a much shorter bright blond man (who might I add looked just like he stepped out from a Nazi movie!) As someone who has an unhealthy obsession with the Germans as caused by my very first experience, I got excited and tried to get close to them. Finally, I did something I would probably not do back home. But as you know, we are at our best and riskiest self outside our comfort zone.

I touched the Nazi lookalike on the arm as he walked by me and asked, rather stated. “You are German, right?” He stopped in his tracks and asked me “Why do you sink vy are


Mango’s insanity. The cheesiest club in all of Miami.

German?” What a difficult question, indeed. He was really intrigued so we talked for a bit. He went off to find his friend and as I went around the club, I ran right into both of them chatting to Marta, who was standing right by the tall friend. As soon as he noticed me, he stopped the conversation with her and introduced himself to me excitedly.

Hanz was a teacher from some village in Bavaria and he was on a sabbatical to travel the world. He was staying one more day and then he was off to Asia, lucky bastard. He looked like a very German basketball player with a cute face and an incredible physique.  He was just my type. Physically, at least, because I wouldn’t say we had some great connection or anything. He was trying hard to give me backhanded compliments, to be funny and to challenge me every step of the way. Marta thought he was a full of it asshole.

“You know!” she told me with her harsh tone which she used most of the time. One time when we were late to return the bikes she yelled “Vy are late!” so much that I actually got terrified.  She could sound like a lieutenant sometimes. “You know. I found your German attractive at first. But zen! Zen I realized he was an idiot!” Of course, I knew she was into him so I took her harsh comments with a huge grain of salt.

There was something so endearing about him waiting for me in the crowded dance floor as I came back from getting water. He was just waiting there, unsure in what to do and as I touched him on the back, he turned around with a child-like smile, excited I came back.

As we danced, he bent all the way down to be at level with me, kissing my forehead and I closed my eyes against him, feeling so content I actually felt sorry for myself. I was so tired of being alone. So tired of fooling myself that these flings would lead to anything. I was no longer after an exciting time, a fun and memorable adventure. I wanted a future. I have always wanted a future, but now it was clearer than ever. I missed the security of someone hugging me close, of being next to me. A feeling of a strong man I could lean against – physically and emotionally. I danced with my eyes closed. I wanted to savour the feeling of it. We kissed and kissed and danced some more.

At the end of our night, he told me he regretted meeting me so close to the end of his trip. He wished he could have spent more time with me, because I was just his type.  As much as it disappointed me as well, I knew we at least had one more day left. One more day to let him fall for me, to possibly continue into something more. Who knew? I was always open for a chance like this. These were the only chances I got. I was always meeting someone on vacation and falling for them. It always ended up in something. I don’t know if I was attracting this, but it was a repeat of my life.

“I would invite you back” He told me “but I’m staying in a hostel…”

“Who said I would go back with you?” I asked him playfully. “I can be kissing you the whole night and it means nothing else.”

“I like that you have standards” he said. He seemed to be fully into me, or as much as he could have been after one evening together.

As soon as I got back to the hostel, my phone pinged with a message from him. Marta iphone-messages-eraser-1542301climbed onto my bunk and we whispered girlishly: a 30 year old me and a 35 year old her – two idiots who really yearned for love. Hanz wanted to see me tomorrow, but mentioned he would love to get a hotel room. I wasn’t planning on sleeping with him, but even if I were I wouldn’t want it to be so open, so out on the table. It was much too programmed for me.

The next day, he texted me good morning. The guy was clearly hooked, but at this point all I could see was that he was hooked on having a good night. Having just come back from Latin America, I’m sure this blond Trojan man would have zero problems getting women. I’ve lived in Latin America. I know what the blond hair and European passport would do to a woman. This made me even more wary.


Hola! De donde eres, guapo?

Hanz mentioned that he was going to a basketball game but would love to meet after. He was still set on the hotel, but I wouldn’t budge. I told him that if he wanted to see me, he would make it happen without a promise of sex. As we went out that night, I was not mentally there at the party. I kept on trying to get wifi signal (even going so far as running across the street to a taco place), glancing at my cell phone every two minutes and letting all conversations drift past me in a haze. Finally, he texted me back and told me that they were back at the hostel and wouldn’t be able to go as far as our neighborhood. However, he surely would be glad to book a hotel for us.

Again, the damn hotel.


Did you say “affordable”?

Apparently, the hotel would be ‘much more affordable’ if it were booked in advance. German logic indeed. Affordable is the most seductive word, is it not? How can a woman not fall to her knees at the word affordable, right? Also, if throes of passion came upon us or in his words “If we became hot and bothered” we would find no ‘affordable’ hotel in Ocean Drive at night! Gasp. Hey ladies – want passion in dating a German? You got it! Affordable is the key! Book ahead and the passion is at your feet.

It is not to say that I haven’t considered having sex that night. It’s been a while, I was really attracted to him and my skin has been so bad lately, apparently good sex would clear it up a bit. I’m not joking, I read that somewhere and actually narrated it to my roommates who looked at me like I was slow in the head. Anyways, why not? But the point is even though Marta proudly produced some terrible condoms and handed them to me for later and that I was really starting to consider it, I could not for the life of me have such a pre-planned evening, where the man did not spend one minute on actually seducing me, on talking to me, on taking advantage of the beautiful Florida scenery but right away booking the hotel. It felt cheap and predictable.

I suggested over and over that we meet, talk and then possibly I would agree to it. I made it so, so easy and even then he did not want to meet unless I gave him a warranty that meeting with me would equal to sex (or money back guarantee). And just because I tell you everything, I will admit that at one point I almost succumbed. I wanted a chance to stop a taxi, slip away from this terrible party and drive up to where he was waiting for me. It almost seemed romantic. That is until Marta ripped the phone away from me and hissed “You are not doing zat! Are you CRAZY!? He should put the effort.” Of course. This was the girl, that once told me to dump the guy because he didn’t buy me a drink in South America. But she was right. I was losing my sense of self here. My pride. Once again my desire to feel something beautiful was really me heading off to bed with yet another 2 day guy. Tomorrow he would be off booking hotel rooms in Asia. Probably more affordable ones, too.

So, I changed my mind and stayed at the party. At first I said “screw it” and danced my heart out. Then I cried my heart out. Let me just say – I wasn’t fun for anyone that night, least of all myself.

When we got back to the hostel, I realized that he had been writing to me. Even though we never met, he still couldn’t stop. He was angry at himself, at us for not meeting. He regretted missing the chance to be with me. He was questioning why we let it all slip away. I was sick of going round and round as my whole night has already been ruined by him so I wished him a good night.

Yet, even the next day as he was leaving back to Germany he kept on writing me. He couldn’t believe it. If we could have, should have, would have.. If we just had… If, if, if…

Once back in Germany, he wouldn’t stop. I was his type. I was the woman he was dreaming of. He might have been stupid in being so organized, but he couldn’t help it. The poor lad was German. It was in his blood. He was crazy for me. He couldn’t stop admiring my photos. He regretted everything.

And I let him continue writing that. I’m a very soft girl and when I fall for someone I can ignore all the red flags. In this case – there were so many red flags I could have re-built communist Russia. I still imagined that, who knew? Maybe I was the woman of his dreams. But how could I be? He met me once for two hours. Not only that, he failed to spend time with me had it not been on his terms. He didn’t want to have a romantic evening with me if it didn’t lead to sex. This was not an ideal no matter how you twisted it.

He didn’t stop writing for a few weeks he was back in Germany. At the end, I got enough of the round and round talking of could haves and should haves and told him that had he wanted to see me, he could come to Canada and stop wondering what if. He laughed it off and said he had no time before going to Asia.

But at the end, it got too much. He would always comment on my appearance and talk nothing of substance and when I called him out on it, he got angry and said he wouldn’t do it again. This perfect looking guy with happy traveling photos on Facebook and an array of friends seemed quite troubled. Getting angry when I wouldn’t answer back to him, sending me enormous text messages and arguing like he was my husband of 5 years – all of this had to stop.

The best was when he decided to send me videos of himself singing. Apparently, apart from a teacher he was also a ‘musician’ who made his own original videos. One was of him dressed as the devil and the other of him dancing with a mannequin. When I told my friend this story over sushi, she told me “Man, Mia. You have to start writing about your crazy stories.” Ha!

Hanz is still traveling Asia and has stopped writing to me for now. I have a feeling he will somehow reappear in my life and finally get around to booking that hotel. Of insanity. At least he will have enough time to book an affordable one.

Do you have stories of mentally unstable men you have met? Share them below!



Twenty-Two is an (Un) Lucky Number (2015)


Why does this always happen to me?

As of last Thursday I’ve been with 22 sex partners. I was a little hesitant about sharing this number with you, because I feel like people do judge you based on your number. Remember that movie “What’s your number”? It’s a ridiculously stupid chick flick, but it kind of proves my point.

However, since I always share my personal details with you guys, I figured that was the next step in our virtual relationship! I’m thirty and two of my longest relationships were a year each, so I suppose it’s not very surprising that my number added up so fast. It’s ironic – I hardly have sex back in Canada. In fact, my apartment has been man-free ever since I rented it (a year and a half ago) and the last time I had sex, I was in Argentina – and if you read it and remember the story: it was bad. So, when I’m back at home, I approach dating way more seriously. And if I miraculously meet someone I like (which happens rarely in this impersonal city), I wait it out before I have sex. But of course, nine times out of ten we never even get there. Nor do I want to.

Make it stop.

Make it stop.

Ever since coming from Argentina I briefly dated a Russian guy who then disappeared into thin air and reappeared on Facebook with photos of his fake-assed, fake-titted Colombian girlfriend. And there was an English guy who was amazing, but who I barely any physical attraction with. And of course, the French guy from my past story who simply disappeared when I didn’t have sex with him… So out of  complete and utter boredom, I was beginning to develop feelings for my hot Brazilian student, who unfortunately had little topics other than his love of the gym and eating tuna to stay in shape. After I dragged him to a bar for language practice and spent the night correcting his English, I realized I was getting desperate. Out of a lack of options, I exploiting my workplace now.

The next day I was supposed to meet Emilio, a friend of mine with whom we recently drifted apart. He told me he had the ‘perfect specimen’ for my international web-series who just came from Switzerland. Since I never interview random Europeans for my channel, I figured it was a set up. Emilio was sarcastic and constantly poked fun at my love of European and Latin men, so I expected he would bring someone attractive. Or I hoped.

avicii-2-header I dressed casually in jeans and white tennis shoes and went to meet them by the lake. As soon as I hugged Emilio, I saw what I can only describe as the ‘most European guy I have seen in a while.’ Bright blond hair with some sort of Avicii type haircut, big light blue eyes, full lips, very tall. I guess if I lived in Scandinavia I would most likely be completely desensitized to this, but as a girl who loves everything European and lives in North America, I practically salivated over him. He represented to me everything that I craved.

He confidently introduced himself as Frederic and I think I put on my interviewer mode, which is what I do when I am nervous and into someone. I was very conscious of being interested but for some reason I was picking the worst things to say to this guy. I started saying the Germans made fun of the Swiss accent, out of all things. Then I told him Switzerland must be boring as hell. Why can’t I just be the girl that smiles sweetly, listens and looks extremely feminine? Why do I need to dominate every conversation with my ‘world knowledge’ and wit?

We met a few more friends and began walking in search of bars. I had to get up early next day for a school BBQ, but I was too interested in this guy to go home. And of course, shall I say it yet again? He was leaving in a day. Damn that. Frederic looked a bit younger, but he made a deal of telling people he was 26. It wasn’t my age, but I suppose it was old enough. By that, I mean – I never meet guys my age that I’m actually attracted to. When I do, it’s a cause for real celebration.

Weird lot

Weird lot

He was very flirtatious. If I could say one thing about Swiss-Germans is that they are a strange lot. Mostly I found them to be aggressive, kinky and very sexual, so it was interesting that Frederic was also very forward. At first we walked side by side talking, but soon enough he began touching me with a certain ease, sending me prolonged looks full of meaning and acting like he just arrived on some Italian boat of seduction.



“Your friend must do this a lot, huh?” I light-heartedly asked Emilio, trying to be casual, but actually really hoping he would say no. “You would be surprised actually.” Emilio answered with a shrug, showing me it was indeed a no. That lifted my spirits up immensely and I agreed to go dance with Frederic as soon as he asked me at the bar. Man, I can’t even remember the last time a cute guy asked me to go dance in this city. It’s such a rare and wonderful feeling. We walked out on the empty dance floor and awkwardly danced to horrible R’n’B oldies.

“I would like to kiss you” he told me with no hesitation.  He said it genuinely, with no fear of rejection, in such a lighthearted manner that I gaped at him in awe. How was this person Swiss? swiss I loved that he was so forward. In a city where everyone is constantly scared of appearing too invested, too interested, too vulnerable here was Frederic who wanted to kiss me and didn’t try to hide it. It was playful, it was easy, and of course I wanted to kiss him too but I answered “Not during this horrible music” and softly pushed him away.

We went back to drink and then as the music changed, he led me on the dance floor again. No less empty, at least the music was beginning to sound somewhat romantic. They were playing some weird mix of Titanium, but it was a step above Get Low by Lil Jon. We gave each other a few prolonged, awkward stares and then he took my face in his and kissed me. I thought “what the hell” and kissed him back. Relieved, he smiled and said “And now, we can dance!”

kissing_in_streetAs we left the bar in search of another place, Emilio and my other friend told us the directions and asked us to meet them at the next place. As they drove away, we stood on the sidewalk for a split second before he took my face into his hands and began kissing me. Moments later we were up against some wall right in the midst of nightlife, making out like we were in high school. Even the police drove up and told us to get a room. Then they just sat in the car laughing. People passed by us staring at us, but I didn’t care. I don’t feel that young, spontaneous and carefree often so I enjoyed the feeling of standing against some wall and just kissing.

But he was set on going to my place. And I wasn’t planning on inviting him over. Like a very good salesman, Frederic wouldn’t give up. I think we went back and forth for  two hours, but my mind was set.

“Look” I finally told him the truth. “I just don’t like the one-night stand thing. I don’t want to feel used. It’s not a pleasant feeling.”

It seemed as if he liked my honesty. “I will tell you the truth” he said “I didn’t like you when I met you.”

“That’s definitely helping.”

“No, really” he looked at me seriously. “You kept on asking me all these questions interview style.. I wasn’t interested. But when we got to the bar and I got to know you a little, all of a sudden that changed. By the way, I’ve never had a one-night stand either.”

Come on! He is bullshitting you – you are all thinking. I will admit, his approach was very flirty, very easy and reminded me of someone who was used to getting women. I mean he sang me the song “I feel so close to you right now” as were left behind the other group.  I sang back: “When I met you in the summer..” (to keep in the theme of Calvin Harris songs)

But, the one thing that I love, absolutely love about Germans and Swiss-Germans (and Austrians, I suppose) is their ability to tell the truth. The cold, hard, bitter truth.  I prefer that over hearing a bunch of lines anytime. Like a quality Swiss watch, this guy just had to be trusted. Funny-Swiss-Watches-13-320x240 And I haven’t had sex since March.

“I have a two day rule” I told him. Actually, it used to be a three day rule, then turned into “the last day of the days we have together before one of us ultimately leaves” rule.

He stepped back. “That makes you very unattractive” with his soft German accent making the last word into ‘unatractif’.

“Why?” I couldn’t understand how having rules made me ‘unatractif’.

Later he told me he thought the rule implied not sleeping with two guys in a row. Like I needed a day of rest or something. When I told him it’s been quite a while for me, he was ecstatic. Finally he took my hand and led me down a path where we climbed over some fence and proceeded to do I don’t know what. At this point I realized I might as well just invite him over to my house. Whatever this was, it wasn’t much better than a one-night stand. And what was I loosing exactly? This was the most excitement I have felt in a while.

We took a taxi over and I rapidly cleaned my mess while he stood outside the door. I mean, how would I know a live man would come into my house on a Thursday? On top of it all I have books like “Fifty Shades of Grey” and “Why Men Love Bitches” on full display.

fifty_shades_of_grey_lego_trailer_still He was so nervous, he went soft soon after we started. What is it with me? Either I am so sexy men get intimidated or I’m that unattractive they can’t get excited. After Fran in Argentina and his initial softness, I was starting to sense a pattern. But strangely enough I kind of liked it. It showed me that he was just as nervous about it as I was and it somehow brought me closer to him. I told him it was absolutely fine and instantly relieved he enveloped me in his arms and kissed me with fervor. He couldn’t get enough of me. I couldn’t get enough of him. We hugged each other close and ended up cuddling for the longest time. Before we fell asleep we ran out of condoms, and when I woke up early on next morning all I saw were those big blue eyes staring at me counting down the minutes until Drug Mart opened. He didn’t take his hands off of me the whole night. Before I went to work, we took a shower together, washing each other’s hair. This no longer seemed like any kind of stand.

That's the one we watched!

That’s the one we watched!

This night instead of sporting jeans and tennis shoes, I made sure to dress up in a red dress and heels. When we met by the water, he couldn’t get enough of how I looked saying “wow” every minute or so and kissing me. We watched the fireworks on the bridge and held hands.

“You know, when we took a shower today.. it almost felt like we were a couple.” He focused his eyes on me. “I don’t want to scare you..”

“No, you are not scaring me” I told him.

He was doing the opposite actually. We stopped by to say hi to Emilio and a few other guy friends of mine, who were the witnesses of our quick romance the other night. We were welcomed by clapping in unison. “You look so radiant” one of my guy friends mentioned and I really felt it.



After we took off, we sat on the dark beach talking. He was telling me he was thinking of studying to be a doctor, even though he just finished an engineering degree. Something about it didn’t add up though. I mean, at 26 he should have already started working, not just finished university. When I asked him about when he was turning 27, he told me “Age is just a number” which could have meant it didn’t matter, but it got my wheels spinning.

Sex that night lasted for ages. Rather, it started out hot and passionate, then very close, and by the end (about 2 hours later) we started having a regular conversation both falling asleep and laughing from the ridiculousness of it all. At one point he looked down at me and said: “You are so beautiful. You know, I really like you Mia”

“I really like you too.”

It’s not that the sex was the best of my life, but during this night and this morning, the bed had become our world as we talked, had sex, cuddled, moved around, laughed, had sex… over and over and over again as some strange continuous motion, our hands never leaving each other. I imitated German accent, he tried Indian accent that sounded like he just hit puberty and made me burst out laughing. As usual, with some of my long distance flings I started feeling a connection. And of course, then I began thinking “Maybe it could work.” He had invited me to New York as he was still traveling around North America until September. Maybe it was the beginning of something? But that nagging thought didn’t leave me.

“Frederic. Can I ask you question?”

“Mhmm” he looked at the ceiling.

“Are you 26?” I held my breath.

“Age is just a number, Mia” he repeated.

“Just how old are you?”

Maybe he was just playing with me. I mean, he did say he was 26. He knew I was 30. My friend Emilio was 34.

He grew quiet clearly debating telling me or not.


“I’m 22. Almost 23” he finally said.

I covered my head in my hands and uttered “Oh my God!”

“But come on. Does this really matter?”

“Yes! Of course it does! I am a pedophile!”

He lay there scared to hug me.

“But this doesn’t change anything. I mean, I’m the same guy”

“Yes. I but thought you were 26.”

“But what does it matter? I mean, it’s a fling, isn’t it?” he asked, crushing something inside of me. Not only was I attracted to younger guys, but I was actually considering having something more with him just a few minutes ago. Now all of these illusions made me feel even more pathetic. Just how old was I?

Forever stuck in a hostel

Forever stuck in a hostel

He was mature.. for his age. But now that I looked him over – he did look younger. Young, blond – the European type guy that goes to Avicii concerts and stays in hostels. The guy that I’ve always wanted to have when I was younger and never met. Was I making up for some sort of lost time?

“So when you say I’m the best you have had, how many were there? Two?” I probed.

“Well, there can’t be two. I mean I told you I had my girlfriend and I was dating a girl in the USA. And you”

“Three?” I exclaimed.

“No, four.”

“Four girls” I muttered to myself. “Oh God.”

Of course, it was all ‘wow’ and ‘this is amazing!’ and ‘I can’t get enough of your body’. If I could pinpoint the time my subconsciousness was yelling at me to give him another look was when I was on top of him during sex.He was grinning from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat.

“How many did you have?” he asked me back.

“I’m not gonna tell you.”

“I’m not gonna think you are a slut, don’t worry. Was it 22?”

I turned around so quickly, there was no way to cover it up now. “How did you guess?”

“I just named my age, that’s all” he smiled. “And when did you lose your virginity?”

“When I was 22” I muttered. Apparently this was my lucky or most likely cursed number.

“On vacation?” he asked innocently. Did this guy have access to this blog or something?

Screen-Shot-2013-09-12-at-8.30.33-AMI still liked him. Hell, I was still naked in bed with him. But now, I didn’t know what to do. He was still the same guy that I got along with so well, but I was concerned about myself. I was becoming that woman. A puma.

Once, when I was in Miami I met a what seemed to be a 38 year old woman: long hair with a very weathered look, who would spend hours in a bar flirting with an Italian bartender. At the end, she picked up a young Australian guy who was so thrilled about the prospect of getting laid he didn’t care how old she was. That evening, I quickly kissed some guy in a club. On the way out, he went to join his friends and I remember her turning to me and telling me to go after him if I wanted to ‘get laid’. I promised myself – I would never, ever become that desperate woman. I would save my dignity and integrity and never chase men, especially young men, just to get a sense of validation.

I didn’t feel the age gap with him, but I was much, much older. Eight years ago, I lost my virginity and he barely hit puberty. And that doesn’t even say much considering I lost my virginity very late.

We slept one hour only because I forced him to. He was ready to stay up all night, praising my body and jumping on me.. oh the stamina, but I was dead. Finally, an hour later, he got up like a zombie, but still tried one last time. Then he dozed off holding me, almost missing his bus to Montreal.

You would think I would no longer talk to him? Yet, not a day has gone by that we haven’t engaged in long conversations over Whatsapp. Sure, this is completely and utterly pointless, but I just can’t lose him yet. He tells me he misses me, that he thinks about me, that age doesn’t matter. But it does.

Yet, while we get older and let our past experiences get to us, as we lack the courage

Young Girl Jumping Off Cliff Into Water

Young Girl Jumping Off Cliff Into Water

or the interest in putting ourselves out there, as the novelty of certain feelings wears off and as we start yawning at 10pm because we would rather be in bed than attending some party, I think we need to revert back to our 22 year old self. (In my case, my 25 year old self as my 22 year old self was scared of everything)

The zest for life. The ability to be vulnerable without any guards up. To say what is on our mind. Not to behave in a certain way because we feel it is expected. To actually go after someone and let them know it. To risk looking unatractif. To look at someone and tell them you want to kiss them. I mean if you do, why not just state it? You might just disarm someone.

How many sex partners have you had?

*To add onto this story – Frederick ended up coming back to stay with me for a week only to postpone his ticket 5 times for a total of 2 months. Was I stupid to let him stay knowing we had no future? I suppose I was, but I missed the companionship of a man and with him, I could finally feel I was with someone. The first time he considered extending, I put up a fight saying he could only stay a week more. I knew I was losing time with him, yet the longer he stayed, the more I got used to him. I wanted him to leave so I could finally focus on something serious yet I was scared of being alone once again. He told me he loved me a few weeks into it and I didn’t say it back. I didn’t believe him, really. I knew he was in love with an idea of love, with his experiences, but not with me as a person. Another few weeks into our so called relationship, I lost my job and we ended up going to Cuba on a vacation before he would leave back home. And yet, he ended up staying 3 weeks more and I let him. Finally, there was no more postponing medical school and by this time, we began fighting more and more regularly. I was upset about him leaving, but I also knew that even if he had been my age, I doubt I would have wanted a serious relationship with him. We both cried at the airport, but at the bottom of my heart, I was actually relieved. For weeks, I missed the empty space next to me in bed, but I didn’t miss him, really. I missed having someone near me. We stayed in contact for a few months, and at the end we stopped. He hasn’t written to me in a month now and though it definitely hurts, I stopped thinking about him to the point where it doesn’t matter much. Oh, and by the way, he has access to this blog, so should he read this.. well, he might as well find out.

The Weekend Guy (2015)


Always play by your own rules. And calendar.

“I’m kind of dating an Argentinian guy, Mia.. but I’m not sure what he wants. I’m not even sure if we are dating”.

This week, I received a few such messages from my female subscribers. Since I am supposedly an expert on the cultural aspect of dating or just have lots of experience being screwed over by foreign men, they assumed I would give them some useful pointers. But should you pursue a Dutch man just because they are known for being passive? Should you play the hot and cold game with the man just because he’s Argentinian?

Well, the short answer is – no you should not. You should have your own set of standards and not try to please him by adhering to his rules. No matter his culture. Because even though I think culture plays a large part in our dating ‘rules’, a man who is truly interested will invest genuine effort in pursuing you. Because a real man who truly wants to see you has to contact you. If not, he just won’t see you again.

No matter if they are Swedish, Japanese or Colombian.

Ironically, as I was receiving all of these messages I was going through a bit of an inner conflict of my own. It’s easy for me to tell you “Don’t call/text him. Don’t go home with him. Set standards” when I spent my own Monday morning with my head glued to the computer reading “The Rule of no Contact” – one of my most go-to sites about dating and one that I have referred to over and over again to remind myself I have standards.

So here is my own (relatively) short story. One that I’m sure many of you have experienced yourselves. The story itself – nothing earth-shattering. But one that really makes me feel united with my female readers: all of us girls who over-analyse, read into the situation, provide excuses for someone and forget our needs completely as we try to figure out what they want.

I met Marc at a language meet-up. I noticed him as I was walking into the bar since he was gigantically tall, big and slightly bearded. The last one did not appeal to me so much. The guy looked like a bit of a terrorist. And as it turned out part Egyptian. Sorry for the bad joke here.

I approached him and his two friends, striking a friendly conversation. His Canadian friend was the one that tried the hardest: poking me, leaning on me, being overly playful. But I wasn’t into him. You probably know I seem to always ignore the Canadian boys and go for the ‘other’. Feeling like the center of attention, I flirted with all three of them.

You know that moment when you feel everyone’s attention on you and you are your most fun self? The moment you are not yet invested? That’s the moment you are your most attractive self.

Marc (who was a mix of Polish and Egyptian) also flirted with me, but ended up leaving us as apparently it seemed like his best friend, the Canadian was ‘scoring’.

After they left, the Canadian tried to get my number but I gave him my Facebook. I wasn’t really interested. Truth be told, not one of them really interested me but I was slightly bored and tired of meeting men through online dating apps. I liked the spontaneity of meeting someone randomly. Something that doesn’t happen often when you live in Toronto.

As the Canadian added me the next day, mentioning how great it was to meet me last night, I did the not-so-nice thing and added his friend Marc on Facebook.

Instantly he messaged me and we began talking. Turned out he was sharing his condo with the Canadian five minutes away from me. We decided to grab a drink on a patio near my place.

Marc showed up looking very attractive in a collared shirt:  tall and big, his face tanned and chiseled, all the waitresses making eyes at him. Right away I felt it – he’s not for me. And I’m not for him. I could picture him sipping martinis in  a lounge with a made up, leggy blonde. I was not that type. And if I could describe my guy’s style it would be athletic/casual, relaxed and playful. Not that Marc wasn’t athletic – a former heavy-weight boxer he came to Toronto for Pan-Am games. From his Facebook photos, he used to be very built but now, due to a lack of real exercise he was getting kind of pudgy.Miami Selects 2011 couple in lounge Web

His eyes glowing a yellowish brown against the sun, Marc drank Caesars like they were water and really got into talking about himself. Sure, he would ask questions about me and even listen, but it wasn’t active listening. It was more like I-will-wait-for-her-to-finish-so-I-can-tell-my-own-story-about-that. I’m always the one that talks the most and sometimes it gets tiring, and I have to admit –  I also get kind of impatient since just like him I have stories about everything! So, it was a strange feeling sitting there like a Japanese wife, my palm against my cheek, listening to his stories with a look of awe. If I got that bit of space to say something, I went bullet style feeling like he would interrupt me. It was actually kind a Speed Dating. From my side at least.


I love long walks on the beach!

Yet, I was attracted to him. Shoot me, because it’s so hard for me to be drawn to someone but no matter all these warning signals, I still wanted him to like me. And I still wanted to kiss him.

“So why did you really approach us?” asked he, clearly fishing for a compliment.

“Are you trying to get a compliment?” I asked playfully.

“No, no” he denied.

“Ok, well…The truth is that I noticed you outside”

“Oh, you noticed me?” he perked up.

“Yes. And that’s why I came over. Happy you got your compliment?”

“Ah, ok then” he said, reassured I liked him and shifted in the chair contently.

Later on in the date, he began mentioning places and saying he would take me to them. Now that I recall, it came after the compliment was paid.

As we were saying our goodbyes, he seemed kind of shy, but I was two drinks in. At this point the world could come crashing down, but I had to kiss him. Who cared if he talked about himself? If I couldn’t see us together? I just wanted to be attracted to someone.

So, right after the drinks, we stood around talking about his old bike. Now I was grateful for him filling in the silence of what is the most awkward part of all. We did the French double kiss (helps immensely!) and then we were kissing.

As I was walking away, he told me to stay in touch, which disappointed me because that generally means – you do the work cause I won’t, but then mentioned he was free Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

The next morning he texted at 7am.

“Hm, I guess he liked me!”  I thought contently as I was getting dressed for work.

He kept on texting the whole day: sending me photos of his work trip, making jokes… And I would wait a couple of hours before replying. Normally, I don’t care for these games, but I was wary of him. He looked too much like a douche-bag to be treated seriously. But when someone texts you so much and answers back immediately, without any games – you can’t help but lower your guard.

He invited me to come to his place since has having some friends over. The Canadian friend was gone to Florida but managed to ask me out again. Twice.

Sorry, I told Marc, I have other plans.

I didn’t want to be available two days in a row. I wanted to be seen as someone who had standards.

When he told me he would go out with his friends I told him to have fun.

Stay in touch, he wrote again.

And then he wrote early on the next day inviting me over again. Seemed he had an array of friends at his place the whole weekend. I was wary of being invited over instead of being asked out separately but I justified it as – he’s spontaneous, he has friends, he wants me to meet his friends (yes, after that one spectacular date! He probably loved my listening skills!) and of course – he’s French. They enjoy the group dating more than our North American official one-on-one.france_dating

I went on a boat ride with my friends and then ran off to his place. I dressed up in a tight black top and jeans as it was quite cool outside. He looked like he was on vacation in shorts and a polo. We kissed hello and he introduced me to his two French friends. I seemed to be the only girl he not only invited but introduced to his guy friends. Were we together? Again I felt like the center of attention with his guy friends asking me things and one of them even getting competitive with Marc, seeing as how I was with him. Marc made sure I was comfortable, and would touch me every time he walked by me.

Afterwards a few more people came up to the apartment. Two guys we ran into in the elevator. Two girls he met a day ago. Seemed like he was meeting people left and right and no one past a week. Was I one of the weekly specials? Or should I say weekend?

Everyone decided to go to a bar and as we went downstairs to wait for a cab, I told him it made absolutely no sense to drink at his place then go to a bar to drink again. We decided to go up to his place and watch a horror movie on his balcony. I wasn’t going to have sex. I simply wanted something romantic. I have started to miss the closeness of having someone near you, of cuddling, of being hugged. How sad, right?

So we put “The Ring” on, cuddled under a big blanket and lay on the couch on the balcony.

I loved how affectionate he was. Right away he enveloped me in his arms and I felt like a little girl with a big, strong man. A bear, as I called him. Then I caressed his hairy chest and said in a Borat voice:

“Persian carpet. How much?” which made him burst out laughing.

Not that I’m into a hairy chest or anything. I much prefer non-hairy.

It was exactly what I needed. I don’t remember the last time I really cuddled like I did with him. It didn’t feel like a prelude to sex. It felt more like affection and closeness. Or maybe that’s my naive self talking.

We stayed like this for a while and then transferred to a couch inside. Actually now that I am writing this, I remember it was his idea. He was suddenly cold under a blanket. Truthfully,  I think he wanted to get me closer to his bed.

The kissing heated up. Yes, it was my fault. There is something really excitint about seeing a man turn into an animal as he gets excited. His breathing gets hotter and sharper, he begins kissing you more aggressively and in this case, holding me by my hair and my neck which is my weakness. I hate men who do not vary the rhythm when they kiss, or when nothing much changes as they get excited. When you want to ask – excuse me, suh, are you excited? In this case, that was not the problem. But I would go to the limit then stop and say ‘sorry…’ so yes, I was literally dangling raw meat in front of a bear. But he was a gentleman. He tried, yes, but would stop without complaining every single time.

“I’m sorry” I told him yet again. “I have certain rules”

“I respect that” he told me. “So when would you be ready?”

“Not today” came my vague answer.

“Would you want to stay with me?”

“No, I’d rather go home”

“I wouldn’t try anything”

“Come on, Marc” I looked at him with a smile “I’m not a teenager. I know if I get into bed with you, a hairy man, I wouldn’t even trust myself.”

If this is the first story you read by me, wait until you say “Good for her! What solid rules she has” and refer to my older stories.

“What are you doing tomorrow” he asked.

I told him I didn’t know. I wasn’t going to see him yet again, but I didn’t have time to come up with anything. So he invited me to his house. Again. Is that the way it would go?

I kissed him goodbye and left. And as my friend later pointed out, he didn’t even walk me home. But I live in a gay neighborhood so it might have been more dangerous for him to walk back from my house.

The next day his first message came in at 5:30pm. Not that I was sitting at home waiting by the phone.. No, I went to the park and waited by the phone. And then when he texted me, I waited an hour before I texted back with a bit of a question.

And he didn’t text for two whole days.

At first I thought it was because he didn’t want to be texting too much.


Hey, I’m sorry I can’t text. Kind of busy right now.

Then I thought he was busy. Ah, busy. Don’t you love that excuse? Remember being so busy that you couldn’t pick up the phone and text two words? If you do, you probably work in the Canadian Tundra. As a pilot. Or possibly in the tunnels as a miner. I briefly dated a British Intelligence Agent and even he texted every day! (Yes, you can ask me about that one!)

When I saw he wrote about the state of French politics on his Facebook page, that thought quickly faded away. Not that I really believed in the first place.

By Monday I convinced myself it was fine to have some space. He clearly wanted to see that I was independent and non-clingy. Instead of working on my project, I spent my morning reading countless articles and watching Matthew Hussey discuss how high-value women should behave.

Then I was upset. I mean – what if there was something about me that turned him off. Was I too available? Should I not have come over? Should I not have stayed until 3 am kissing him on a couch? Did that mean I was too easy? 

By Tuesday I was between pissed off and confused. How was it that someone who responded right away to every text I sent, was now gone? Maybe he didn’t actually receive the message? I googled tips on checking to see if your text is send to the other person and wished I talked to him through Whatsapp.

By Wednesday I thought “Screw it!” Even if he never received my message, he should have enough decency to inquire about me. Women ignore men all the time and still get pursued relentlessly. Then he texted. 

Now I felt in control. Ha! I waited it out and it worked! Now I could it play it my way. I waited until the evening and texted back something neutral. Carefully going over the wording of course. He responded right after. According to his not so carefully constructed text message, he was going to the gym.

Again I felt like I lost. He never meant to ask me out or even really talk to me. This was a way to check in but not say anything meaningful. And the irony is – I didn’t even like him so much! And here I was obsessing over this person. The person who was not even right for me in the first place.

On Thursday he checked in again. I waited hours then sent over a short and flirty message. I wanted to remind him that I was a fun, exciting self but felt he wasn’t even giving me anything to work with. That weekend we started texting it felt natural because he was trying. Now, he was just sending over standard “how is your week” messages. When he only answered back on Friday and not even asked me out, I was done.

Saturday night he reappeared at 12 am to ask me how my weekend was going. This time I would finally leave him hanging.



I knew the truth – the guy was barely stringing me along so he could see who else was available. He just wanted fun. He was putting zero effort and wanted it to remain this way. And the most unforgiving thing of all – it was because of him I re-watched that horrible movie “Think Like a Man”.

My brother first laughed. Then he said “Come on. It’s obvious. The guy wanted to get laid. You were too much work. He was too lazy to lift a finger above getting drinks nearby and inviting you to his place.”

So the lesson here, girls is: do not become more invested in him than he is. I know most of you found me because you were googling “What do French/German/Italian etc. Guys like?”  and I am not telling you to discontinue that. After all, I need my readers!

But before you do that, think about this – by forcing yourself to adhere to his rules, his standards, his type, you are really losing a part of the natural you. That part that maybe even attracted him to you initially. Your freedom, your sense of humour, your playfulness, your fearlessness – that moment before you become invested, before you began stalking his Facebook, overthinking the text messages, reading about his culture, and really trying to be liked by him instead of thinking “What has he done to make me like him?”

And just like that you go from the weekend girl, from the casual girl he flirts with, from the casual sex girl to the girl that has standards. And that’s the most attractive quality of all.

Or he disappears. But at least it was you who let him go.

What Happened to Them? (2015)

People are not characters and even as the story ends, they continue to live on. So, most likely some of my faithful readers out there have wondered – hmm.. What happened to this guy? Or that douchebag? Did she ever see them again? I’ve decided to do something different and give you a continuation of the stories. Only the ones that had some sort of continuation of course.

The German – Stefan

1386-0905-1204-5728 The guy I lost my virginity to? His girlfriend is having a baby. We no longer speak to each other. I no longer care either, though of course, even years later I still remember him. Who can forget their first?

The Chilean – Javier

This guy bears UNCANNY resemblance to Javier Remember the nineteen year old I met in Mexico and decided it would be a great idea to have a long distance relationship with him? Wonder of wonders, I was passing my Chile a few months ago and he met me at the airport. With his new girlfriend of course. At this point, I had no idea what I could have seen in this guy. Empty blue eyes, nothing interesting to say.. Yes, he definitely grew from a boy to a man, but now at 29 I no longer saw what my 25 year old self was attracted to. The whole thing was quite awkward as his girlfriend seemed very jealous and at one point, as he asked me about the past, started caressing his arm protectively. Any look in his eyes suggesting interest raised red flags in her. To be very honest with you – I didn’t even want to make her jealous. I thought both of them looked perfect for each other – like a clothing ad. Even their names were similar. I’m not saying I became a better person or anything, but I think I matured to the point where I no longer felt the need to prove something to myself or anyone. I was too busy looking for my own person.

The Argentinian – Fran


This is the newest story of all… And at this point, I no longer feel anything for Francisco either, though I still get a warm and fuzzy feeling when I get a message from him. We talked recently right after I uploaded a new video featuring his cousin – the player. The lover of attention was quite disappointed I never included his highness in the video. I told him I would include him in the next. I will not.

The Argentinian – Alfie

motorcycleWe are not in touch, but whenever I see his face on Facebook it literally makes me sick. There is something seriously off with that guy.

The Portuguese – Luiz

Some of you have mentioned to See? Not prettyme that this is your favorite story. Actually, it’s also one of my favorites. It is not every day someone flies to see you in another country. And someone that gorgeous either. But sadly enough, looks quickly faded for Luiz and he is no longer the “Brazilian model” young guy he once was. I was in Lisbon in the summer and only wrote to him the last day of my trip. I suppose I didn’t want to ruin a good memory and see Luiz as he is now, but then had a change of mind. We never managed to meet. It was too late in my trip and he now has a girlfriend that controls his every move. I think it’s a good thing we didn’t. Some memories are better left alone.

* and even though this is a story after the story, there is still another story that follows! A day after publishing this entry, Luiz decided to call me and we had a conversation on the phone during which he told me that he broke up with his girlfriend of five years. My romantic and idealistic Luiz sounded the same and yet different. He told me he learned English (through watching the Game of Thrones) and even though he was still a romantic at heart, his last girlfriend killed the idealistic streak in him. “No!” I yelled into the telephone “You were my one super romantic guy! Don’t tell me life destroyed that!” Seems that Luiz and I can’t seem to lose the contact and even when you think the story is over, life suddenly surprises you.

* And no, Luiz is still the beautiful Brazilian looking guy. Maybe even more so in his maturity. But after a Skype call, after hearing from him that he has never experienced what he had with me, I still knew that he is not the man I want. And I doubt I would move to Portugal to live with him.

The Puerto Rican – Franko

446011_f520Oh, my crazy obsession! The biggest obsession I have ever had over someone I barely knew. But someone who I now know is a self-obsessed, self-entitled asshole who feels he can get away with treating people any way he likes. The guy had the audacity to repeat his Puerto Rican episode not one more time, but TWO more times. The first was a year ago, after my video has come out. Clearly he felt special so he decided to invite himself to Canada to visit me. When I told him that he wouldn’t be able to stay at my place, he answered back with “I’m not going to sleep on your couch after a long flight!” Even though he didn’t bother messaging me for over 2 months, the royal douchebag still expected me to welcome him into my bed. Then he disappeared.  But the last straw happened when I was in Buenos Aires a month ago. He wrote to me to say he was coming to the city, but as soon as I stupidly expressed interest in his arrival, he just blew off. Didn’t even bother responding. The only way I could redeem myself is by erasing him off of Facebook. What a blow, right?

The Cuban – Christian


The romantic Cuban and I wrote back and forth for months. And no guys, he didn’t ask me for money or a visa. Finally, I stopped this useless interaction. I knew that there was no future in this. Sure, he was a beautiful person and it was a warming memory but who were we kidding here? A couple of months ago, when living with Fran in Cordoba I wrote to him again. I guess I missed the romance he and I shared when Fran and I did not. The Cuban was now working in a resort as an entertainer. The last email I received from him said that he waited for my email for 11 months. Heartbreaking right?

The Belgian – Eduard

backpackerThe one guy nothing even happened with, yet I have been in consistent contact with. He even offered to fly to Argentina just to see me. And when I was in Europe blamed me for not letting him know since he would have flown anywhere in the continent to see me. Totally beating any Latino man, right? Sadly, I don’t think I felt enough for him. I told him that and he accepted it, but we still have not lost contact. Once in a while he messages me and we talk back and forth like friends. I almost feel like if all else fails, maybe he can be my back-up plan. Don’t call me mean. I just wish I had more feelings for the guy! So here we go. So many stories and yet not one with a great ending. Do you have someone that you keep thinking about? Do you wonder what it would be like to see this person again? Share your own stories and experiences. I love getting messages from you, so send them over and I will do my best to respond to each one of you!

Why Pick Up Videos Bother me to the Nth Degree

Dating Beyond Borders

Image Pick up lines. Youtube is full of them. Guys trying to kiss girls. Guys proposing to girls. Girls picking up girls. Girls picking up dogs…

I’ve had enough.

It is not the idea that’s the problem. It is the way it is carried out. The point is – there is absolutely no sincerity in any of it. So what? You will say. It is just a way to kill time and see some guys (or girls) ‘score’.

The problem arises when already clueless men are faced with different ‘rules’ and ‘strategies’ to meeting women. From books like “The Game” to “Pick-Up a Girl” (with a million different variations), men are getting a straight shooter approach to getting a girl to do everything from give you the phone number to kiss her. But how do you generally carry them out?

1. Provide her with cheesy lines, but act like you are mocking the idea with…

View original post 497 more words

The Belgian – A Little Too Late (2014)

backpackerSince I recently moved to a new apartment downtown I was eager to host someone on Couchsurfing. However, a bachelor isn’t exactly an ideal place for it since you are pretty much face to face with the person day and night. For those who do not know – a bachelor isn’t a TV show, it is an apartment solely comprised of one room.

This guy’s message was asking me to host him for a few days. He seemed cool – extremely well travelled, worldly, he spoke German, French and even Argentinian Spanish. But I was too lazy and uncomfortable to host a guy in the same room. I clicked a ‘no’ and faked a reason. He told me he understood but was a bit upset. It seemed like he couldn’t get hosted at all these days and was losing all faith in Couchsurfing. Something in me felt like I should prove him wrong and take a chance, so my ‘no’ turned to ‘yes’.

Next week, as he walked through the door, I knew we would get along just fine. Eduard was relaxed, easy to talk to, very genuine and sarcastic (which is my weakness in men actually). And to top it off – he was quite attractive. Tall, dark haired, with a longer nose, which actually gave him more of a personality, and a soft accent that would change from German to French to Spanish and even to Irish when he said ‘Fock!’

When he noticed I was cooking dinner, he offered to run to the store and get wine and even brought me some Belgian chocolate.

Over dinner, we talked about our lives. I was slightly envious of his free lifestyle. Having completed his Masters, he was travelling around the world on a whim. He has lived in Argentina and Egypt, has been to India three times and had no fear of going to places like Lebanon and Syria. He owned a motorcycle and was free as the wind, while I was working 9-5 and feeling like I could use a three month vacation.

As it turned out later, he wished he had a life like mine. He wanted to be more stable, he no longer took any pleasure in travelling and while he was a daredevil in many parts of his life, Eduard seemed to lack the confidence to initiate anything with a girl he found attractive. From his stories I gathered he didn’t have a serious girlfriend and seemed to over-think every move he made.

When I took him to a Couchsurfing meeting, he seemed to see other guys as competition and I couldn’t understand why. He was a great guy, with an impressive life, and a cool personality. He exuded confidence, but deep down he was way more complicated and lonely.

Most people at the Couchsurfing meeting knew I was filming a documentary about sex and hook-ups in the Couchsurfing world. I focused on guys that used the site as a tool to get laid with exotic women, and was even going to NYC to stay at a Brazilian guy’s place with my camerguy in April. How ironic was it when I came in with a guy and announced I was hosting him for a few days. Most people winked and nudged me all over the place, while he pointed out that I seemed to enjoy the attention.

And I think it was really funny that while I was focusing on this topic, I really wouldn’t have minded if he made a move on me. I just didn’t want to initiate anything. I was tired of having international flings that were momentary and having already found one boyfriend on Couchsurfing I didn’t want to continue the pointless trend.

We grew really close over the course of the three days. My building had a problem with the water, so we made salads with bottled water, took showers in the gym next door and made countless jokes. He would get vegetables and cookies and we would drink beer and talk. Everything was smooth, easy and I even got used to having a companion. It was kind of nice to come back home and spend time with him, to feel that there was this great guy I could just be with – no games, or pretending or any other crap involved.

But I wouldn’t make any sort of a move. And I was almost certain he wouldn’t either. The last night we lay down on his mattress bed and were very close. Had it been a year ago, I would have probably been more obvious about my interest but at this point I didn’t want to this more awkward so I just let it go.

As I got in bed, he said :

“You know.. Your mention of the documentary about sex made me feel like I had to prove to you that I was different. I wish you never told me”

He left the next day but this is when he finally got enough guts to tell me how he felt. He told me he hardly experiences a strong connection with someone the way he did with me. He was terrified I would turn him down and this made it really difficult to make a move. He wished he could be close to me, not as a hook-up or a fling, but something way deeper because even though he has been around the world he rarely felt this way.

I suspected something similar but this was huge.

And the worst – he was so scared I would turn him down, he never even tried. He waited until he LEFT to tell me how he really felt. He had no fear of booking a ticket to the most remote place in the world, but he couldn’t reach three inches to kiss a girl he really liked. He was so scared of looking vulnerable, he didn’t do anything at all. So now, all we had was something that did not happen. And that, in my opinion, is one of the biggest regrets people have. Wanting to do something and being afraid it doesn’t work out.

I think women like men who take charge, who can initiate something, who may be afraid of rejection but have enough confidence in them to go for it anyways. And this is probably why, while Eduard and I had such a great connection, I failed to see him as the real man. Of course, being hosted is a tricky situation and he was not sure how I would react so I understand completely. But what is the point of wishing I was ‘beside him’ right now when we are miles apart is beyond me.

Guys, and girls – I know it’s hard. But it is better to be rejected than to forever wonder what might have been. I know this is cliche and you have probably seen tons of ‘inspiration’ posters with those same words – but still it doesn’t sink in. Life doesn’t give us second chances. So take the first.

Why I Always Choose a European over a North American

9540868“I thought you were twerking”, uttered a Canadian guy to my friend as a way to get an intro. He has been eyeing me awkwardly for about fifteen minutes and finally he had his ‘in’..

My French girlfriend just had some beer spilled on her and she made a quick motion clearly resembling Miley Cirus. Clearly.

Let me say this first. I hate the new lingo. Selifes. Twerking. Chillax. I cannot stand this fake culture built on media references. It annoys me that bars in Toronto on a Saturday night resemble a zoo where the guys are like apes, walking around pumped up, trying to awkwardly get action, not sure how to act, except to flex their biceps, offer lame pick-up lines, yell a lot, high five even more and look like they haven’t had sex for ages. Except for those really good looking ones who look like you are fully beneath them to even look you in the eyes.

How I miss the feeling of looking at someone and them looking right at you with a twinkle in their eye. Not something that happens often in this city.

Right after I almost puked in my mouth, Senior Twerker came up to me even though I looked like I wanted to teleport myself out of that bar and country.

“Where are you from?” he asked. In Toronto, no one is really Canadian, so we are constantly curious.


“Wow” he exclaimed. I was all ready for – “Russian women are hot” which is always the second line, but thankfully he restrained himself before I would seriously puke in my mouth.

“And you?” I offered for politeness sake.

“Italian” he said.

OK, I know what Italian is and that boy could not be it. It’s not that I idolize Italians. I definitely do not. Nor French, German or Spanish men. But I can tell the look of an Italian a mile away. It is the intensity, the raw sexuality, the directness, the openness, the confidence in his role as a man that cannot ever be confused with Canadian blandness.

“Let me guess” I offered “born in Woodbridge (Italian part of the city)”

“Wrong. Toronto. Better?”

I shrugged. Sure, I was being mean but I was in a bitter mood, tired of all this fake jargon and lame conversation. It has been a while since I have felt attracted to anyone and he was really getting on my nerves.

“Not really”

“Well, what kind of men do you like?”

I hesitated for a split second before blurting out “Europeans. Real ones.”

It took him about a minute to take off. And I didn’t even feel bad.

Ok, so in hindsight I was horrible. I judged a guy for something he had no control over. Not his fault he didn’t know any other food than meatballs and pizza. Not his fault he has probably knows three obvious words in Italian and says them with a thick Canadian accent. Or that he introduces himself as Niko without ever having ever experienced more than two weeks in Rome or Sicily.

But TWERKING!? He really had it coming.

And let’s be real. European boys are not all that great either. Just the other day I had a dull and shallow date with a French guy. Even though wine tasting was involved, it was still lackluster. And we split the bill equally. The evening before I had to endure a German guy tear down my video channel ruthlessly until I had no hope in it or me any longer. And yesterday, I spent a few hours in a club with a Spanish guy who was too awkward to make a real move. So, okay, Europeans are not all intelligent, worldly, cheeky and sexy.

But at least there are many that are.

Canadian boys – or at least Torontonian boys, you need to step it up and offer a girl something other than a lame pop culture reference in order to introduce yourself and maybe if you look her deep in the eyes and talk to her like a woman will she actually feel like one. And then, possibly, she will finally not care that you are a just a regular boy born in Woodbridge.

But for now I will stick with my Europeans.