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Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Don't get me wrong, Chicago was nice. The walk between the Museum of Contemporary Art and the Museum of Contemporary Photography was an absolute dream. In particular, I recommend, the sweet boy across the street from the Art Institute. You should be in modelling, lad.
Yet there are other good-looking cities.
Just today, who walks into me but Mr. Dreamboat? Could he truly be from Vancouver?
Sweet and nice and a little button nose to boot. As I gazed into his puppy dog eyes (I was following him around trying to strike up conversation), he told me that he likes all the cultural amenities I like. A good-looking bloke who likes museums, art and all that shit? Sign me up for service!
I asked him if he was local. Nope, from Ottawa. Only here for a few days.
A friend who might not want to be named once came back from a trip to Ottawa to tell me that she had to pretend her brother was her boyfriend to beat off the hundreds of yummy chaps accosting her on the streets of our capital.
This same friend also came back from Calgary, my own hometown, to tell me that in Calgary all the men are romantic gentlemen. It is here that's the problem, she said.
Then there is Copenhagen. I have only been to the airport, but a German friend recommends I move there. I've also heard the same for Croatia. Imagine that - an entire country of men with good genes! My one Croatian acquaintance convinced me of that.
Yet another friend swears by L.A. On my last visit to the City of Angels, the waiters bought me my meal and wine, then took me out to coffee after my meal in another part of town. (In case you are wondering where my L.A. Romeos are, I was between flights and had to leave my fans in order to catch my next plane.)
Atlanta, I was told, is a wasteland with the two girls for every boy situation. Avoid Atlanta.
Another place, for the large lady, I am told, is Barbados. One of my friends recounted with glee all the obliging men who went gaga over her booty.
Romania is another nice place for the curvaceous. After leaving my skinny-loving fiance (he wanted me back in anorexic form), my Romanian boy friends told me how lucious I was, with more squeezable bits.
Actually I would say that Romania is good for almost anyone with a double helping of X chromosomes. Another one of my male friends could hardly contain himself and divulged that he would very much like to make blue-eyed babies with me. That's the sort of classy treatment you can expect in Romania.
But are they good-looking lugs? My personal preference is for the Transylvanian lads. North of the Carpathians, from where I hail originally, that's where I go shopping.
Then there are ladies who swear on Tunisians. Not really my cup of tea, but the ladies who proclaimed their allegiance to these North African hotties also mentioned that even older women can shack up with young studs in Tunisia.
Aside from Ma Liuming, East Asia is a wasteland. Taiwan featured a population of pasty intellectual men with daikon-like legs and leather-tanned hicks in wifebeaters spitting bloody betelnut juice everywhere. China's Guangdong province presented me with an array of duck-lipped farmers whose temptation I could resist. Korean men, I can't get over all the tales of domestic violence and rape to even look at one without wincing. Hong Kong, too many unbecoming spectacles and nerdy haircuts. Macau - I don't believe I encountered one young man during the whole year I lived on its outskirts.
Japan. The exception to the East Asia rule. Even Shingo Mama. Imagine my joy when, walking into my first Japanese unisex bathroom, a row of beauties looked up from the urinals to greet me.
The winning country, however, is Italy. Everywhere you go you are made to feel special. And not just in a scummy way.
Italy's super-model-gorgeous things can't wait to shower you with compliments and whatever else strikes your fancy. All you have to do is look at one of them and he'll be answering your every wish in a minute. Not more waiting around or messy dating. And if the romance sours? There's another one lusting over you this very moment.
That's my advice to the smart, beautiful women who read this. You deserve someone nice and nice-looking. You don't deserve to be treated like you better hold on for dear life or you won't get another chance. Italy is filled with enough male bimbos for all five of us.
(Please do not hesitate to alert me to other cities that promise me love or at least a weekend of fun.)
Addendum: I also met someone else today but he wasn't as drooly. Then I made an interesting phonecall to a bank and ended up having a half-an-hour conversation with the handsome-sounding account manager. I had to cut off the conversation as we were getting ridiculously cozy. I'm sure in person he could not have been that handsome. Mr. Dreamboat promised he would come visit me a few more times before he leaves.
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