Osaka Fizzles Teriyaki Style

I don’t know about you, but I like my sake warm. Icy sake leaves me thinking of a cold eel pulled from the water, squirming, chilling the palm of my hand. Warm sake slides down the throat effortlessly, warming the centre of your belly. Kind of like laughter. Today, Sally Thelen is my sake. Please guffaw at this week’s story from Summer Chick Tales.

It was two days before my big date with the hot Japanese cop that I’d met at my friend’s party when he texted me to surprise me. Not in a romantic, cutesie, “I-can’t-wait-to-see-you-again” kind of way, but in a “Hey-guess-what! My-supervisor-is-going-to-join-us-on-our-date” kind of way.

Needless to say, it worked – I was, well, surprised.

But, hey, maybe this was just the Japanese way?

After all, what did I know? I hadn’t exactly been dating up a frenzy since arriving in Japan two years prior to meeting the hot cop. It’s not that I wasn’t interested in dating Japanese guys – I was. It’s just that they didn’t seem all that interested in dating me. Or, maybe “not interested” is not the right term for it — more like “completely terrified of the prospect.”

Not that this was anything new. I’ve been told my whole life that I can be a little bit, well, intimidating. I’ve never been completely sure what it is about me that puts men off – whether it’s my fierce independence or my intellect or my biting sarcasm or, say, my tendency to get loud and sloppy at parties and start dragging boys across the dance floor by their lapels in an effort to make them dance

May 25th, 2011|Categories: May 2011|Tags: , , , , , , , |12 Comments

When Love Rode Up in Finland

When I read this story Finlandia Vodka came to mind. In a rocks glass, two fingers worth, mixed with soda and cranberry juice. Then, ice. Three to four cubes. It’s a complete drink to accompany Shawna Enns’ tale of love found and lost in the brisk environs of Finland. Please enjoy today’s story from Summer Chick Tales.

Snow Dust Winter Glow

It was 2005 and I was absolutely thrilled with myself, because I had put a dream in motion. I had successfully arrived, completely solo, in Turku, Finland to begin a four month university exchange. Now, this location in itself is not terribly exotic, and the weather was generally far from paradise, but this was my first time overseas and just as I had hoped, it proved to be an experience of a lifetime.

During the first week of school all of the International Business students were put into teams to do a city-wide scavenger hunt, which essentially turned into one huge pub crawl. I spotted him right away, a rather cocky, but quite hilarious, Dutch student with spiky hair, obnoxious yellow high tops, and a shit-eating grin. His name was Erik.

As it turned out, our apartments weren’t too far from each other and we were the only students within our group of friends that decided to bike to school instead of getting bus passes. We would bump into each other on the bike path and soon enough, he started waiting for me each morning to head to school together.

As October approached, I found myself thinking of home and the big juicy turkey that my friends and

May 18th, 2011|Categories: May 2011|Tags: , , , , , , |11 Comments

Summer Lovin’ Had Me a Blast; Summer Lovin’ Happened So Fast

This one is most definitely a daiquiri and Irish ale combo. In tune with a typical summer drinking night, Nicole Smith started one summer with light intentions, only to end it with something robust – a boy and romance. Please enjoy today’s story from Summer Chick Tales.

times square

It all began, fittingly, on the first day of summer with a game called ‘tangled’, where everyone puts their hands in the center of a circle, grabs two random people’s hands and then proceeds to untangle themselves to make a circle as this is “team-building” and “creates friendships”.  It was our first day as counselors at an American summer camp in up-state New York and we were wondering just what we had gotten ourselves into.

In the fray of hand grabbing, I felt one brush over mine, attempting to take hold, but I grabbed two other hands – one set belonging to the strong lacrosse specialist and the other to the as-nervous-as-me mountain biking instructor. I gave the mountain biking instructor a brief, nervous smile before listening to the Type-A personalities taking control of the predicament we’d been forced into. It vaguely occurred to me that there were boys and possibilities, but dashed it from my mind at the moment.

I wasn’t just a counselor, but had a specific job – radio specialist. After slaving away cleaning the winter dust and dirt, lugging an ancient 10 kg panel board and various other sound and computer equipment, I set up my radio shack on the edge of the boys-side of campus.

May 11th, 2011|Categories: May 2011|Tags: , , , , |7 Comments

Serendipity in Sihanoukville

Where’s the margarita blender? I think we need a lime salty to toss this one back. Elaine Thatcher recounts the mishaps and mishandling of hooking up with another traveler. With a surprise ending. Please enjoy today’s story from Summer Chick Tales.

I’ve never been good at picking guys up as I have always been on the shy side. I have on many occasions spent an evening making flirty eye-contact with that hot guy at the bar only to go home hours later cursing myself for not having the courage to go over and progress the situation (strangely, it never occurred to me that he would have done so had he been really interested).

So, what happened in Cambodia came as a huge surprise.

My friend Kelly and I decided to spend our Easter holiday in Cambodia. We were living in Vietnam and needed a break from the congested streets of Saigon. We wanted a cheap break and so we shelled out $22 each and hopped on a bus. We were excited and looked forward to long days of sunbathing and long nights of dancing on the beach.

Our destination was Serendipity Beach in Sihanoukville, a peninsula on the southern coast of Cambodia. I immediately liked the place. Run-down, rugged and shabby tin shacks littered the beach and the limp bodies of sun-drugged travelers lounged on tatty armchairs as far as the eye could see. The place was alive: women laden with heavy-baskets of fruit or offering massages plodded heavily across the sand, children played, and beautiful bikini-clad girls (probably Swedish) frolicked with golden Adonises in the frothy waves. It was a single girl’s paradise.

Maybe it was because travelers don’t hang around in Saigon, or the fact that