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The Time I Tried to Catch Neil Snoring So I Could Play it Back and Shame Him for Keeping Me Awake but Failed. 

Boyfriend quotes of the morn:

Kisses me after I put on some lip balm: “Real men don’t apply their own lips gloss. It’s bro code. Brode.” 

Getting ready for work in the morning: “La-la-la-la-laaaa, I’m going to put some clothes on my rancid human coooorpse!” 

Ya, why not?

This is me and Neil. We’re on the moors! I think? I’m a head made of paper!

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But this is before I moved to England. Actually, at this point I have still yet to move to England. Currently, I’m in Toronto! It’s pretty neat here, but it’s just a pitstop on the way to Chesterfield, Derbyshire, England, Urff.

This is the famed Crooked Chesterfield Spire. Someone fucked up the wood treatment, so now it looks like a cranked-up cartoon ice cream cone.

About a year ago, I met a very silly (sounding) man at the Regina Folk Festival. Lured in by his nonsense mouth and oversized raver jeans, I used all my advanced flirting techniques (fart jokes, tight rhymes, obscure rabbit facts) to entrance him. But it seemed like he wasn’t at all interested in my lovely lady lumps/humps/bumps/rumps! I HAD BEEN SNUBBED! HE WOULD RUE THE DAY IN THE NEAR FUTURE WHERE I WOULD TRAIN MY MIND TO BECOME A POWERFUL KINETIC WEAPON!

Despite his disinterest, the following morning I was among the party who saw him off at the airport. “I’ll find you on Twitter!” he shouted romantically over his shoulder. I did not imagine that I’d ever hear from him again. But lo! He was true to his word and a week later I received a tweet from the very hung-over English hermit crab that had scuttled into the airport and out of my life.

It turned out that all the mental death-ray training that I’d been doing was a complete waste of time! Turns out he liked me quite a bit. He’d liked the sound of me from stories our mutual friend told, and he’d liked me the time we’d hung out in Canada. I was so irritated. We lived super far apart and we could only assume with our combined powers of common sense that that would make dating difficult. Turns out it wasn’t that bad. 

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Yada, yada, yada, about 6 months later we decided I’d move to England. I had some beautiful bunnies (all re-homed with lovely humans) an old Toyota Echo, a family that lived two provinces away, and a hankering for a fresh start. Nullh owned property, a cat with FIV, and had a fairly healthy relationship with his family, so it only made sense.  Also, I lived in France for a little under a year and listened to them shit-talk the English with great zest AND verve. I figure it’s only right to extend England the opportunity to rebut?  

This is me and Erasto at a poorly inspected carnival in the city I lived in    called Nancy. We both went on a ride for the first time, and both almost pook-ed. 

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Another 6 months, 2 Visa applications, 5 moves, 3 jobs and many sleepless nights later (for both of us), I had secured the appropriate documents! This was a dark and uncertain time, and very high up there on my list of “Most Stressful 6 Month Periods”. I have to add that I did not go through this alone; I had many supportive friends cheering for us along the way and Nullh was unfailingly optimistic and helped in every way that he could. 

So now I’m in Toronto having a lovely time, but mostly waiting patiently for my 9 hour flight from Pearson International to Manchester. Pewps to hella-long flights, huzzah for permanent adult sleepovers with my best friend! Suffice to say, I’m pretty jazzed about my future adventures in island living.

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I sent Nullh this from work: “BORED. DANCE FOR ME, FOOL! PLAY A SONG FOR ME, MINSTREL!” And he sent me this.

A Valentimes Poem From My Goober (With MS Paint V-day Card.)

I love you lots and lots,

more than I love shallots. *Which you love a great deal?

I love your pretty hair,

more than I love a pear. * You do enjoy a good pear, this I know.

I love your brilliant eyes,

more than I ever loved pies. *I have never seen you eat pie. In fact, I know you are a cake man.

I love your sexy breasts,

more than a noodle nest. *I don’t know what this is, but you do love ma’ boobs.

I’d love to squeeze your bum,

more than to eat a plum. *Ya, ya you do.

I love how you make me laugh,

more than a wine carafe. *I dunno…we’ve come across some pretty HI-larious carafes…

I love how you’re always there,

much more than any dining affair. *Correct. I am there for all meals!

Please don’t mistake this for a stew,

I’m deeply in love with you. *This is the worst stew ever…

So please do not decline,

to be my Valentine. *I agree to be your Valentine, such as indicated in girlfriend contract clause 3-A: Holidays (Hallmark,Religious and Bank)

Or if I’m out of luck,

at least could I get a… lie down on a bed talking rubbish to you for

hours despite being really attracted to you until I have to

get up and catch a plane then look you up on Twitter later because I

am an idiot? *Always, my love. But if you ever mumble “I’ll look you up on Twitter as a parting line again…I guess I’ll still be in love with you, my uber-nerdy Englishman.

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