So, I also met him at a bar. Since I've deleted all the dating apps, hopefully for good, it's naturally the only place that I really need guys. At festivals, they don't approach me or seem approachable, as a library it's nothing but old ladies, and in the neighborhood... Well it's kind of ghetto, so I'd prefer a guy not on meth. Well, he was sitting at a bar stool alone in the piano bar and I struck up a conversation about the song that was on since my best friend and I sat next to him on the two empty bar stools waiting there. The conversation was sweet, like the vodka soda with a splash of cranberry I was sipping on. As the conversation continued, we ended up meandering 2 another room of the massive bar that housed a stage in the corner with a pretty banging cover band. Well my best friend ruled over the heartbreaker lead singer, mr. Woodstock dance near me. He informed both her and I that the lead singer is a friend of his and is quite the heartbreaker. He has one baby mama and one girlfriend that he's aware of. That didn't stop the best friend from drooling and my Tipsy self replied, "yeah she always goes for no good, ass Jacks, and I make sure not to go for guys that are tens. I'm such a--" His blue eyes locked into mine as he interjected oh. Sounding deflated. Confused at his reaction, I continued dancing as to not enhance my awkward. Oh, I thought does that mean he's into me?Naive as that sounds, I legitimately had no idea the boy was interested in me. I just thought he was enjoying conversation strangers. God knows I did that a lot in Spain in other countries where English was not the first language. Anyone that spoke English, you best believe my outgoing self was buddying up to them! Anywhoooooo! My best friend and I were itching to dance, so before heading for the club section of the multipurpose bar, I invited him along. Mr. Woodstock gave a warranted exclamation of why he detested the club and how he wouldn't be caught in there. He never said dead, so I didn't want to be dramatic. So, I bid him adieu and told him if I ran into him later than great. Not wanting to risk not seeing me again, he grabbed my hand, blinked his blue eyes, and requested my phone number. As eager as a tipsy girl could be, I punched it into his phone with precision and smiled as I strutted away. Moments later on the dance floor, my best friend was dancing between two guys. The one that obviously wasn't winning this dance battle with her, made advances over to me. [Typical] Before I could even react, I felt a hand on my hip and heard a voice at heard before say, "hey Steph." Reading my best friend's face of shock, I whipped around to find mr. Woodstock. Taken aback because of all the things he just said about despising the club and how he wouldn't be caught in here, I gazed in Bewilderment. I'm not certain if I stopped dancing, but my insides froze. Smiling and touching my hand with his, he continued dancing with me. Eventually, the shock wore off and the clock stroke 3. My blonde best friend had hit an emotional part in her drunk and the waterworks couldn't be contained. "Hey, can I drive y'all home?" He offered. Judgment call: I felt that any guy, even if he's one you just met a couple hours before, offers a crying girl and her friend a ride home, probably, isn't, most likely not going to chop us up into little bitty pieces and tile his bathroom with the remains. I know.... that was a little graphic for me too. #sorrynotsorry Before he took us home, he asked permission for us to take a detour. Another judgement call Tipsy Stephanie made: sure! Adventure Time! But not like the show... I've been saying it a lot longer. Then he walked us to a dock on the bay. My best friend was able to have some alone time since she didn't want to be consoled in her tears. Meanwhile, back at the bay, we walked to the edge of the pier where he kissed me. In the moonlight, just this stranger and I. I couldn't have predicted this might with a multiple choice options. We apparently kissed in the corner of the club as well but that part's a little hazy-- whoops! Once we arrived home and my friend was safe and sound in the bed, he revealed things to me. We had a heart-to-heart. Complete strangers, yet engaged in personal things. Now, as you've read from my beginning posts in '17 till now, surely I was bound to learn something so, I was just listening this time. Avoiding intimate details about myself and my past, all I revealed when he admitted his battle with depression was my tendency to push people away and resist complacency and routine for too long. He took kindly to the news but was hopeful in his phrase around 5am: "well, I hope you can stick around long enough for me to show you Pensacola." He kissed me once more and headed to the door. "Great meeting you and when can I see you again? " "Umm... Tuesday?" "I'll pick you up at 12," he said smiling. Just 1 of a 3 part series
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Another one that bit the dust from the archive. We met at a place called "Closed for Business" in Downtown Charleston. The irony of that place is it eventually actually closed for business. I guess they kind of had that coming... But nonetheless, this was where we met for a date. We had been talking for maybe a week and a half on one of the notorious apps. Conversation was casual, but crescendoed into a sound agreement that people take life too seriously, including dating. He high-fived me and was immediately on my side (like Nationwide). His brown shaggy hair and oil-stained hands were rugged, with a slight gentle touch. The conversation flowed like the lagers on tap and we made our way to the next bar across the street. Once the topic of music came up, his eyes lit up. "I have something to show you, he said. I'm not a 'car person,' so I can't really tell you what kind of car it was, all I know is it was an old classic that he took really good care of. We got into the car, parallel parked on King Street (the main stretch of bars in downtown Charleston), and he switched on the ignition. Instantly, an angelic male voice filled the classic car and a smile spread on my face like butter on Wonder Bread. "Is this Freddie?" I said amazed. "Great ear," he fired back. "Once you said you loved Queen, I had to show you what I was listening to on the way to our date." Then the next track, was a remix of one of Queen's famous songs sprinkled with an interpretation from an indie rock band. Squinting my eyes, I listened. "Yeah, but classics..." "Steph," he said putting his hand on my left side. "Just give it a chance." As I accepted the challenge, I actually enjoyed the remake-- nowhere near as much as the original, but it was something. As the conversation slowed and the track ended, our eyes mozied to the clock. "Here, I'll walk you to your car, he said smiling. His hazel eyes flared. We flirted the four blocks weee weee weee all the way home- errr to my car. After thanking him, he smiled and eagerly inquired about another date. It was obvious he was unsure if he was going to kiss me or not. After our hug, I kind of leaned in prematurely and he pulled back. "Oh. Oh. K," I said loudly. "Well you have a good night too!" Smiling, I got into my car. Windows down, I pulled my car around as he walked to the other side walk. Finding a spot to turn around my Honda Civic, I said "See if you get a kiss from me next time! Two Can Play That Game." "No!" He said as he scurried over to my driver's window. "No it's too late," I exclaimed as I stepped on the gas. I could see him running in the rearview. He texted me: you're something! I almost got you. Sending a winky face, I I drove off into the summer night. Drive by shooting pudding shots1 (3 1/2 ounce) packageinstant chocolate pudding mix
3⁄4 cup milk 1⁄4 cup vodka 1⁄2 cup irish cream 8 ounces extra Cool Whip
Everyone new I meet asks the ever-popular, "so, where are you from?" And to each of those any inquiries I respond, "Well.... that's a complicated question." As soon as I reveal my last three pin points on the map, 90% of them respond with, "oh are you military?" Have you seen my beer and chocolate fueled body? That's a negative Ghost Rider. Anyone that knows me would scoff in the same manner. With that being said, in relation to my dating, it's inevitable that I'm going to run into some military guys. With the reputation that only 3 have lived to contradict, I strive to avoid military guys at all cost. This particular Friday night, I not only failed that task, but I became instrumental in a demonstration for one of their sergeant or lieutenants or whatever AND all his men. I really mean no disrespect to military men and women that protect our liberties for this phenomenal country. It's my favorite country 6 days of the week. 'Merica. So this particular Guy starts buying the shots that he was already drinking. A Kamikaze which I don't think I've had since College at this rave Club we used to frequent in Arlington, Texas.... it is until it got shut down for drugs and selling liquor to minors. It was great because I'll never forget one of the conversations my best friend I overheard in the bathroom one night: "Staci, I think I need to stop smoking so I can save up for a new fake ID. This one starting to bend." Pri-or-it-ies. Anyway, back to this Friday night with mr. Hardback kamikaze. He continued to buy me shots and make small talk. I could see his friends or mates or whatever you call them watching intently. Some of them were Suave about it, others not so much. "If you're trying to show off for your buddies, I'm definitely not the girl to do that." "No, I genuinely enjoy talking to you," he replied with a smile. " I'm not going to go home with you," I said plainly with no remorse if that deterred him from retrieving my Snapchat or phone number. " Stephanie, I just like you." Knowing it's physically impossible to like someone that you don't know anything about, I rolled my eyes and return to the dance floor. From what I can remember, he kept up, but I'll be honest.... the end of the night was a little hazy. He did retrieve my Snapchat and we conversed a little, but nothing seemed to really come of it. Then, there was this night I was walking on the beach alone and he messaged me.I know we are thinking... she going to hurry this up? I got a pizza that'll be here any minute . She goes to the beach a lot. Is she not aware that Pensacola has a very high sex trafficking rate? Is she crazy? Okay my lovely readers, (more than one accounts as plural; thanks Mom and Lauren) as you've learned, I'm notorious for joining double dates with my best friend. Well on this occasion, I was just a third wheel why we were at a bar on the water, adventure outside and walk the shore of the strip of bars in Gulf Breeze. The soft sand and lively water we're perfect for the night. While enjoying the serenity, I began receiving quick responses from Mr. Hardback Kamikaze. His name apparent because of the type of drink he bought us when I met him, but the second part of his name comes from the conversation we had this night. I natually said something punny, because that's just how my brain works, and we began talking about writing and how I've got a Blog. Instantly, he asked for the address and I relinquished it without reservations because I knew he didn't have a post. Before thumbing through my most recent posts oh, he asked me who my favorite writers were and then revealed Fitzgerald was his. More than impressed, I kind of let my guard down. Wow this boy has depth I thought. Then, he proceeded to compliment my writing: \n"I’ve only read one piece and I’m already diving down the rabbit holeAnd lord if I didn’t like you before..." \n"You should Bc it’s 10x better than anything I’ve written; you put so much of your heart into your writing and it shows. Not obnoxiously but subtle enough that it makes an impact." \n Kamikaze Cake: for a cover you can't judgeCake Ingredients
Glaze Ingredients
Instructions For the Cake
For the Glaze:
So this guy struck me as a little stranger than some of the others. He started out by inviting me over to talk because our conversation intrigued him. He said he had a house and an extra room and just enjoyed "entertaining." He was pretty convincing and seemed like he had no real intention, even though it was late at night and he had a full bar, that he felt the need to show me a picture of. Can't say I wasn't impressed, because the amount of liqueurs he had were great for mixing different drinks. I still declined, and he wasn't nasty about it, so our conversation continued couple days later. He revealed he was military,so in my eyes, anyway had a stroke and then, oh he lived up to the reputation! It doesn't take a dating app to land one of these interactions.... Just one of the 9 Shady Bunch guys!Days later is what I got this lovely message, then followed by a censored dick pic. Classssssssss.
Since he sent me a pic insinuating.... I found a meme sweeter than any dessert for this short-live texting encounter. This lovely story takes place on the night of one of my good friend's weddings in the heart I'm downtown Dallas. Dolled up at the Renaissance Hotel, I had a run-in with the officiator of this wedding after he was incredibly intoxicated. Hey, an open bar at a Mexican wedding, don't think I'm faulting him. They sure knew how to throw a party! The bride looked beautiful (and not because I'm biased) and there was hours of great dancing music of multiple languages for her and her dance-hungry guests to indulge in. This lad, because I have no other name for him at this point, went to the same high school as the bride and I, our sisters spent time at each other's houses frequently, and we hung out on a boat trip a couple years ago with the now bride and groom. If that's not enough to at least remember who a person is, then there's no point. Unfortunately, true as it may be, I had a crush on this lad in high school. He was kind of popular, and pretty darn handsome for a senior in high school. Rumor had it, he was quite the man whore, so I steered clear. Not that I really was in the same league as him that time and day anyway. My choir-nerd-self was completely content with being single, working as a Vice President of choir, and the American Sign Language Club. We were incredibly flirting on the boating trip, but I knew that was just how he was. I had no desire to pursue anything with this lad, but I at least knew who it was, by first and last name. >>>>>Fast forward to this wedding, and he suavely tried to spark up a conversation by addressing me as "Cheryl," in confidence with a wink. I thought for sure he was kidding. He was not. I let him have it in front of all his friends. "How much of a hoe are you that you can't remember someone's name that you went to school with, you dropped off your sister at her sister's house all the time and I was the one to answer the door, and the boating trip a couple years ago..." He cut me off and pointed to his military uniform. "I've had one too many hits in the head. You can expect me to remember your name." "Oh can't I? Have a good night Robert." I used to last name as well in a condescending tone. Some of his friends, other groomsmen in the wedding, spatted, "ohhhhhhh!" While I strutted my way back to my place on the dance floor with Spanish reggaeton playing. Whoever said people don't change need to be more specific. The person can sure as hell digress. I'm not the greatest with names, so when I mess up (naturally) I at least own up to it and wouldn't use my job as an excuse. ESPECIALLY when I know for a fact, he enlisted as a last resort. Cool bro. Have a good life. He's beyond last season-- he's two seasons ago, like pumpkin cookies in spring. Stephanie's taste in high school was certainly just another thing I grew out of.
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Since dating in Dallas, Charleston, and Spain didn't seem to be enough, here I am in Pensacola out and about to see their dating pool.... I was surrounded by options! So many so that I felt it necessary to compare them to the Brady Bunch for illustration purposes of these squares. WHAT-- who said that?! Not all of them were squares.....Warning: If you're easily offended, you should read no further in this post or my blog. This is a place of raw material, thoughts, and reactions. It's not of condescending nature where I believe I am above any of the "misters" portrayed honestly in these posts, it is simply my encounters with single men and my opinions on the events to follow. You have been warned ;)) Setting: A warm April night in Pensacola, Florida at the only club in the 22 square miles of the city In case my confidence was lacking, this third night in the newest city I call home, I had encounters with 9 guys in one club. Fewf, I'm exhausted just thinking about it. RingoSeated on the fountain on the back patio of the bar, Missing a tooth on his left side of his mouth, his edgy haircut is what lured me in. No visible tattoos, but a half buzzed, half combed over style of his thick brown hair fell gently into his left hazel eye. While my drunk best friend was pleading for me to come inside, I persisted that I wanted to meander by the fountain. She seated me next to this "Mr. Ringo" and walked away. Laughing at the awkward situation, I sparked conversation and did strive to learn just how edgy he was. He's from Nola. DING DING DING, we have a winner. A couple other things were intriguing.... Surprisingly he opened up to me about his two kids as that his ex wife and him are on good terms, but she got remarried today. It wasn't until after he got my phone number and I was walking away with my best friend that she pointed out his wedding ring on his right hand instead of his left. Since that was something I didn't check, I concocted the perfect nickname: Ring-o because he left his "band" at home. Get it? A stretch, I know but, I'll take a Beatles reference any chance I get! After moving from the fountain into the dance floor section of the bar, I ran into Mr. Cuddly. Mr. CuddlyLooking like a fuzzy, teddy bear, I caught his eye as I descended the three steps onto the dance floor as he caught my hand. Turning to see who dared to disturb my swagger.
"He's ugly and you don't need to be talking to him," she slurred. "Girl, he was just being nice. I don't think he's bad-looking." Rolling her eyes, she pulled me to the dance floor. "You need to work on your self-esteem, honey." "But, he just boosted it..." She shook her head as her hips soon matched the rhythm. That was when I felt someone grinding on me. I kept inching forward until I heard a voice from behind me. Mr. Sleuth and Stand BehindTurning to see a sandy blonde haired guy matching my height with blue eyes and a drunk glaze. "Oh, you don't want to dance?" Thinking what the hell, since he was pretty damn attractive, I began recharging my hips and danced to the Neyo song playing with this stranger. Two songs later, he informed me he was going to get another beer. Didn't care to offer to fill one of my hands with a drink, so I continued dancing with little regard for his return. Mr. Hipster GlassesOutgoing and confident, tall dark and handsome Mr. Hipster Glasses complimented my dancing as he grabbed my hand to give me a twirl. Instantly spinning me into a brunette bearded man, he introduced as his friend. Bashfully smiling at me, I knew the wing-man protocol and wasn't upset at the set up. Mr. Bearded Bottom BreadBefore I knew it, Mr. Bearded Bottom Bread had his pale hand on my right hip and his wing-man friend with the hipster glasses danced in front of me. We created quite the colorful sandwich with a seemingly rye bread on top, a freckled pepper jack cheese gal in the middle (I'm spicy, so this metaphor works ;), and a whole oat bearded slice at the bottom. I can't remember the song we were dancing to, but we were jamming!! Two songs later is when Mr. Sleuth and Stand Behind returned with his one beer. He was drenched in a "what the fuck" expression and all I could do was smile. Then, I shrugged a "happens" expression back to him and continued dancing in my man sandwich. I don't know how this delicatessen creation ended, but it did and I was found dancing next to my best friend again. Looking less than thrilled I tried talking to her over the blaring music, but she didn't entertain it. Shrugging that off too, I continued dancing alone until the next fellow came along.
Mr. "Is that your friend? I'd rather dance with you anyway"
Mr. High and TightThis guy, aside from the first one mentioned on this night is the only one to request my contact information. Instantly Snapchat friends, he danced with me several songs before waving me toward the VIP section. It was evident this was no Dallas club, because the VIP section was two steps up from the dance floor, but, it was something I'd never been invited to in Dallas, so you bet my southern-ass indulged! Mr. VIPHis friends were technically the ones to invite me up to their velvet-roped section, but once up there, he introduced himself with a smile that could melt an iceberg. He had a hawk of a girl with an ass .... well, fatter than mine, there was no WAY (Jose) that I was getting within a 2 feet radius with him. I wished him happy birthday though and sure enjoyed the free bottle service. I danced with 9 guys and a bitch ain't one!Since this night was POPPIN', I made Brady Bunch Caramel Popcorn (1974 recipe) for this loaded post.2 14oz packs of caramel squares
1/2 C butter 1 tsp cinnamon 8 C popped corn
https://www.metv.com/lists/would-you-eat-any-of-these-vintage-brady-bunch-popcorn-recipes Return of the two "Annie's"So, both my best friend/roommate's name and mine ends in the phonetic name "annie." It's only pronounced like that, but neither are spelled like that. Well, we decided to indulge in a little bit of day drinking and ended our tour at World of Beer. Coincidentally, two British lads were seated beside us and I'm sure you know by now, I couldn't resist inquiring more about their accents and home country. As I sparked a conversation with the taller, bulkier of the two, I couldn't help but notice his friend behind him had flaming red hair. If you followed just a handful of my blog post, you would learn that I have two weaknesses, red hair, and blue eyes. Well. I'm sure there's a lot more weaknesses than that but those are the only two worth mentioning in this here blog post. The bulkier Brit and I spoke about politics and England and how much him and his friend loathed London. He compared it to the New York of England and I agreed. My best friend came up and begin engaging in the conversation. "You're cute," she blurted to the ginger. "Well thank you darling; you're incredibly cute yourself." "Why thank you," she said in a flirty slur. Well there goes my chance, I thought. Continuing conversation and not letting the flirt break my concentration on their beautiful accents. There was a turn in the conversation and the bulkier Britt begin interjecting over our circle to talk to another American, my roommate. I sparked conversation with the ginger and then we decided to move to where we didn't have to shout over each other. Getting a better look at his tattoos, he followed my eyes and began explaining them on without hesitation. When he confirmed my thought that one on his left bicep was strangely familiar and seem to be identical to. Of Captain Jack Sparrow. Wow I said. A conversation ignited from there and there was no stopping us once we confirmed our favorite musical Talent of all time, the one and only Freddie Mercury. Shut up! I've never met a girl that loves Freddy! He explained. You want to drink? I smiled. What did you have in mind? Jack Daniels? He offered. Absofuckinglutly I said. Instantly taking that as an opportunity to talk about the Jameson distillery in Dublin, he smiled and ordered two shots. Setting my face as our glasses tapped, hit the bar top, and tilted back to my lips, he smiled. You didn't even make a face. Well yeah, I shoot whiskey oh, I said. I think I could love you. He said. Whatever! As we continue to drink, we became more comfortable in our body language. At some point, I revealed my weakness for gingers. "Hissaw," he said. His fair skin flushed a bold pink. Well I'm absolutely in love with your accent, love. And you love Freddy! How could anyone not fall for you? You're quite beautiful as well. Smiling with a slight eye roll, he jabbed my shoulder in a playful manner. Not to mention, great tits. Glancing down at my braless tank top nestled underneath the light t-shirts, I blurted oh, you can't say that! I know you're not from here but like that's not how we roll. Why can't I? It's true. At that moment, I heard his friend oh, yeah oh, I was just kidding ! To my best friend. Stephanie! She said , grabbing my arm. Pulling me aside and away from my Ginger, she told me how much of an asshole so the guy was and how he said something about women not being as Superior as men. Yeah, they're from another country Tiff.... Everything's the same over there. I responded. Rolling her intoxicated eyes, she stormed outside. He was just taking the piss oh, the ginger said. What does that even mean? I said chuckling. I'll be right back. It means I guess as you call it joking. Oh, I exited the bar in pursuit of my friend, in the cool March Air. After a quick conversation that didn't go very far, we devised a plan where she would go home to meet a guy she was talking to earlier in the day and I would stay here and walk home later. Returning to the bar, the bulkier Brit smiled smugly saying, "ehh, was a bit cold out there?" Rolling my eyes and returning them to his, I said, "how are you going to check out my boobs too?" "What you have great tits. And your friend has great tits, as well." "But, we don't say that in the states," I spat back. "Why not? I think it's quite the compliment, he said in a thick accent." Rolling my eyes I smiled as I sipped another beer. The ginger turned towards me and then to the bartender. "Can we get two more Guinnesses please? Looking back at my full Guinness, I laughed. "I have hardly sipped this one!" " Then, you better get busy," he stated slyly. Laughing off their objectifying comments, I sipped my second favorite beer. Again, impressed that I not only enjoyed guinness, but could drink them quickly, the ginger leaned closer to me and flirtily continued to converse and flatter me. After another hour of banter, and then I'm complimenting my accent, as I lapped up theirs, both boys closed their tabs. "Do you want me to walk you home, love?" "No I think I'll be fine, it's only a couple blocks." I answered the adorable ginger. The bartender, who had hardly paid us attention the three hours we sat at the bar, interjected. "Honey, you need to let him walk you home." I'm sure my face said it all because she continued after a brief pause. "There have been a lot of sex trafficking in this area and girls have been disappearing. Once a girl comes up to them, then the second girl is never be seen again." Eyes wide, I nodded. Oh, was all I can manage to respond. Looking back to the ginger, he winked at me. Thanks, I spoke towards the bartender. Not upset in the slightest that an adorable British Ginger, would be walking me home, I accepted the night as it came. Naturally, he came inside and I quickly learned the softness of his lips. "Ah!" He responded, "the taste of freedom." Cackling, I smiled back. "Whatever!" As I shoved his shoulder.
"When I hook up with girls in Germany, [his current station in the British army,] I shit in their tea kettle." "I'm sorry, what?" I spatted, in disbelief and positive I misheard him. Repeating the same statement, I was perplexed. "I don't... I don't understand. Why would you do that? That's repulsive." "Because, they're rich twats." "But what even made you think of that?" "My buddy and I do it as a joke. That way, when they heat up their kettle for tea, it smells like..." He burst into laughter. "How old are you?" The words fell out of my mouth. "Well I told you in the bar, 21. But my real name is not Ryan, because that's a fake ID that I didn't want the bartender to confiscate." Relinquishing his real name, my eyes became the size of watermelons. Oh my gosh please tell me I'm not messing around with a minor was all that flooded my mind. "I'm 20." Swallowing the information, I knew there's not much to do about it at this point. At least he was legal. Laughing to myself I just looked at him. Still trying to process the teakettle information. "So, I take it you never talk to these German girls again?" Slightly changing the subject back to the first thing I couldn't wrap my head around. "God no! After the tea kettle thing, I rube them." "What?" "I rube them. Straight out their pocketbook." A wave of fear washed over me. Immediately thinking of the little cash I had left from my savings account that I had withdrawn in case of emergencies in my purse, on the coat rack, in the corner of the room we were in. I exhaled. "Don't worry," he said putting his right index under my chin. Peering into my eyes he said, "I'm not going to rob you. I like you. I've never told anyone that I was with about the tea kettle or money thing." Trying to conceal my panic, I immediately wanted to put my purse in the oven, out a window, anywhere out of sight. "Stephanie, I told you, I don't like who I am. I'm not a good guy." "Why? Why you do that?" "Because, I grew up really poor. And I didn't even know how poor I was until I realized in my teenage years that bread and sugar were not 'a treat,' that was normal necessities that other families can afford. I begin stealing when I was nine to survive. It became more of a sport when I dated terrible women." Divulging more information about his troubled past, I listened, but still had half of my attention on my yellow messenger bag purse in the corner of the room. Pulling me closer, he said, "I'm glad I met you." Racking my brain about the how the entire situation came to be and making a vow that for the duration of a stay I would not let him out of my sight, I forced a smile. Before anything else, I felt an urge to throw up. I thought maybe it was because of the news in my fear of losing the little money I did have to a British military man barely old enough to drink in Britain, much less here. But now, it was because I guzzled 3 guinnesses, 3 mixed shots, two shots of Jack Daniels, and a Margarita earlier that day for entering World of Beer. Not to mention the flight before we engaged with the Brits. I was able to keep my eyes on him the rest of the night since I continued to throw up, like a minor at a frat party that couldn't keep up. After every time I brushed my teeth and returned to the futon, he pulled me close and kissed me again. Returning to the sofa as my eyes settled on his blue eyes, my hands combed through his thick red hair. Smiling after one of my trips, he whispered, "you're the only girl I've ever told my real name." "I don't know, this is a game for you. Not quite sure I believe that." "Stephanie, I swear, I could marry you." Familiar with lines, I spatted back about how now he was the seventh guy to tell me that he was going to marry me. Vaguely remembering one of his earlier references to the gold ring on his right hand with his family's coat of arms on it, and him inferring that I too could have one someday, I reminded him of that. "What if I meant it? He replied." Heard it before. Not really impressed. "Besides, you don't even have my Snapchat." "I tried to find you, remember?" "Do you have WhatsApp," I asked. Knowing full well this was just to keep another contact in England. He smiled, "oh yeah! We have to connect on there." After exchanging our long WhatsApp numbers with plus signs and foreign area codes, we drifted off to sleep: me in his arms. The next morning, technically three hours later, he rose from the futon and replace his clothing. Kissing Me Softly, he told me goodbye. Not moments later, email from the backroom also left the front door, jacket in hands. What. Just. Happened. Was all I could think. Blog material for the win. I'm in TRUFFLE!Earl Grey Truffles suited the situation
2/3 cup heavy cream 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into 4 pieces and softened 2 teaspoons loose Earl Grey tea leaves 6 oz fine-quality bittersweet chocolate (not unsweetened), chopped 1 cup unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa powder PREPARATION
One thing that happens quite a big with guys following your social media account that are essentially strangers, is the assumptions they make.
I've certainly learned to take these assumptions with a grain of salt, some of them are insulting, but now I just find them humorous and ignorant. The latest and greatest was not degrading, thank goodness, but was an assumption that was certainly a first. After I returned to the States from Spain, I posted some of my usual selfies, and received a couple compliments from a guy I used to talk to solely on Snapchat when I lived in South Carolina. This lad, struck up a flirty conversation, no different from interactions with him; he teased about how he would love to take me on a date if I lived in South Carolina. Well, at this point anyone that knows me, distance isn't an end-all-be-all.
So, naturally, I responded with, pick a place and we can meet there. He took this to mean that I was going to buy his ticket, I assume the accommodations, and possibly whatever we were to do together... I'm sorry what? Aren't you the guy? More time what?. He said, "you would have to get me or something to that effect." My response was: I'm not made of money. I'm unemployed. And it's like that was the most shocking thing I could have ever said. "Then how are you traveling all over the world?" I almost didn't respond. I was in awe. How many people have drawn this conclusion? I'm not some fortunate little white girl that took a break from real life on Daddy's credit card. I worked my ass off. I worked at least two to three jobs at a time, long nights, on calls, difficult requirements, I made sacrifices. I Double coupons, I said no to brunch and outings and reservations. I shopped second hand or not at all. I wore clothes until they went out of style and back in style again. I brought my lunch to work. I mean the list is endless. But what I did not do is take a break from life because it was handed to me or because I just have it like that. Anything you want in life, for the most part, is obtainable, it just takes a hell of a lot of work to get it. And most people aren't willing to make the sacrifices to do it. To get a job that's going to allow you to have the time off, or be willing to let go of said job to give yourself the time off. To forfeit concerts and music festivals and road trips. To change clothes in the car leaving one shift to start another ... the American dream is whatever you want it to be. And one thing I learned by going abroad was life becomes what you value and what you set as a priority. If money, in any currency is it, then work will obtain, train, and own you. But if adventure, self-discovery, creating your purpose, is it, then you work with your dreams instead of for someone else's specifically the person that hired you. I'm not trying to be dramatic or overzealous or snooty or however this can come off through these written words. I'm just trying to say that enjoying what you wanted as a reality is so much sweeter when it is the fruition of Blood Sweat and Tears that you did with a Little Help from your friends. Anyone in my close tribe of Warriors, knows that. And they all would find it hysterical for someone to think I had Daddy's Money to be able to do anything my soul truly desired. Some people have that luxury and good for them I hope that they fully appreciate and soak up the opportunities that presents, but for those of us that have two hustle with arm muscle, I salute to that! Also, any guy is tripping to think that I would bring him on a trip before any of my besties. Those girls work so freaking hard and are there on the clock. So if I were to take anyone with me he would certainly have to get in line. My best friend just started a blog, just finished an internship that was full time for free, is working 40 hours at management level in what she's held that position for over 5 years, and started a new position which is emotionally taxing at least 20 hours of week that will continue to build. Not to mention, she has a boyfriend and two cats at home. My sister, lives in her dream city, with a best friend at home, two dogs, a full-time job she is held for over 4 years and it's quite prestigious, and a part-time job enhancing her skills as a sign language interpreter, while studying and preparing for the state sign language licensure exam. My previous boss is a single mother of two boys that are both heavily involved in extra curricular activities. Her support for them in every imaginable way, contributes to their extreme success and potential scholarships. Not to mention she is the executive director of an agency to serve adults and children with special needs, rescued two abused dogs, and is one of the greatest friends any person could ask for. You would never guess their pages from reading the cover. Social Media gets a bad rep. from not accurately portraying a person's genuine lifestyle and personality. Facebook and Instagram are notorious for exhibiting bragging rights or complaining, woe-is-me type of rights. Facebook specifically plasters sonograms, babies, relationships, timelines, engagements, pet adoptions, career advancements, big purchases(from anything like houses to pinatas), weight loss(in between food-porn pictures), successful fantasy football draft, new toys (Bop it 73), and dare I say divorces? I've seen at least two celebrations for that... Wild, right? Basically any accomplishment one could formulate. For this reason, I usually strive to avoid Facebook posting unless I'm updating my profile or profile cover picture. Now wait a Dolly-Parton-minute! Didn't you just- but that's bragging, no?! Glad you keep me honest. I suppose, in a way, it is. In that light, I'm no different then the rest of the compliment and attention famished social media consumers. Positioned in the front to your left, posting this picture poses a party lifestyle in the heart of Madrid with 30 strangers from across the globe. Braggery or sharing what's important to me?In my 10 years of utilizing social media, since my parents were hella strict and wouldn't allow a teenager to have a Facebook because of online predators (because apparently I resemble a human Bambi), I've learned it boils down to a few factors:
Jolly Ho!Like anything in life, if your intentions are pure, then your conscience can be at ease and you can sip the days that pass by. I don't feel anyone posts their boasts out of malice, but more out of attention-seeking fun.... which eventually is blown out of proportion as excessive. Balance is the only key I've found to fight that fate. But, this is a dating blog... why are you talking about social media and bragging rights (or lefts)? Simply because unfortunately, the effect your social media has on those that follow you is a stamp on their overall perception of you. Now, in my case, I actually think it's a positive one because my social media revolves around travel and adventure. A couple days ago, I guy I've had on my Snapchat since May of last year actually offered for me to stay in his spare bedroom if I moved to Chicago. I told him I could be a serial killer (coocoo for cocopuffs) and he said he'd be willing to take that risk! I asked why and he said I seem like a really cool girl that enjoys new places and seems like a blast! A couple months ago, I was invited to a wedding from this guy in North Carolina because he needed "a fun wedding date" and I fit the bill because I'm always trying new things and traveling solo. What a compliment! But, I'm sure as hell not catching the bouquet! I didn't take either up on their offer, but HEY! I think it's safe to say they have a positive impression of me simply from my day-to-day posts of things I find worthy of sending into the 24 hour Snapchat viewing world. What does your social media accounts say about you?Currently working on 27 Dresses, I attended a bachelorette party a week before the wedding and one week after returning from Spain. I was thrilled to spend some time in the gayborhood because that's where my best friend and I used to find the cutest single guys at the clubs; they found our secret that girls don't want to be hit on by a bunch of creepy dudes, so we dance with flamboyant men who can actually keep rhythm and keep their hands to themselves, for the most part. Well, that is not at all how my night went. We didn't even end up going to a gay club which kind of broke my heart because it was a five-minute walk from our B&B, but HEY! I'm not getting married, so if my girl wants to lasso a pinata, I'd grab the rope. After dinner under string lights on picnic tables at this cute restaurant called The Rustic, we made our way to a gay bar for karaoke. Do not be mistaken that the night ends here and that Stephanie had no takers. You my friend, would be sadly, sadly mistaken. While sipping at my post, a girl elaborately dressed for St. Patty's Day chatted loudly next to me with two guys. Glancing over, I couldn't help but laugh at her shirt. In green letters, it read: Bad Puns oh, that's just how Eye roll. Commending her on her shirt, she hugged me and reported that she had made the shirt herself. Impressed with the decal, I sparked up conversation. The bald guy stationed next to her smiled and put his hand on her lower hip. The other one had green bells tied into his light orange beard. "Those are awesome I laughed." " I know right? I helped him," said the other guy. Smiling drunkly, the bearded man said nothing. After casually returning to my group, I refused to sign up for a karaoke song, both illustrated by my crossed arms and my protruding pouting lip. I was presented with an offer I couldn't refuse. A redheaded bridesmaid inquired, is there no one that will do a Billy Joel song with me? Well damn. I can't refuse the legendary Billy Joel. That would be a dishonor. Not to mention I used to be an alto 2, so if there's any ones notes that I could pretend I could hit, it would be his. "Which song?" I barked. "Only the Good Die Young?" She prosed. Smiling, I said, "that's one of my favorites." After the redhead submitted our song request, we were called to the front in no time. While waiting for the previous singer to put the mic down, I whispered to my duet partner, "I can relate to the song because I used to be a little Catholic girl." She fired back, "I can relate to this song too! I used to have a crush on a little Catholic girl." My eyes grew three sizes that day and I laughed inside my head. Alllllllllllllrighty then, I thought. Definitely didn't see that coming. Actual Footage....As the song played, we killed it! Vibing and grooving to the fun track. After a round of applause, we return to our Bachelorette post. Instantly, the girl in the green tutu and bad pun shirt, commended me on our song selection. While telling me about her love affair for Billy Joel, I could feel the eyes of the ginger bearded man looking at me. Flirting in the middle of our Billy Joel conversation, he interjected, "you're really pretty." Looking up and slightly taken aback, I smiled and I said thank you. As my new Billy Joel friend with green glitter continued her conversation, my eyes started toward the wedding band on the bearded man's left hand. As the Billy Joel conversation closed, I took notice of a blonde girl, also decked in green, talking to the other guy in their group. As soon as I made my way back to the bachelorette group, I saw the blonde kiss the bearded man and strapped onto him like a seat belt on a toddler. She too had a ring. Okay, I thought. Hearing some of the Bachelorette members' names being called for a Shakira song; I moved to the stage area to cheer them on. As the song played, my hips definitely did not lie to the track. I was jamming, not really feeling my liquor, but definitely feeling the tempo. Near the song's end, I was shoved to the left as the blonde in green with the ring on her finger, shoved past me with no regard. Raising an eyebrow and looking back at the ginger-bearded guy, his eyes immediately darted from my direction. "What the hell?" I spat. The ginger from the bachelor party directly to my left recognized the tension and inquired. " I have no idea!" I said. I reported of his pretty comment and the fact that I was almost positive that was his wife. She laughed and said ,"it's not like you're to blame." Shrugging it off, I continued to dance to Shakira to avoid that group the rest of the night. I'm not trying to have a girl fight in the middle of a gay karaoke bar. Someone might take off their wig and try to fight me. Also, I didn't want someone to have to be burdened with holding my earrings. As we moved outside, one of the other girls, a Southern American, that I had met earlier that night, joined a conversation with me and the ginger girl from the bachelorette party. The three of us found a high-top table, and stumbled upon the the topic of bi-sexuality. I suppose this isn't uncommon for the setting we were in. "I just don't understand why you can't pick a team," I persisted. The redhead made her stance on the topic, but the Southern American is the one who surprised me. She made many points, but the last one stopped me in my tracks. "Okay, so you know how I just got out of a relationship with my boyfriend? Well that's great and all, but, I also find you very attractive. I'm attracted to you." Oh shit. I'm not prepared for this. I thought loudly in my heart of hearts. I'm sure my facial expression said it all. At that moment, that's when the ginger piped-in. "Yeah, you're gorgeous." Oh sweet baby Jesus, I thought. In that very instant, the maid of honor, shouted, "Stephanie, can you help me with my Romper?" Immediately relieved at my call for duty, I took that as my exit and didn't look back. Entering the one-person-bathroom with her, I unzipped the back of her one-piece outfit and turned my head to the wall as I confessed what just happened. Laughing, while freaking out. She paused and then responded with, "well I do have a little wiggle in my sexuality." "What the fuck does that even mean, Anna?!." Don't worry, that's not her real name. That's actually the name of someone else in the party but it's not even spell correctly. You're welcome. "Well," she said as she pulled up her suit and requested I zip the back. "That means that" as she showed with her hands an imaginary spectrum of straight to gay. "It should...." she pointed and circled in the air of where she lied on that spectrum. "So, I have a little wiggle where I do find certain girls attractive. You definitely, would be my type. You're a knockout." "Oh my gosh!" I said, "not you too! This is too much for one night." After reporting of the angry married woman whose husband had complimented me, she laughed, "it's not like I would act on it. You know I've been with my boyfriend for 10 years. I'm just saying, you got it going on." Cackling, I shrugged my shoulders with nothing to say. Taste the RainbowAfter this, I need a drink. Simply pop out of your package of skittles (like a stripper out of a cake) and organize the candies by color. Then, pour each one into a different bottle of vodka. Let skittles soak for at least 24 hours. This is the ONLY way I aspire to taste the rainbow.
Back in the states and back with a vengeancehere's nothing more satisfying than running into an ex fling and watching glimpses of regret on their face when they look at you. This beautiful reality boosted my confidence a few weeks ago when I stood in a wedding that an ex-fling also stood in. Our fling started and ended at the beginning of last year in which, he informed me that he was really busy but will definitely see me at the wedding. He broke this news to me that he would not see me before the wedding, a year and a month's time, before the wedding of our two friends. To add insult to injury, the setting of this conversation, was in a hotel shower off the property of Disney World. There's so many things wrong with that statement. In the shower? I feel like I'm being interrogated by Elle Woods Although I'm sure I should hold a lot of blame, since I saw the red flags, but followed them right to the happiest place on earth... but trust me, no one deserves to hear any kind of bad news in the shower. Your hamster dying, favorite series being canceled, or flavor of latte being discontinued can wait until your feet have hit the cold floor. I should've taken the soap with me wheni got out and drove off (since the were 1 whole day left on our trip). But, like Stephanie was reared to, I endured instead of enjoyed. So, I returned to Charleston and he returned to Fort Worth after our magical trip. He began the art of ghosting me, so I called him and demanded closure. I know, I know. How was alluding to the fact that he didn't want to see me for a year not enough? Idk. Im a female; I plead the 5th of whiskey. While pacing the floor, with his familiar voice on the other line, I was ill-prepared for what was to come. Not only did he make things clear, he took it a step further. He told me he knew I was going to contort this into some pathetic story for my blog and that I should just give up the writing thing because it's not like it's going to take me anywhere. The percentages of a female writer making it is that of a high school athlete making it to the pros. Oh. OH! YOU'RE GONNA HIT ME WITH PERCENTAGES NOW? YOU'RE A NUMBERS BOY! What gives anyone the right to attack someone's dreams? Dream Crusher. I may never know the answer to that question. But what I do know, is the way he looked at me at that wedding, when I was all dolled up and in a beautiful lace bridesmaid dress with my makeup and hair done for me like a diva. I looked like that and he looked like regret. Not because of the suit or anything of that nature, just his stance and eyes that only showed flashes of sadness. Obviously, I tried to avert my eyes at all cost. But there were a couple times my eyes looks that way and met his oh, ever so briefly. Since the bride was a friend of mine since the first day of high school, I was well acquainted with her parents, her cousins, and even a couple aunts and uncles. I was yukking it up with everyone and naturally made my way to the dance floor with the other bridesmaids and the cute little kids in their Sunday's best. And homeboy sat in the corner on his phone. Bobbing his head up every once in awhile to check my location on the Dance Floor. There was even a really cute guy in the buffet line that sparked up a conversation; I just looked up and he introduced himself and later told me it was meeting me. But, he left the wedding early so didn't amount to anything nor did it need to. It's not like I live in the state anyway, but it was not awkward and a slight boost to my confidence. Enjoying the night not catching the bouquet and possibly standing as "one that got away," I beamed into the night. This guy has earned at least 3 blog posts back in March or April, so... Mr. Red Velvet Cake has a recipe to be sauced up. He was the infamous Mr. Disney that took me to Magic Kingdom for our first date and earned the artificial dyed cake. This time, he deserves white chocolate chips falling short of chocolate.Quite frankly, they don't even deserve the name of chocolate since they're only made of cocoa butter, lard, and sugar.
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Santorini was far more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. One cannot wrap their mind around the beauty of that place. I sat in complete splendor and disbelief of where I was and what I was seeing. Santorini changed me. Before Santorini, I couldn't pick a city as my favorite in all the countries I've traveled in the last couple months. Each place has their own pizzazz and scenery and entertainment to offer. Each place fulfilled the need in my adventurous heart, but Santorini fed my soul. I know it sounds cliche or dramatic... But I was overwhelmed by the deep blue and the pristine white. I felt like I breathed better while on the island. We didn't even make it to one of the beaches because transportation on the island was scarce and expensive... Unless you wanted to go by donkey. Any of the travel tip blogs we read before booking this trip, revealed that traveling by donkey made you smell like donkey the rest of the day. No one wants to smell like ass on one of the most beautiful Island's in the world. Pardon the pun. I thought the airport in Trenton, New Jersey was the smallest I'd been to, but I stand corrected. The Santorini Airport had one runway, one security belt, and one bathroom. Their snack bar was tinier than that of a stand in the mall, and the crew was less than thrilled to be there. Of course that's nothing new with airport employees. The plane wasn't as tiny as I thought, upon boarding. It was a short flight from Santorini to Athens and then the flight Athens to Barcelona. I was delighted to find snack included with this flight and some eye candy next to me. I was in the aisle seat on the left and he was on the aisle seat on the right. There was a girl seated right beside him oh, and another one of their apparent friends on the other side. They were all Greek and I could not identify their relationship. It seems like it was a twisted love triangle. Maybe I was just thirsty for some entertainment.... Window Seat guys seemed to fancy the girl, but the girl wrapped her arm and part of her leg around the guy in the aisle. I couldn't help but notice the guy in the kept adverting his eyes in my direction. I'm not saying he was looking at me, but I do know when I started writing oh, I felt eyes. Every time I looked up, he wasn't looking. Now granted, that happens a lot whenever I write because I think people are perplexed to see someone with pen and paper in this day and age. But at one point, he pulled out his Sudoku with a pencil and looked at me, I happened to look up. Immediately, he looked back to his square puzzle, all wall the Greek girl was pressed up against him sleeping. Like I said, it could have all been in my head, I'm just telling you what I perceived. I've been on enough flights to fill pages and pages of blog posts. But I wont... Yet. Where was Butterball during all of this, you might ask? Passed out another row since we weren't able to coordinate adjacent seats on this or the prior flight. Flight number 3In the spirit of going out with a bang from the EuroTrip, we decided to purchase limoncello, an Italian Spirit from the airport, smuggle it into my hiking water bottle, mix it with a little French wine, and Sprite. We sipped our Italian, French, American concoction to achieve a little buzz while buzzing at 32,000 feet. And mind you, this was all mixed up in the Barcelona Airport. Since Europeans are very stingy on Ice, Mr. Butterwall was given 4 small cubes, approximately 2 inches larger than the lip to my water bottle. We couldn't make too much of a ruckus crushing the ice since we're already smuggling liquor onboard. He asked me to crunch it with my teeth and put it in the water bottle since he's not as germophobic as I am. What?! Gross. But desperate times. After I pulverized these four cubes, he told me to go use my boobs to get more. A few shots in, I struted it up to the counter wearing the most low-cut shirt I think I own. I flashed a smile at the cashier and asked politely for a cup of ice. He scooped it to the brim and smiled back. "Thanks so much," I said and then corrected myself, "muchas gracias." "Denada," he smiled as I walked away Beaming from being right, Mr. Butterwell said, "now get to crunching." He found so much enjoyment in this that he felt the need to videotape it. I don't have a copy thank God. After doing the best I could, I sealed the water bottle and secured it in my bag. Okay, let's drink up. We finished the remainder of the bottle and snuck it into the non-recyclable trash can. Wouldn't be the first time but....After making it on board, he made a comment about the tan skin gentleman next to me that couldn't have been older than 32. "Hey, what about him?" He said winking. His comment didn't last. Not 15 minutes after takeoff, did we (Butterwall and I) engage in incredibly flirty conversation. Leading to, dare I say, kissing the sky goodbye. This is actually the first time I've ever made out in the airplane. I definitely didn't hate it ... Hello LemonchelloAuthorMaria Vannelli RD Ingredients
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My nickname in this narrative is Miss Madrid since he called me out for changing my location on Facebook from Charleston to Madrid, even though I was only going to reside there for 3 months. Pshhh sir, that's living there, OKAY?!? We agreed to disagree. So, throughout our 8 day journey together, there were a series of questions we continued to get as Mr. Butterwall and Miss Madrid traveled from Spain to Hungary to Greece. Any guesses?
Both of us quickly dismissed the questions, reporting plainly: we are just friends. Or even travel buddies, but nothing more. Now I'm able to throw in my wing-woman story to further justify my claim. . . . . . . . . . When we checked into our hostile in Athens, we squeezed through the matchbox elevator and was hoisted to the sixth floor. Upon turning the handle to our room, we were disappointing to see one bed as our noses were assaulted with cigarette smoke. Immediately returning to the first floor, the receptionist raise his eyebrows when we demanded two separate beds. Also, his eyes shifted towards a no smoking sign hung by chicken wire on the pale yellow painted wall. He called the attractive manager over, he was able to meet a request. We we're LED outside of the hospital into a Alleyway Prime for muggings and urination, just in my shallow opinion, no locals confirmed this. Key granted us access into a glass door with a rusted handle. It was adjacent to an old abandoned shoe store with a little inventory still on the racks. Down a narrow hallway, that was dimly-lit oh, we found it under Matchbox elevator. We took it to the third floor and was pleased to find two separate beds. He of course took the larger one because quote-unquote I'm a big dude. Ladies first does not apply in Greece. After setting are things down, we made our way 2 a liquor store for vodka originally, but were intrigued buy a small bottle much cheaper then the imported vodka. It and 40%. This can't be wine we muttered. The shop owner came over and try to describe it. Google translate was no help. He grabbed one of the mini bottles of that product and twisted it open. Making eye contact with me, he put it in my hands. Oh my gosh thank you so much! He smirked and return to his register. Impressed, mr. Butter wall waited for my reaction before stealing a sip. Coconuts hell, we were impressed. It tasted like nothing I've ever tried before. He said it was something like absentee. I'm not even sure if I'm selling that right cuz I'm really not sure what he was referring to. We got a bottle and three bottles of fruit juice mix that upon exploring the label further, learned it was a Coca-Cola product. Made sense because that was tasty! The one I had was cherry banana, and his was pina colada. After purchasing the products, the clerk smiled warmly when I proclaimed more gratitude. We returned to our room to fix our drinks. The fancy Barista stylings included a few swigs from each juice bottle and filling the rest with our new Greek liquor. Since there was only a little liquor bottle, we each took a shot and made her way to a couple bars and then dinner. Don't let the signage and walls of liquor mislead you into thinking it is a Greek TGIF Friday's. The menu was filled with things I couldn't pronounce, ranging from squid to lamb. As the night went on, since we couldn't find a bar crawl on a Tuesday night, we created our own with our BYOB style. After dinner, and my Gelato dessert, I had to, we stumbled into another liquor store. We pursuit of the same Greek liqueur. Having trouble finding the same label, he picked up on our befuddled looks. Directing to the right bottle, we bought a bottle in milliliters or however they measured over there. It's not kilograms LOL As he was ringing us up, the clerk inquired where we were going next on our travels. He pegged us As Americans when we walked in the store. When butter wall revealed Santorini, the clerk commended us on selecting such a romantic place. Immediately, I corrected him by stating we were just friends. He said, you'll see when the sun sets on the beautiful Island. We smiled politely but dismissed him. By this time, we started to feel the Greek liquor. We return to the found the juice the first time, for me to bat my eyes at the clerk. I don't think he remembered me. Brushing off my failed attempt at tipsily flirting, the attractive manager of the hostel was outside the shady glass door. Instantly, he engaged Mr. Butterwall in conversation and I piped in as necessary. Then, I noticed the questions were directed at buttterwall. These weren't "where have you been" and "how are you liking Athens" kind of questions. He asked, without blinking, "So, is there anyone back home waiting for you?" Actual footage of the hotel manager waiting for Butterball to rise to his man-loving occasion.I had to advert my eyes and hold my breath to keep from bursting into my cackle-induced laughter. I wish I could recall his response! All I remember is that conversation ended quickly as we returned to the room. "Baha! I bet he did that cause he knew we weren't sleeping together since he had to change the room to two beds." "Stephanie, I don't wanna--" He burst into laughter too. "I was DYING! Do you get hit on by dudes in the states?" "Never! This is the first-- well, actually in Budapest, after that American and I left the room, the next bar we went to had a bartender that bought my drinks but not her's." "This is great!" I cackled. "Shut up," he playfully shoved my shoulder. We continued to down the liquor that was quite Greek to us, then headed to another rooftop bar. It was evident, Mr. Butterwall's liquor was hitting him faster than mine. I guess girls are the only one 2 blurb things when they're drunk. "Steph, you know what I tell people when they ask why we'er not together?" Caught a little off guard, I responded to Butterwall in the most sensible way, "Na-ah. What?" "That I wouldn't want to risk what we have. At the end of the day, it's just a warm, wet hole and is our traveling worth ruining that?" First of all, eww. Who says it like that!? Secondly, who knew this kid even considered stuff like that. I truly believed we were just friends. He took a chick home and spoke of women... well, like a guy. 'that ass, I'd break her, efff glasses are so hott' ...that kind of stuff. Sure, there were a couple times he'd compliment me but, with operators like him, you can't take any of them to heart. While mulling this all over, he continued to speak. "If I do get a girlfriend, she needs to be so incredible that it's worth giving this up to travel the world with you." "And if you get a boyfriend, because you finally accepted that you're beautiful-- I still can't understand how you don't...." His eyes searched for mine as mine did a quick roll, while my lips pursed. "Then I hope he's worth giving up spontaneous travel with me. This has worked out so well. We've had no fights or disagreements; I'm impressed with how smooth it was and am laughing more than I even thought I would." Smiling, I sneered, "pshh, you forgot how funny I was?" "I mean, Steph, we met once before this. Twice if you count the first drunken encounter," He sneered back. Shoving my shoulder, I laughed. We left the rooftop bar and made it to our hostel with Mr. Butterball's male suitor nowhere in sight. This post's sweet treat is Santorini tomorrow! ;) Sleep tight.
I know that there's Athens, Santorini, and daring Dallas to talk about but, I must honor this holiday by recalling the relationship that once was, years ago, affiliated with this holiday.
April fools is usually a time of sneers and the lies that you laugh off, BUT this is actually one of the few holidays I ended relationship. Yes. There's more than one holiday I've broken things off with a guy....
I never intended to sever relations on a special day, things just going to happen that way. I'm not one for dragging things on. I'm not a pair of Christmas lights, I don't like to be strung along, so I strive to follow the golden rule on this one. This dreamy dude was already referenced as Mr. Africa.... feel free to reference below;)
https://datesandcakes.weebly.com/connection-casualties/the-forgotten-dusting-off-dates-dwindling-in-the-dark
For a one month relationship, Mr. Africa and I bonded beyond anticipation of either of our gypsy souls.
Okay, not that kind of gut feeling cause I wish somebody would question my gut! One of the worst ways to die is hungry so I have no shame in my less-than-flat stomach.
What about him wasn't right? HE'S GORGEOUS! And he finds me attractive! WHAT>! I even had a friend be real with me and say, "Steph, I love you but, DAMN, how did you get him?! Hold onto that one." I aggreed with her. 4 words: out of my league! So, at our next date, at this renown festival about 45 minutes north of Charleston, on April Fool's Day.... I broke up with him. It's easy to look back on things and ponder opportunities missed. I take full responsibility as a fool for ending something really great before I knew it was spoiled. Quite frankly, it may have never been spoiled... for a cute Spud such as himself, I picked a deceptive dessert, not for him as the fool that took off running, but for me. A fool then, I know I'm a bit wiser now. I'm not certain that he would have prevented me from delving into my Spanish Adventure oh, but I don't think I would be the same person but I am in this very moment, typing this post with a bulldog on my lap if I wouldn't have ventured on that trip alone. Maybe singleness is its own form of Fools Gold. --No, I don't mean the Matthew McConaughey movie
Sneaky Stephanie Sundae
Even with a gut feeling to sever things, I mashed any plans of a future and left him as salty as a brown gravy. The cherry tomato on top was that he probably is to-date, the hottest guy I've ever dated. I loathe potatoes. LOATHE them. French fries are the only potato I'll indulge in (sweet potatoes are a whole different dimension). This ingredient emphasizes my foolishness, not to end things based on a gut feeling I still can't describe, but to end things on a holiday of any kind. https://www.foodnetwork.ca/fun-with-food/photos/fake-foods-for-april-fools-day/#!mashed-potato-sundae Don't be a fool and break-up on a holiday. Isn't the break-up memorable enough than to be affiliated with a celebration printed on a calendar? Silly Steph, fool's day is for kids! |
AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
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