Tangelo (n): hybrid between a romantic and a rat. Every word he or she composes is zested flavor, but upon delivery beyond a screen, they fall short. Their intentions are truly rotten and remains lurk near sewers. No subtly in this post. This man must have set a record with how quickly he made me bitter. I know, I know. A guy starts spitting perfectly arranged words at you behind a screen on a tired dating app, should hold very little relevance. But call me vulnerable. Call me naive. The first is probably more true. But, for some reason unbeknownst to me, I believed him. This guy was super cute and seemed genuine. Or maybe I just wanted him to be. He opened with a warm compliment about my smile, in which I jokingly replied was only appealing because of the many toothless smiles in this area. He cracked up, but reassured me. Great sense of humor too, check. It was as if he was playing a game of Dance Dance Revolution. Synchronizing arrows to the illuminated foot square. He couldn't wait to meet me he couldn't stop complimenting me, he was sweet, and he was interested. I knew deep down that he could very well be spitting the same things to other girls, but I didn't think it would text so close to home, again. Should I continue the story or do you already know where this is going? He had also been spitting almost identical messages of affection and longing to my blonde, bff roommate. I felt like I was in a 2008 R&B song.....She said they had talked while I was in Spain and he stopped talking to her because he got a girlfriend. He found her again on the site the day after we realized he was a word Romeo, and began zesting the conversation with hopeful compliments. Immediately, she addressed the situation and he said he missed her and made amistake makingthe other girl his girlfriend. Meanwhile, back at the office, I was slammed with work and didn't check his snap message until later. When I did, it was erased. I guess I'll never know what it said (more fragrant fluff, lacking genuine girth). I inquired, but he refused. He didn't inform me of the happenings, my bff did. So... when I was filled in on the details, she said they had a date established. I'm sorry.... what? Why was her appeal to someone whom was quick to dress up a stranger in messages, but hoped to undress a girl he "should've picked" the first time? In conclusion, he did just that. At dawn before their date, she asked honestly what his intentions were. She specifically prefaced that if it were for sex, she wouldn't be mad, but would just would like to know. She didn't have to squeeze him for information... he pealed the romantic facade right off. "Just sex." "You asshole!" *block* All that was left was his pulp.... Since this is the most unappetizing flavor of the week, the dessert should illustrate that.....I could NOT think of a better dessert. Each ingredient is another line that "sounded good" for him to throw at some innocent girl.
Okay, okay.... I know neither my roommate or myself fall in the innocent girl category, but hey! This still doesn't warrant Mr. Tangelo's actions.
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This one isn't even about the momentary guy.... maybe it never has been.Another double trouble night ahead, we drank our Pedialyte as part of our pre-30's new regiment, and the the one club in Pensacola.It was a last-minute decision to make our way to the only club in Pensacola, but I was already dressed up with nowhere to go. I had just left a first date and wasn't ready to end my night yet. The best friend slipped something on and we emerged through the smoke into the piano bar. Okay, okay, there was no smoke. But there certainly was a little lingering fog due to excessive humidity. We scanned the room, ordered a drink, and then proceeded to the club room. After an hour of fighting for space with our elbows in a room full of people that didn't care that our hips really did not lie, we made it back to the piano bar. We stood by a table on the far left side where two gentlemen were seated. The one closest to me with the most voluminous brown hair I've ever seen on a man in real life, offered me his barstool. "No I'm fine standing," I replied. He insisted. The blonde best friend (mine) found a seat on my right and hey little mind to the curly haired friend in a button-up. Honestly.... I'm not even positive if he was wearing that but.... I certainly had my fill that night... so I did something right ;) The gentleman with voluminous hair directly to my left sparked up conversation, while the curly hair guy leaned in and listened. They were painfully military, like 96% of the men in this town and so I inquired of their origin. He glowed about Boston and hinted that they "weren't your typical massholes." To confirm that fact, he revealed possibly four sentences in, he was married. Joking with the other military guy, I inquired if he had a wife or husband. Flashing a white smile, he replied neither. The conversation continued with both gentlemen about the great city of Boston as the blonde best friend smiled and flashed her baby blue eyes. After a few rounds of drinks that the boys both sponsored, her hand was laced in the curly-haired's hand. Gosh I seen this movie, can we please have a different ending? Annoyed that, yet again, I was almost a pawn to get to the best friend: the gatekeeper even though I've outgrown my awkward phase. Okay.... we know that's a lie, but I embrace awkward and look pretty damn good with it, okay? If you can't embrace your quirks, what's the point? Bitter as the half of a lemon with seeds fully intact, I kept it together. It wasn't about the bachelor before us. It wasn't about her trying to win this guy over me. It wasn't even about seeking and receiving more male attention then me every single time. It was about constantly feeling in a competition and being picked last every single time. One of my biggest insecurities is still being the Duff. My reputation has been the gatekeeper for my hotter friends. I'd love to say that any guy that's given me a chance hasn't regretted it, but so many have hardly touch the surface with me before pursuing their curiosity of the blonde next door... Or in the next bedroom. I know comparing yourself to someone else is a sure way to take your self-esteem. Mine is so full of water come out as well be a collection of fish with some rocks It's like being picked the last for kickball, even as a rec league, it's still stings. And my father didn't even invent the toaster strudel....
So, instead of allowing my bitterness to overcome me again, I sipped the free Yuengling, the Boston conversation from a respectful, married man, and spent the night like it was a check on payday. It was to no surprise that her squeeze never texted her again. So, for this post, I held the dessert and bit the lemon with 2 shots of gin. When playing with Shoots and Ladders, I should have exercised caution....Before starting the finale of Mr. Shoots and Ladders, I must highlight that I did NOT know the end of this fling upon choosing his name. Dare I say, this pretense is foreshadowing for how this unfolded. I climbed the ladder of date number two to his home in a small town, 35 minutes away. He introduced me to the interesting world of disc golf, in which I found out I’m not as atrocious as I thought.... Every sport I’ve ever played, I’ve won most spirited (dad was NOT proud); this game however, I had a decent overhead toss. I threw it with such fury that actually went places. Built up anguish? Nah. It didn’t hurt that he encouraged me with kisses along with the way of the course. We returned to his house where he made queso mac and cheese and something else I can’t remember. He cooked like a high schooler when his parents were out of town and they forgot to leave pizza money. I guess I didn’t mind the change of pace. He put on a movie, which seemed to be our MO but the slow, intentional kissing was an enjoyable sequel. It was the kind of kissing where your lips linger and the moment matters; it drew us from his couch to his bedroom. I ended up spending the night in his campfire-of-a-room so, I grabbed my handy dandy revolving fan that just so happen to be in my backseat. Why such a random hidden gem? Cuz I'm that cool, okay? We had pillow talk about exes and seemed to be starting something. Yet, I knew the shoot was just around the corner. Because I'm a female and I certainly have a crazy factor to me, a little bit of Facebook creeping revealed his mysterious ex shared the same name as me and attended the same University. A little bit too much of a coincidence for me... But I pushed the eerie fact aside. Upon discussing our next meeting, he revealed that it would again have to be at his house since his car was disabled as part of his legal agreement for his recent DUI. Damn Steph, again? Did you not learn from the guy that begged you to drink 3 glasses of water at a bar so he could pass his breathalyzer? What about the one that was day-drinking since 10 am and refused to take an Uber over driving his truck across three bridges with 17-inch tires? "Shoot," some girls don't learn their lessons.... Exercising forgiveness, I didn’t write him off. Then, he revealed he’s much more of a pot smoker, but since he’s in the military, he goes for things that don’t show up on a drug test. Ignorant when it comes to drugs and their chemical affect and ability to trace on a drug test, I inquired which drugs could he possibly pass a drug test with. "Shrooms and acid," he responded plainly. "I just like to sometimes unwind and not feel something." I have no clue why I didn't "feel something" about that red siren of a statement, but I proceeded with this fling that was guaranteed, in my mind, to be only that. Directly leading up to date number three, we exchanged some flirty texts at work. I'll be candid and reveal that I was the one that rolled the dice and "started it." After all, I like playing the game.... Okay, okay.... when I say flirty, I mean steamy, in the back of a parked car, with Rose’s hand marking through the condensation on the window. Woops? Hey, it made a Monday feel like a Friday in a blink and a wink... or 3. Date three was composed of Buffalo chicken dip with tortilla chips (another crafted after school special) and time enjoying my fan in the heat of the moments. The clock was the only "shoot," because I had to be up at 4 am to leave for my 4th of July trip. In the morning, he gave me a compliment and a coffee to-go. During my trip, he kept his distance aside from leaving a comment on my selfie for my night-out in West Virginia. A simple, "look at you." I didn't really know how to respond, so I sent an emoji. Then, days later after returning and a little radio silence, I landed on the ultimate "shoot." My response was totallyyyyyyyy falsified. Upon reading this, I was hurt, vulnerable, and at a self-esteem All Time Low (no relation to the fabulous punk band). My best friend swooped in and saved the day with advice for my response. Refusing him anymore power, she encouraged me to lie through my teeth and make it seem that not only was I not feeling this interaction either, but I was going to have the decency to end the fling in person. What hurt the most was the fact that a guy with fresh DUI and an avid acid dropper dumped ME! A girl with a great head on her shoulders, a brighter future, mastery cooking skills, treasure chest of jokes, and a heart of the rarest gold couldn't keep a guy like that. But then, it fazed me... What kind of self-deprecating train am I riding that would make me want a guy that admittedly wanted to feel numbness and would go to such great lengths to achieve it? Even though he's the one trippin' acid.... I certainly did my share of trippin' ;) To add insult to injury, he dropped my fan at my front door before I got off work. Now that's something I'm not a fan of... Mr. Shoots and Ladder's dessert is.....Because I'm still a little salty and it can only go up from here....
This story is the epitome of why I'm single. BAHA I WISH this was fiction, but like all other posts on this blog, this is authentic 100%. I found it fun to write it from the alleged perspective of my date. I used his body language, context clues, and slow distance from me help write his perspective. I don't think I was far off because I haven't heard from him since and previously he had a 12 second response rate.Once upon a time...She was tall and fair, and had a far darker hair color than my ex, so that was good. She was pretty, funny, and found my jokes pretty hilarious, or at least put up a good front that she did. She was much taller in person and had a fuller figure than I expected. Not big, just not size 2 skinny-- definitely would give a guy something to hold onto. She was from Texas and knew nothing of the west, which I'd come. I educated her as she proved that she could certainly hold her liquor. That's always something I look for in a woman. So, she was a cheap date at the fancy restaurant I chose, because she got full after the fries. I'll be honest, I actually did too. That's what happens when you put beef and au jus on french fries. Once I received my sandwich, I actually had to go drop it off in my car since, I was pretty stuffed myself. She dropped off her umbrella and we continued to peruse the city. At the wine bar is when both of our alcohol started to kick in. We revealed things about our past and I could tell she wasn't in it just for sex. Especially when one of my tells with something I could tell she was uncomfortable with. I guess I can rule threesomes off the list... Might need to go with another girl for that... But the date continued on . On the way to a brewery, she stopped short and made a short kind of a shriek. What was that? I thought. I turned around to find her standing on her left foot while tending to a broken wedge. The right wedge had completely flipped its lid and removed itself from the sandal part still attached to her foot. Oh my gosh. The shit only happens to me. I can't just leave her... She laughed and asked if I had a switchblade or a pocket knife. A switchblade? What kind of hood shit is she used to in Dallas? I had one in my car but she wasn't pleased at the response. I offered my keys, like a dumbass, and then found myself putting my key in her ignition. Okay just kidding. I put my key in the bottom wedge of her left foot. This is not how I thought the evening would play out. This Cinderella never made it to the ball....After successfully ripping the other wedge off, she played it off, cool as a cucumber. I couldn't just leave after that... what guy is that heartless? And she already alluded to the fact that she had a negative connotation of military men... So I figured I'd see where the night leads me. She disposed of the bottom half of her shoes and we made it to a brewery. She kept joking that I would never talk to her again... She's a pretty good judge of character, but I certainly wouldn't want to be walking in her shoes.... After another beer and a friendly game of shuffleboard, I swooped in for the kill. For the game, not for her. I was still undecided how I felt about her. Any other girl would've been distraught to have lost one of her fav pair of stilettos or whatever, yet she certainly rolled with the punches. Also, she was closer to my height now, which made her less intimidating. She seemed to be enjoying herself, but she strikes me as the type of person that is genuinely happy with things, which is a pretty okay quality. The stakes for our shuffle board game was low. I let her pick, hoping she would be a little more creative than a sandwich... hubba hubba. Then again, she had made it pretty clear via texting she was not interested in guys that made things all about sex. Certainly took some of the fun out for me. As time drew closer to the bewitching hour, we ended up making out in her car, but she kept pulling away. I looked over towards my parked car, during one of her hesitations, and saw another couple making out ON MY TRUNK. On my car! This kind of stuff always happens to me. We both laughed about it and she kept prompting me to click the unlock button on my keypad. So, I unlocked it and the couple was unfazed. I could tell I wasn't going to get anywhere with shoeless, so, I exited stage right. I texted her once, as to not seem to be ghosting her for her wardrobe malfunction, but then let it go. Hey, if the shoe doesn't fit....."This isn't Disney where animals will sing you through the dessert. Piece the pictures together and figure it out yourself.... That's what I should've told Miss WISHES-she-were-Cinderella"The stars may come out at night, but so do the strange and painfully not funny....The boy was a ginger, which with a flip of 30 or 40 posts in this blog, you could pick up that one of my weaknesses, along with nerds and those with blazing blue eyes. One of his statements on his hinge account was that he has dark humor. In the last 3 years of my life I recently discovered dark humor and adore it! So instantly, I played on that. "Hey! Want to hear some dark humor?" Of course he responded, "Yes." With very little hesitation, I spat back or. texted fiercely, "My life." My best friend I giggled for a solid 2 and 1/2 minutes, but this boy however, gave me a lecture about how I should enjoy life and that shit's not funny. "What exactly is dark humor to you then?" "Making fun of less athletic people at sport games and Rec leagues." Yeah that's just mean. If you can't make me laugh, there's a probably a ton of other things you can't make me do..... My motto still stands: Fries Before GuysRemember my emphasis on how small of a town Pensacola is? Remember Mr. Roadtrip Rascal? Well, he's back. In Black and sloshed. While enjoying the tipsy 2 o'clock hour, at Seville, the only club in the whole panhandle (okay, I'm slightly exaggerating) someone lanky and completely out of control of their muscular system came into my view. Oh. My. Gosh. It's the dude I went to New Orleans with, Mr. Roadtrip Rascal himself. I don't know what was the most entertaining about this encounter:
"Roadtrip Rascal," I called. "Oh, hey," as he imposed the most uncomfortable hug of my life. "You ignored my wave." Again, ignoring me, he walked away. He not only responded to my text from a week ago, but he had the audacity to drunk dial me. CURVE. curve No dessert necessary.You peeled open the pages with poise.
Turned one after the other with very little noise. Forward-thinking and forward flipping. Easy to crinkle when your grip was slipping. Second chapter, you creased the binding. Loyalty to the author — a scarce finding. Closing time: pages pressed like agendas. Colorful pages concealed and tossed on a credenza. Undressed expectations and critic-strung words. Loose leaf emotional intelligence took off like birds. The hardback harbors settled after settled dust. Caked with self-righteous, masking true disgust. Pride prevented prying open promised prints. Until seasons rolled back around, But then the narrative couldn’t be found. So you slapped the pages furiously past, In realization that not all good things last. Blank pages you’re disgruntled to fill, Best wishes finding another protagonist to spill. Is it sad that my dating experiences have corrupted my hope in new dates? What could I possibly mean by that? Well, this guy was super sweet and super fun to text and I started to second-guess thanks because he was so nice. And like so excited to talk to me and go on a date and said he really didn't get much attention on dating sites. I'm used to such an opposite attitude, that I almost started to question why he was so excited to go out with me. A) I'm not all that and a bag of potato chips B) why do other girls not want to go out with him C) did I just become a cynic? And D) Icouldn't wait to see how this played out Or am I gonna have to Bop him on the head?Not only is this boy another tall glass of water, but he had a cute hairstyle with like this kind of faux hawk thing going on and a tattoo sleeve! Are girls really this stupid? Like what the french toast? So we actually met at a pizza shop which, is not a little Slice of Heaven for me. I just feel like Americans are obsessed with pizza and consume it at such a rapid rate, that it holds very little wow factor for me. While walking through the line to pick our pizza toppings, he found out that pizza was not my favorite. "Stephanie, you are supposed to tell me these things." Our conversation bounced from Civil War history to traveling to Military Life to food. On the way out of the pizza shop to drop her leftovers in his fine car, Dodge Challenger (the only car that ever saved my good friend from college, her fiance, and my life in a bad car accident in '14) a lady by the door caught me stealing a glance of Mr. Shoots and Ladder's butt. No shame, because I felt like I was in candy land ;) Hey! Guys can stare at my chest, but I can't steal a glance of their assets? Bubble butt, check! After returning to his car, we returned to the mall to reminisce about dates in middle school when our parents would drop us off. Just kidding, I didn't have any dates in Middle School ;) #choirnerd4life I introduced him to the world of Dipsy Doozies. These are found in the one and only, "Great American Cookie." Patriotic as chip! Foreign to this sweet phenomena? It's where two cookies are perfectly united with a thin layer of frosting. This is the best kind of sandwich of all my life. Who needs turkey, lettuce, sliced tomato, this one roast beef, this one had none... So, once we received our cookies, I whipped out my credit card and handed it to the lady. He was so shocked that even hours later on my couch, he still brought it up. Yes, I did take him home, but not as bow chikka brown cow as you would think. Well anywhozer.... we were finishing our stroll through the mall when I caught glimpse of another guy I had been dating. Nervous as a pregnant nun in church, I barely dodged him. I don't think my date ever noticed.. Then again, he's a guy... He notice until the end of the date that I had blue in my hair. After the mall, we casually strolled through Best Buy where we fixated on a bin of movies. That's where we got the bright idea to go to either of our houses to watch one. I picked mine because it was closer and my best friend power cleaned upon receiving my texts of my arrival. Once we arrived, I put on "Push," which he'd never seen and I hadn't seen half a decade. He stretched his arm around me, but didn't touch me. It was positioned on top of the couch, just levitating over my shoulders. Shoot. I appreciated the respect and his patience... But I longed for physical touch and didn't want to climb the ladder. So, I did the most logical and mature thing, I ticked him to death. Then he held both my hands so I would desist. Mission accomplished. He got kind of weird when I invited him to go dancing with us later that night and left shortly after the movie. As he left, another guy in a luxury vehicle pulled up in front of our house. No, that was not my back-up date. It was my best friend's. The first luxury car came back to our house because he left his phone. Blushing the top color of a stop light, he said, "don't know how I forgot this." He made his way home and later texted me that he left his sunglasses. To be completely honest, I had no idea whose sunglasses they were because there may have been another gentleman suitor later that night (since the second was a rusty tool at the bottom of a shed) so, I wasn't going to text anyone until they texted me. Not trying to make a fool of myself or suggest that I have several male suitors coming to my beckon call to my quaint little home downtown. This sweet best kept secret is the icing on top.... or.... between.1 pound powdered sugar
1 tablespoon butter 1/2 cup shortening 2 tablespoons milk 2 tablespoons hot water 1/4 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
Will I ever learn with musicians? How many times can I get burned from the same fire? But this one was 41. But this one had been hurt so many times before. But this one was so sweet and taken with my sarcasm and wit. But this one loved my eyes. But this has all happened before.... All too familiar. He has like 17 followers on YouTube and sent me some of his songs three-corded songs. Cool, so his musical talent hasn't really gotten to his head yet.... ehh, okay, it's a 50-50 shot. I'm sure it's helped certain reassurance of one head... He worked nights and mid's on and off, so talked to me when he could but swore he was gonna work on coming to see me from Panama City Beach. The weekend my best friend's parents came in town, we made our way to Panama for one night and two days. Naturally, I told him of this occurrence and he seeked excited to see me, but he worked 10p-6am. I've worked nights before so I totally understand it's hard, but if someone is going to be in your area that you allegedly like from 2 hours away, I would find a way to at least stop by. While on the 2 hour road trip over there, I noticed messages were opened and left without attention even though his snap location showed him on the beach!Wait- you checked his location? I mean... if you're not going to respond to meme, I at least have a right to see what's so much more entertaining ;) And THAT is why you keep some of your social media preferences discrete. I only had my location on when I was in Spain because no one on my media could gather the means to get to me. Well, before accepting the L, I called him one last time. Left a voicemail and then deleted him digitally and hopefully emotionally in the days to follow. Instead of meeting the latest homeboy, my best friend and I spent the early morning with this Captain Crunch. He chased a wave that almost capsized us all. This dessert is actually for me regarding my poor judgment in even giving him fractions of my time. I was 1/2 out of luck and 1/6 reminiscing other musicians and how they strummed my heart strings. This is called Rasberry Fool because the truth of my dating life and taste in men is a little tart.Look. I can take a joke; my humor can twinkle with Disney princesses and then get grungy with a pinch of raunch in two blinks. Dark humor is sometimes my essence and other times (majority) I'm pun-tastic, but I'm hyper aware of my audience and strive not to offend anyone or cast a tone that would make the environment uncomfortable. I'm sure you're aware and could name a few of these misguided and misplaced jokesters. My two in this case are called Mr. Pull My and Mr. Middle Finger. No, neither of them looked close to this.....so they get no "hott pass."Before you read their messages, a little back story:
Mr. Pull My took something minuscule and blew it out of proportion and then blocked me!Mr. Middle Finger is from Texas.... dammit Stephanie! Can't you leave those Tejas boys alone?Our first date was at a neighborhood restaurant, just blocks from my second place of residence in Pensacola (I'm currently in my third). There was live jazz playing and a steady conversation. We closed the restaurant down and then went for a stroll around the neighborhood, all the way to downtown. Talking about God knows what in the thick humid air, he kept his distance. Even after the clock stroke 12, he kept distance. I went for a hug, but it was more awkward than I would have liked to hope. Kind of like one of those ones where abrasive aunt forces a hug on you: I was that aunt. Date number two, we met at a sushi place where his sarcasm really surfaced. Rolling in laughter and fresh tuna, we chatted away the evening and then headed to Best Buy for a battery adventure. I could tell he didn't want the night to end because then he suggested we go to Starbucks for a chai tea latte. We proceeded to close down Starbucks as well. Still not a single hand-hold, a flirty tap on the shoulder, nothing. I understand respect and guys wanting to avoid the whole me-too movement... But personal touch is one of my love languages... And I only have two. Come on Mac Hammer! I would like a number one with extra passion. Date number three was his birthday. He hinted that he had no real plans since he preferred doing them with a significant other. I asked what kind of adventure he wanted to get into for his birthday and he said a simple Sushi dinner in his hometown. Milton is Pensacola asleep. Which is saying something, because Pensacola always seems like it's sleeping to me. Even the traffic can not be classified as traffic. 30 cars? That's all you got? Okay. Come back to me when you're on Dallas or Austin level. Or Charleston when one of the bridges was out. You know I'm feeling pessimistic about a place when I complain about not having traffic. At this date, I realized he wasn't going to touch me. It started to make me feel a little self-conscious, and then I stopped. If I've learned anything since my dating in Pensacola, it's that rejection is not you. Everyone's got something specific they're looking for or looking to avoid, and I can't help that I'm not it. So, I paid for his birthday dinner, we went to his home and he showed me a couple videos. Then, I left unkissed and untouched. On his birthday. Didn't they make a song about this? Or at least a birthday kissTwo weeks later, I caught a glimpse of him in the mall while we're both on other days. Mr. MC Hammer must have sang to her "Can't Touch This," cuz she too was keeping her distance as they made their stroll past the half empty stores. At least he wasn't touching her either?
https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/10119/hamburger-cookies/ The thin mint symbolizes the refreshing relief that it diffused naturally and no feelings were hurt in making these "MC-Hamburgers"Ever been on a date that you thought went well and then when it amounts to nothing, you wonder if it was something you said or didn't do?This part two story leaves off at the tail end of me and Mr. Roadtrip Rascal's first date. He was shady about his social media and making me a part of his, yet he told a complete stranger that I was his wife and accused him of thinking I was hot. We both were quite intoxicated and made our way back in a pedicab to our hotel. Up 8 flights to the room, we got intimate in more than one way and the conversation took a turn. I became completely vulnerable and relinquished a secret and instantly started to push him away. His tone became serious as he turned my face towards his. “Stephanie, this is not up to you. You can’t make that decision of how I’m going to respond. I’m not going to get rid of you.” I fell asleep in his arms and then flirted our way out of New Orleans on Sunday morning. Then, his catch phrase for the ride home was, "it's not like I'm ever going to see you again." Okay... I thought. "Whatever you say jealousy." While Gin Blossoms played in my head, he spat, "You got all excited when I called you my wife." "No, I found it humorous that of all the things you could have called me (your: hoe, side piece, hinge date, girl named Friday, late for dinner....list goes on)." The conversation fizzled along with the connection. I stepped out of the car, and for the most part, out of his life. I'm not a fan of loose ends so, I tied things up to genuinely show my appreciation for such an adventurous first date. I'll be damned if that boy really did never see me again.His finale was a series of drunk calls the following Friday, beckoning me to "come cuddle." After hanging up on me and spatting some interesting words, I went to sleep for my 9am work shift the next day.
Of course he didn't recall any of it, but apologized profusely. I guess this interaction was short-lived, but a trip for the books....or posts. In the spirit of New Orleans' spell-boinding nature and thr fact that this boy spelled out my place in his immediate future, I found "Truth Serum" appropriate. 1 part Campari1 part sweet vermouth 1 part gin 1 drop angostura bitters ice directionsChill a martini glass. Combine the campari, vermouth, gin, and bitters in a shaker with ice. Shake well then strain into the chilled glass. Serve immediately. https://www.cdkitchen.com/recipes/recs/218/Truth-Serum81794.shtml The traveler in me was indulged by this tall bottle of water. He was so skinny, I possibly could have broke him in half, but never gave the impression that I was too big for him. Which, if you've kept up with my Pensacola experience so far, you know that that's genuinely been a problem. It all started because he flirtily invited himself to a beach date that I had, through messaging in the app. Honest as a nun and with a habit of serial dating, I stated that he would have been intruding on a date. "Oh so I have competition," he fired back. His interest was instantly engaged. "Well, I'll have to Razzle Dazzle you." Rolling my eyes at such a wild proposal, I couldn't help but think of all the other letdowns and boys that just used words with no action. I'll be damned if this guy did not follow through. "Let's go somewhere," he pleaded. Don't threaten me with a good time! I listed off the cities in closest proximity of Pensacola and he practically yawned through text. "Okay," I said. Time to test this fool, I thought. "New Orleans is 3 hours and Atlanta is 5." "New Orleans," he replied and retrieved my phone number. After receiving some drunk texts and a few missed calls Friday night from Mr. Roadtrip Rascal, I assumed we wouldn't be making the venture. Saturday morning at 9 a.m., I texted him and said, "where you at? Are we doing this thing?" He must have shot out of bed, because I'll be damned if he didn't show up at my house in the next 20 minutes. Like the horse races, we were off! We joked about both of our friends hoping the other wasn't a Natural Born Killer. We talked about family, our common religion, our plans to get out of this town... I swear it was like a freaking country song. Then in Mobile, the one hour mark, we went into the tunnel and several cars on all sides of us began honking their horns. For no reason. But, then it seemed like it was playful. So he honked back a melody that required a an answer of two honks. We cackled and then made our way to Chipotle. Yeah, fun fact: Pensacola has absolutely no Chipotle's. WTF?! The city makes no sense. Anywho, we walked in and ordered; I tried to pay and he practically threw my credit card on the other side of the restaurant. Once we made our way to the parking lot, I thanked him excessively and he kissed me. Towering over me, he smiled and then he grabbed my car door. Then, when we stopped along the way for gas, again, I fought to pay the bill since he took his car and was taking me on this trip, but her refused, kissing me again. We rode the rest of the way to New Orleans with grins on our faces, his right hand nestled inside the beginning of my left thigh, just above my freckled kneecap. He booked us a Marriott room, just blocks athwart from the French Quarter, which was quite a treat for me, because anytime I stay in town, it's with family away from downtown. We explored like tourists and flirted like teenagers. Then, when the sun went down is when we really went out to play. We ate dinner off Bourbon St. at this delicious place and had Bloody Mary's since the vodka was marinating a picture of okra, celery, creole tomatoes, pearl onions, and I believe bell peppers. We picked up a buzz in a few tunes as we bar hopped to Frenchmen Street. The date was going well, really well. A sharp annoyance hit me when I made a comment about how we both were making Snapchat posts, yet neither one of us added the other as a friend. "Oh, well I only have family on my Snapchat." Okay.... I thought. Yet oh, I didn't believe him. All the posts he was making were of one drink, scenes of the street, and one plate. I noticed how careful he was do not capture the edge of my drink or plate. I've been there. According to my mom, I "invented sneaky" and this boy was being sneaky. When I returned from the bathroom at the alternative rock bar, I saw a young blonde video snapping him, which he quickly clicked away when I walked up. And I’m supposed to believe that’s family? I scoffed to myself. I understand he just met me, but don’t lie to me. I’m talking to other people too, but gosh. It bothered me like a charley-horse and a couple more vodka sodas brought it out of me. He brushed off that it was his buddy’s wife. Yet, his buddy obviously isn’t family either. I just don’t understand the point of lying. That’s fine that you don’t want to be my friend on Snapchat, but you did take me on a date to another state... So why is social media such a big deal? I played nice and continued on with the night. At one of the last bars we ventured to for our night on Frenchmen Street, while jamming to another live band, he went up to get us our 18th drink (kidding…kind of). While he was gone, a short, harmless tan-skinned Arabian approached me. Engaging in conversation about a country I’ve never been to, I smiled as we talked. Moments later, my date returned on a mission. “Do you think my wife’s hot?” Wait a minute, I thought to myself. I went from not being worthy to being on your Snapchat to your wife in a jealous show? Instantly I decided this was blog-worthy. Then my out-of-country friend said yes! I was dying and slightly flattered. In a strange way, I kind of need a man that’s a little tiny bit jealous. In a twisted way it makes me feel wanted. Then again, I’m a little jealous myself. I haven’t had an opportunity be jealous since I haven’t had anyone that’s mine in a while… with the right person will bring it out of me…in the most innocent of ways *adjusts halo.* When I really care about someone, I value their time and understand that other people find them attractive cuz obviously that’s one of the reasons I’m there… so hey! At least I knew homeboy found me attractive. Stephanie called him homeboy! That only means one thing..... skip.Homeboy (n): name for a guy that holds a temporary place in your life and will not amount to anything romantically. There are infinite reasons why he isn't "the one" and just "this one." He most likely will or has already thrown a cheap shot at your heart. Did I make it home?
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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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