A DatesandCakes on how-to: |
_ | Mister Nice Guy with a knack for spilling tea, Shy sapphire eyes with complexity Pierced from the past and imprinted with studs Dazzling with wit, not accrediting above Declares himself timid and toxic Intimate, but his heart, he locks it. Infidelity observer and others' habits Aspires for more than fucking like rabbits Intricate path wired a short fuse Between racing and friends: rather not choose Unique sense of style, options "shoed" Possibility potential not yet pursued Curious of his next cup to spill Content or another shallow thrill? Anticipating boiling tap water He'd be different if he caught her |
Standards to oblige-- bent
Anticipation of something built
Following bios and emotions spilled
Sheer intrigue wrapped like candy
Something shore leaves you sandy
Different dawn and dialect
This one too, I must forget
Although my favorite Disney princess has always been a 3-way tie between Pochahontas, Mulan, and Belle, I have always wanted to be referred to as "Belle with her nose in a book." Even if someone somewhere just said it once.
I used to spend hours in the Mount Pleasant library, 4 minutes from my house, collecting travel books, cookbooks, and devotionals for rent. There was one time when I even felt the eyes from the security guard on me; not because he thought I slipped a book in my bag without checking it out, but with interest of some sort. Then again, it could have very well been in my head. ;)
Fast Forward to my library adventures in Texas post-heart expenditure: November 2020.
Heart Expenditure (noun): The state in which one's heart has let too many "potentials" in, only to be underwhelmed. In this datesandcakes definition specifically, it was allowing 4 guys into my heart space in the span of 7 months. If you're thinking the math doesn't add up, you'll be happy to learn that insecurity was my common denominator. All of them retreated and I was left with the wreckage of myself and my own undoing in November 2020.
Instead of living out the definition of insanity, I tried a new hobby to distract me from dating and breaking down. If you've ever sat in a room with me, you'd know within seconds that I do not. sit. still. So, reading novels has always been a struggle, even in school with AP classes that required summer reading. But, here I was, looking, hoping for something new.
- That's SUCH a compliment that you pegged me for a reader and a deliberate reader at that
- There's a reason I grabbed fiction murder mystery versus relationship/self-help reads... I want to know how it feels to see the protagonist continually put themselves in poor decisions and yet make it out alive; I know my mom and KC have both wondered that after reading or hearing about a handful of my craziest dates.
- Am I easily distracted? guilty. Am I a hopeless romantic? guilty. Have I self-sabotaged some of the good ones? guilty. Do I flee from comittment because I fear it could feel like a life sentence? also guilty. So.... what was that about me being innocent? ;) Wouldn't make for an interesting read or viewing (if tuning into the vlog) if I wasn't truthful even if it makes me look bad.... haha you should see me hungover!
- If you choose to ever pick up these INCREDIBLE reads, you will learn each woman has her secrets and stains that no amount of bleach could wash. I am not above this.
These books actually helped me realize how many of the guys I've dated are and will always be, strangers. I knew more about these characters and how they face fear, mortality, morals, integrity, and greed than the four from the pandemic.
But being totally shallow here (because deep down, we all have been at one time or another), these two titles scream some of my insecurities that lead me to date these guys that were not fit for me. AT ALL. I wanted to be a pretty thing on his arm and gosh, did I want to be seen. But the more carona cases reported, with maps stretched as far as the screen can capture, the more people I realize are out there that could be that match. Maybe my pretty thing is in Morocco and I've been too distracted with the wrong corners of the compass.
I'm alone and could not be happier.
.... I don't know if that's gasp worthy or cliche but.... today, at this moment while clacking this blog out, pressed against a heating pad when I should very well be asleep, I'm at peace with saying that. :)) The cakes will still be baked, the vlogs will still be recorded, and God knows the attention will still be yearned for, but I'm hopefully going to approach it better. Here's for hoping and for new hobbies!
Single Ole Bird Left With Pieces
- 6 Tablespoons salted butter
- 8 cups mini marshmallows
- 12 cups Rice Krispies cereal
- Non-stick foil
- A light-weight cup (I used a red solo cup)
- Cooking spray
- White paper
- Clear tape
- Tooth picks
- Reese's Pieces or whatever "stuffing"you want
Instructions
- Cover the cup with foil and make sure the non-stick side is up on that as well. Spray it well with cooking spray.
- Lay out a large piece of foil with the non-stick side up next to the serving platter.
- Melt your butter over medium heat.
- Spray a mixing spoon with cooking spray and stir in the marshmallows until they've melted.
- Remove pan from heat and stir in your Rice Krispies until well combined.
- Pour this mixture onto the piece of non-stick foil and allow it to cool for a moment or two.
- Working fast, divide the Rice Krispie Treat mixture so that there's 2/3 of it to make the body and set 1/3 of it to the side to make the wings and drumsticks.
- Starting with the 2/3 portion of the Rice Krispie Treat mixture, take a small amount of it and create a base about an inch thick on the serving platter.
- Place the cup on it's side onto the base so that open part of the cup is slightly off of the base where the turkey's opening will be so the majority of the cup is laying on the base.
- Build the rest of Rice Krispie Treat mixture around the cup to create the turkey's carcass with the cup in it's cavity (once this is set you'll be able to pull the cup out and stuff it with candy). Make sure the mixture around the cavity isn't too thin. Be sure to press the mixture in well so that it's not too loose when it dries.
- Next, take the other 1/3 of the Rice Krispie Treat mixture and divide it into four parts.
- Use each part to mold two drumsticks and two wings and set them aside and make sure you press them into shape tightly. (I kept these on the a separate pan lined with non-stick foil- keep in mind that you'll want to shape the wings so that the thinner back parts of them go up in different directions since they will be on either side of the Turkey).
- Cover everything with the nonstick side of the foil and allow it to rest and set for at least 30 minutes in the refrigerator (overnight is preferable).
- To make the bone end of the drumsticks, take strips of white paper, and fold them in half length-wise.
- Cut half way up along the fold every half inch or s and wrap it around the ends of drumsticks and secure with a piece of clear tape.
- Use toothpicks to carefully secure your drums and wings to the turkey (this can be a bit tricky and you'll need to rig it up the right certain spots depending on your drumsticks and gravity).
- Stuff the turkey with candy and serve birrrrrr birrr birrrr birrr birrd bird bird is the word.
You Only Live Once (YOLO) so 2 years talking and 4 days in my bed and he's "just living for the moment."
He was fine being in the background because he values his freedom more than his space; for him, they are not interchangeable. He wants his space to be consumed with bright screens, clouds of smoke, materialism, ammunition for verbal and physical jousts, and mentions of wanting a family.
The freedom is for the freaking. He was a strategist, apparent in his use of words and applications of compliments. He alludes to you being the "perfect woman" but, never the perfect woman for him. It's irrelevant if I thought we were compatible. Which, since I'm pouring this out... I didn't, point blank.
The timing was "just right," revealing "just the right amount" of what-you-wanna-hear while spooling the mystery. He never revealed too much, yet talked quite a bit-- especially leading up to the trip where he flew into my space, head, and fears.
In the countdown of the 2 weeks prior to him landing in Dallas, he strategized the physical aspect of our anticipated time together. After our first encounter, he revealed that he seldom speaks to girls that sleep with him on the first date. The double standard that he relayed through the phone enraged me and quite frankly, should have ceased future efforts.
I rebuttled with, "Shhyeah, like you weren't naked pressed against me. You wouldn't have stopped me if we did it."
"Probably not, but how am I to know that girl doesn't sleep with other guys on the first date?"
Rolling my eyes, I must have suppressed that red flag wrapped conversation because I entertained not one but two flights for our second encounter/date/rendezvous. The first one, I canceled because of Covid and another lust-interest that was pursuing me HARD.
He even went as far to make a bet with me of who would give-in first to sex. YUP, for $50. So much for reserving bets for noble steeds.
Am I so naive to scroll past the painfully sexual text messages to see what I wanted to hear and ONLY what I wanted to hear? Like the card game, I'm gonna call BS on ALL of it.
- us
- my person
- I see you
- how could guys treat you that way?
- you are such an amazing woman
- I can't believe a woman like you exists
- I'm not just trying to sleep with you, I JUST want to spend time with you
- Now all I'm missing is you
- I'm just living for the moment
- I want to see you again, but I'm not made of money *after buying a $400 hat*
- Sorry, I'm not ready to marry you
In no effort to be ironic, his dessert is a British breakfast and he is the closest person to Ron Swanson I've ever met. I give you, like the 3 home-cooked meals I gave him with not as much as a "thx bro,"
Fried Banana and Almond Maple Porridge
- 1/2 cup steel cuts-deep oats
- 1 1/2 cups almond milk
- 4 tsp maple syrup
- pinch sea salt; can't you see how salty I am?
- 1 tbsp coconut oil
- 1 tsp brown sugar
- 2 pinches cinnamon
- 1 banana (ripe, like the sting of this long-term interaction)
- 1/4 cup almonds (chopped suey like my faith in guys, again)
- 2 tbsp almond buttered-me-up
- In a sauce pan add steel cut oats. Bring to medium heat and toast oats stirring often until it they create a nutty aroma (3-5 mins). Then pour in almond milk, maple syrup, and pinch salt.
- Bring steel cut oats and almond milk to a boil, then reduce heat and let simmer. Cook oats stirring occasionally for 25-30 mins, or until cooked. Optional to add splashes more almond milk while cooking for desired consistency.
- Meanwhile, add coconut oil to a skillet and bring to med heat. Sprinkle pan with coconut sugar and cinnamon. Cut your banana in half down the centre and place cut side down on the skillet. Fry each side for approx. 30s-1 min, or until golden brown.
- Remove bananas from skillet and add chopped almonds. Toast almonds in skillet stirring occasionally until browned (approx. 5 mins).
- Divide oats between two bowls and top with fried bananas. Drizzle with almond butter, sprinkle with toasted almonds.
I selected a recipe with a fried topper to symbolize the flash-in-the-pan that we were. I'm sure he'd cringe at me referring to him and I as we. I'm still hot like the popping grease that I became JUST LIKE every other girl he's talked to. Gave it up, only to be left empty and loathing myself.
They say hate and love is a fine line, but I've never heard anyone apply that to themselves; I hate myself for letting him in (in all ways that apply).
With your Ivory fingers on the tweezers,
Your red lips are a thin line touring the connector box.
The power source is a perfect formulation of numbers.
Numbers so tightly wound,
Their sparks of electricity bring vulnerability.
I don't slight you from holding that back.
Our relationship would be a disaster so,
It only reinforces your surface interaction.
Rhythm and words quite familiar
A melodic explanation of a mood
Track 8 presumes her a filler
Then an anthem not for sharing
Lyrics establish loyal pursuit
One-and-only self-preparing
Steel trust now accessible loot
A flash of light with notification
His active dating app chorus
Revealing wilting patience
B flat taunts: there was no "us"
Flashbacks of a similar cadence
Side two seals it with kiss
Force his memory into just a dance
Unfinished record, inevitable dis
Sure showed the record player
Leveling up the harp and heart string
Casting her skies shades grayer
Farewell to another shoal fling
Remember the romantic comedy "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?" Well.... DatesandCakes has her own real approach on it!
Guess I'll have to continue to play the cards I've been dealt.
All I ask is that you don't hurt me.
But it's perfectly okay for you to break my heart within the first 24 hours of a trip you bought me to spend quality time with you.
When I was deterred about your approach
Your promises casting self-doubt
Noble steed pulling a coach
Yet another to fantasize
Meet your needs; tailored
Clawed me as your cute prize
Past loneliness, now cured
My painted heart you raided
With a true face masked
The memories-- won't save it
Masquerades: a thing of the past
Nothing like fresh pain to bring to life, words of a song you never paid mind to. This song has been out for about a year and was showed to me by my best friend. I didn't conceal my disinterest in it, yet she said it helped her.
Fast forward to my first break-up in which I was the one being dumped/left/broken/questioning since 2010 before midnight on New Years. Yeah, what a way to bring in the new year, am I right? My dating life never ceases to amaze me. Sidebar, that ex-boyfriend has actually been married twice now.... just a nugget of information I learned from one of his fraternity brothers I still keep up with.
Well, since it has been quite awhile since I've been left like that, I forgot the emptiness and abandonment. Sure, I've felt the sting of rerouting your day to remove the cute text messages, late night dates, insiders, and plans we made for two.... BUT that was when I was in control. That was when I was the one that held the answers and the hope of something else out there. Not someONE, just something that I couldn't seek with casually dating the person I was with. I say casually with the upmost respect; what I mean by it is we were not official. He didn't pin me, make me his girl, exclusively ensure we were solely dating each other, and make me his sole focus as far as intimacy is concerned.
Well, since this particular hook pulled a few things from me, I've been diving in unfamiliar territory. Just yesterday, I was faced with admittance. For me, this is monumental since denial is my favorite state (Louisiana is a close second).
I was quiet, staring at the wall in my best friend's kitchen when she sent me the song again with the caption, "Steph, give this song another listen." Humorous that she sent it sitting next to me, I saved it as we played it on her light-up speakers; those were the only things to light up in that room.
Where'd you learn how to act like that?
You know one day you're gonna want to change it back
I think I know who's messing with your mind
But don't worry, I don't wish I were bread.
Today's suitable recipe is pain d’épices
In English, pain d’épices translates to "Spice Bread"
- 2/3 cup (210g) honey
- 1 cup (110g) rye flour because he rung me out to rye
- 3/4 cup (110g) all-intensive purpose, I was his flour, till I died
- 1/2 cup (110g) cold plain (like his heart) milk
- 3 Tablespoons (40g) caster sugar
- 1 pinch of salt
- 2 teaspoons (12g) baking powder
- 2 large eggs
- 1/3 cup (75g) melted (like he pretended to do for and over me) butter
- 1 teaspoon lemon zests
- 1 teaspoon orange zests
- 1 teaspoon 5 spice powder*
- 1 teaspoon cinnamon... notice it's not cinnaman
INSTRUCTIONS
- Preheat the oven to 300°F (150°C). Grease a loaf pan with butter.
- Pour honey in a large bowl, since his sweetness has dried up.
- Add rye flour, which is overbearingly bitter in regards to types of flour. This includes oat, chickpea, flax, corn, and almond flours. I have no pride issue or problem admitting, this guy has made me incredibly bitter in the amount of time it takes to make a loaf of bread. Personally, I loathe the taste, smell, and even texture of rye; even in Iceland, it lingers on your taste-buds with an abrasive attitude.
- Mix until well combined, which I thought we did so so well. Whatever method you choose to combine, know that there is a grave possibility it can come undone.... but not likely in this recipe with your binding agents.
- Incorporate one at a time all-purpose flour, cold milk, sugar, salt, baking powder, eggs and melted butter, stirring well after each addition.
- Add the spices of rehearsed lines, benefits for yourself, empty promises, and stir well.
- Pour the batter into the prepared loaf pan and bake for about 50 minutes.
- When the cake is lukewarm, like the relationship you kinda sorta maybe believed in, unmold it and transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.
- You'll cool down. You've got to, right?
No.
He asked me through crowded phone lines and two zones defining time.
I said no and meant it. My alter ego knew he'd be fine.
Vanishing is yet just one of my acts
Dissecting frogs for feelings they lack
Once the habits and communication reach acclimation,
I'm sure to grow antsy; I'm sure to change the station
There's nothing I loathe more than being underestimated
I'm a category 4 that storm-surge devastated
But only in defense mode, if silence offers threats
Cause baby, I'm a force you'll never forget
Ironically I dodge pet names, but cycle through
Painted as this or that, but you're just you.
I'm notorious for mind-changing and dresses alike
Rationale isn't present, but love is riding a bike
Muscle memory nightmare, playlist to the past
Taking Back Sunday, what if I wanted this to last?
Do NOT mistake this for the 80's Rom-Com, "Pretty in the Pink." The protagonist does NOT get the guy, have a theme song, or have any recollection of wearing or packing the color pink on this 3 day trip to Prague.
Well..... did you at least earn a great story? Czech!
At the meeting spot for the pub crawl at 8 sharp, I saw a tall blonde with a sweater, or "jumper" as they call it, and skinny jeans similar to mine. I sparked up conversation instantly and her accent was quite a surprise. Australian, hands down. Stereotypical of an American, a vast number of us are infatuated with Australian and English accents. I know that's a stereotype... But are you really going to argue with me? You don't enjoy a good "mate" or "bloody hell?"
Yeah that's what I thought...
Anyway, after befriending The Awesome Aussie, we began to take shots that were compliments of the crawl for the first hour. Completely unlimited. She claimed she needed to pace herself, but I had experience with my blonde best friend back home on how-to entice others to take shots. There were three Brazilian girls standing, smiling, and sipping a beer. Why are you sipping during the only hour of free drinks, I thought. Beginners.
The Aussie must have had a similar thought because she prompted me, "let's go talk to them! They need to live and it up!"
Before you knew it, we had formed forces. Three beautiful Brazilians, The Awesome Aussie who was also beautiful, and me and my American Travel buddy (whom I guess to someone is beautiful ;) Since my travel buddy is a dude, I guess he's not included in our group that became known in the crawl as "The Baddest."
Another one, an American... Of course! If you've listened to any of my other European Bar Crawl stories... I always end up getting tangled up with an American. How basic of me LOL This particular one was a tall glass of water that also approached my travel buddy and said, "Man, the girl in the dress..... great job landing her, because she can freaking dance!"
Immediately, he corrected him and prompted him to approach me since I was single and could be bothered to mingle. Of course, he never did. Then what about the parallelogram? It's coming... I promise!
As one of the Brazilians found another Brazilian and kind of coupled off with him for the rest of the night... The rest of us continued to dance, flirt, and soak up Prague, since none of us had ever been here before. After one conversation my travel buddy had with The Awesome Aussie, my travel buddy looked defeated.
He approached me and said, "Well damn. At least she likes one of us."
Confused with who he was referring to, I pressed further.
"The awesome Aussie! She's not into me... But she likes you."
"Oh yeah, she's awesome," I said innocently.
He threw a teasing look at me and said, "Nah man, she dates girls too."
I threw my head back cackling. And if you've ever had the privilege to see this in real life, it's quite the scene. Completely flattered, I took the compliment and continued with my drinks. Scanning the room, I found this beautiful blonde, tall glass of water that I'd noticed that the first club, but figured he was out of my league. This time, his blue eyes met mine. Damn it! Another blue-eyed beauty.
He had an edgy kind of guy next to him who was also quite attractive, but didn't have my eye on that one. The Aussie walked right up to them. So feeling bold as well, I figured I'd join her. Flirting commenced and we ended up dancing around each other, but never necessarily together. Picture 4-year-olds playing soccer-- they get close, but usually never actually get the ball, they just hover.
While the Aussie interacted with the one I found most beautiful (he hailed from Poland), I interacted with the attractive, but edgy Russian. The only thing I could have ever imagined as a personality trait in regards to a Russian is that they're kind of intense... This guy definitely fit that bill, or that "Todd"... Just kidding! I can't remember his name anyway.
On the way to the bathroom, or "the lou" as she called it , her and I exchanged notes on which boy we were trying to pursue. She was into the Russian, I was into the Polish man, the Polish man seemed magnetically attracted to the Aussie and the Russian seem to gravitate to me, even after our conversation ended and I trailed off both literally and mentally. Then, keep in mind the Aussie has also had a girlfriend... So the possibilities here for what everyone was wanting seems endless.
See what I'm saying? A triangle would just not suffice....
Regardless of the country, I seldom pass up a drink offered from a cute boy as long as I can see it being made. I matched his vodka Sprite with "an abundance of limes." That's a quote. Usually I go for soda water, but the cute little bottles were something I couldn't resist. European bars seldom have carbonated soda stations or soda guns like our land-of-the-free bars. They also charge for water, since it too is bottled. Affordable? It's almost always more than an alcoholic drink. #hellohangover
After three of those lemon and lime sugared puppies (not ruff in the slightest), we made our way to the dance floor and he tried to keep rhythm. I would like to "Blame It On the Alcohol," but I'm pretty sure this boy just had no rhythm. Cute though, we danced as I glanced over at the other pair, The Awesome Aussie and my fleeting Crush, the Polish dude. Once Queen came on, it was a wrap. The Aussie and I screamed at the top of our lungs and jammed (no peanut butter in this country, unfortunately) together and the two boys found their way into other girls' arms. Fine by us, we thought. But like my blonde best friend in the states and I discovered time and time again, they usually come back.
So acting as if nothing happened, they were turn to us probably 5 songs or 10 songs later. That was the best measure of time I had since I don't sport a watch and my phone was rapidly dying. At this point, we had forgotten about our Brazilian girls until we ran into one of them (not literally, I only run to buffet lines and from commitment).
- My phone was at 2%, of which I had not unlocked it, therefore my SIM card did not work
- The Polish man made a move on the Aussie and apparently he's an atrocious kisser
- The Brazilians had to leave because one of the girls lost their purse with their passport at one of the prior clubs
- I completely lost my travel buddy, whom had the key to our hostel.
It was around 5 a.m. when the club closed, and the parallelogram of unrequited lust, made its way toward Old Prague, across one of the famous bridges. My hostel, mind you was in a completely different direction. Since I had no data or internet connection, I couldn't order an Uber, I couldn't get on maps to see how to get back, and oh yeah, I couldn't remember the name of our hostel. Do you know any hostels there are in downtown Prague? Probably equivalent to hotels in downtown Dallas.
FML why don't I eat more blueberries?
I tried to take notes from the Aussie's Google Maps to a hostel that sounded like mine, but I had no pen and no paper. So where else can I put the notes? In my dying phone. Awesome.
Now we know the Polish dude was never interested, but do you think the Russian even offered a "that sucks" or "good luck?" No.
Totally disregarded, I made my way into the foreign city alone. Along the way of my makeshift MapQuest directions, I miraculously found an open wi-fi connection that I could connect to. I'm not exaggerating here. It really truly was a miracle to find a place with free Wi-Fi.
During our 6 hours of daylight earlier that very day sightseeing, I could not find even one place that had open wi-fi. Not cafes, shops, tourist spots, and internet cafes were extinct in this city.
Thanking God I found this open Wi-Fi connection, I turned to Google for help. I sent a message to my travel buddy to keep an eye out for me and to tell me the code to get into the hostel. Isn't it fun, how some guys seem to be around till you need them?
After feeling like I got my bearings, I ventured out again with now 1% on my phone battery. Just as it was dying, I came across a taxi man helping a couple and their luggage into his car.
In all my experience in Prague, you know the whole three days of it, I found a blatant disregard for humans that we're not "in Czech" with their culture. Maybe just humans in general. So, I was a bit timid to ask the driver for help since I've been shut down several times just when ordering coffee, getting dinner, and sipping air through my freckled nose. It's not like I wasn't paying... well, aside from the air.
Well, thankfully, this guy only rolled his eyes once and told me which direction to go. I totally guessed it was "the Central hostel" and he helped me head in the right direction.
As my travel buddy answered the door, I began gushing about my night and inquiring of his. I found a different air in the room and I couldn't quite put my finger on it until it struck me that we may not be alone.
I prosed the famous question... "Is someone here?"
"Sorry," I heard as covers pushed up and out, revealing a small face framed with brown wavy hair.
Wow, I thought to myself, but tried hard to maintain a poker face. I know we share the same name, but I am no Lady Gaga. The stranger began laughing, unveiling her as American. The kind of "Minnesota-nice ....dontcha know." Somehow, the conversation turned to Celine Dion. The other American was so young that she was unfamiliar with the artist! Laughing hysterically, I belted into a famous Celine Dion song. My Travel buddy joined me and cued the backup music on his iPhone. After my performance, I told him to not even think about waking me in the morning, since it had been such an eventful night. Wouldn't you know that my happy little ass woke up at 3 p.m. the next day. Hungover, but happy.
Although it wasn't my favorite city because of the rude people, I do believe you should give this place a Nike Czech and "just do it" ;)
Doesn't automatically render a space
In your jumbled head of drafted plans
Shading the night to grays and tans
He brushed your curl aside as if it were practice
Outlined your firm expression that of an actress
Breathing close in a rhythm to hypnotize
Temporary this moment, yet to realize
Just because the scene has set doesn't mean he is
On the syllables of your name or how it sounds with his
So don't mistake a mere glint for an enlightening
You'll meet a thunder, fit to be his lightening
The Nola Series Continues.....
Here's the 4-1-1 on the back story of how Mr. Ringo came to be.... and a semi-funny meme, since I couldn't find a Parent Trap meme with Merideth Blake saying, "Here's the 4-1-1."
There was this blonde dude-bro that was at least 4 years younger than me watching intently. He looked like a school-yard boy waiting to jump into double dutch. He made his move before Christmas and I was elated while grinding to Ludacris. While feeling the emotions, among other things, I felt eyes on me when Mr. Ringo walked back up. Guilt swept over me.
Even though nothing was stated about rekindling anything, he was a complete and utter gentleman and I still felt guilty. I don't know if the guilt would have subsided if a girl would have danced with him (even though he "doesn't dance").
The words of another guy before him rang in my ears while putting my weight on the foot in a right Van shoe. Mr. Publisher wrote words that I didn't believe when he bitterly spat them via internet forum but they rose to the top of my liquored mind (in which he bought some of the drinks...yes, I'm the worst BUT, he was staying with me BUT he came to SEE ME). I lose. So, in this moment in my favorite American city, I believed the words that publisher wrote about me... something to the affect of:
she's the reason there's not any good guys left.
Now, I do not take responsibility for ALL the good guys converting to scum-between-my-toes but, I do feel for the good guys that I.... well are no longer taken with. I don't do it on purpose... just as I assume guys that were never intrigued long enough with me didn't fall off to spite me.
Well, this Mr. Ringo is a gentleman, loving father, and generous person with a colossal heart. It meant more to me than I let on that he came to visit me... I have family that wouldn't spend time with me and I WAS IN THEIR ZIPCODE.
I made breakfast and we had some of the most comfortable conversation of my life and then, like a pound of maple bacon, he was gone. I tried to see if we could meet up for Mardi Gras but, to no avail. I truly wish him the best and hope to still frolic our city together. Then again, I also understand if he chooses not too; I've been on that side of the equation as well.
I hobbled my way into the bowling alley across an open space of hardwood floors where Cajuns where jigging in every which direction. The music even smelled of this great city. I am not really sure what that means but gosh, it was a lively scene. Unlike any other dance hall I'd been to.... and I've been to Billy Bob's and Florabama more times than I can count.
After securing a cold Budlight in my hand #ballingonabudget, I watched the feet of the colorful enthusiasts spinning and bouncing with jubilee. The washboard was almost hypnotizing. Gosh, that sounds like a Tide commercial. X)
A vibrant hippie was stepping to Zydeco alone so I joined her.
"Hey! Can you teach me?"
"Honey, we can learn together!"
After giving it a go with a clomp clomp clomp (still in the boot), a studious, yet big-headed bald guy flashed me a smile and asked me dance.
Rolling my eyes inside, I was in no position to turn him down; my desire to learn exceeded my distaste for cocky males. After cheap conversation and obvious judgement of my dancing, the second song ended and he made his way to a thin blonde with evident Zydeco experience.
After returning to my new hippie friend, we danced the night away with no remorse for butchering the dance of this great city.
There wasn't a day that didn't pass during my dog-sitting days that I didn't find some vibrant thing to do. Since I've bled black and gold since birth, I figured why not try my hand at a saints game.
The dome really is home. <3
If you can believe it... I've got one more NOLA post in me.
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Chef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart...
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