"God doesn't bless where you don't belong"I'm a SUCKER for the story. Another guy I met in real life.
Flirty banter, per usual. But looking back on the convo, it was really little effort on his part...He used one of MY messages as a segway to set-up a date. Hmm... Humorous part is I was leaving a date when he inquired if I was still out. I informed him of my double the next day and asked, "who said I wanted you to crash my party?" He assured me it would be adding to the party. "Shhhyeah, but it is crashing the party if it's a date. For all you know, it could have been." #guilty He used THAT as his opportunity to ask me out!!! "Maybe Friday evening we can't do that?" I had to ask for clarity and he indeed asked me out. Sure, I'm not an innocent party here but then again, I was honest... he just didn't believe me. *shrugs* He picked a place for us to meet. Didn't even offer to pick me up. CLUES? So how does a lady respond to that? Well she get's her best friend to drop her off and she pregames, of course! 3 shots of vodka in on an empty stomach and I strut up the alley. Bowling alley that is. He said I looked beautiful and put our name on the bowling list. We made our way to the bar for MORE drinks. It was 8pm because he had just gotten off work so I know he didn't have time to eat. After our second drink at the bar I asked, "are you hungry?" "I could eat." "Well I'm gonna have to eat soon with drinking. I had a couple shots before I got here," I confessed. He laughed. "Cause I took so long? Yeah, we can eat after this." If this "clue" wasn't enough, he didn't wait for a romantic moment or comment, he just leaned over and kissed me. Drunk me kissed him back and lingered. *facepalm* After sweeping the lane and striking my 6'2 date out.... errrr sparing some time to show him how to bowl. I asked where we were getting nourishment and if he could give me a ride home. He said he didn't mind the place we picked was 3 minutes in the opposing direction of my house and then we got a booth. More kissing commenced and he revealed his 10 year relationship that ended 3 years ago. Things still seemed to be moving along. Hand holding, he didn't get my door, but I was still into it. Also, I was still inebriated. 8 shots of vodka, whiskey, and vodka redbull will do that to ya ;) Outside my house was where my puzzler got sore. He..... hope there's not sensitive ears here. He bent me over his car and pressed against me like a thumb to a stamp on the corner of an envelope. One large hand tugged at my hair while the other lightly gripped my neck. His tongue found my neck and just when my breathing quickened he backed up. Gasping for air I turned my whole head, staring at him blankly. "I have to work tomorrow at 6am." "Wow, you're a tease." He smirked before I could say, "wow, that's what this feels like." I scoffed and turned toward the gate outside my house. I muttered a wish of safe travels and luck for his shift tomorrow and I punched my number into the gate while he backed up. I don't even think he checked to see I made it into the house before peeling onto the road. Texted me two hours later "I'm home" when he only lives 40ish minutes away. From there, the conversation was about the business he had ahead and friend he was picking up from the airport. I can't be jealous if it was a girl but that was when our convo ended. ^^Even his mailbox has a red flag! I guess all do but... I liked him :(( I asked God if this boy was just going to hurt me, to remove him from my life."And he did." Not gonna correct the grammar or point out that a text message takes all of 58 seconds; I'm just going to take Blue's clues and God's answer to my prayer. 2 cups blanched almond flour
1 cup creamy almond butter ½ cup maple syrup 1 tsp. vanilla extract ½ tsp. cinnamon freeze-dried blueberries sprinkles
https://www.nickelodeonparents.com/these-blues-clues-you-cookies-are-all-bark-no-bake/
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Romanticize minutes spent
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 An excerpt from DatesandCakes in the early days:There’s a fine line between anesthetized and shattered. The numbness a girl can harness is safe, a way to wrap herself in protection from sweet, little lies. But it is so easy to let someone in. To feel something for once that’s deceptively beautiful. You can say you won’t let another one in— this time I’m going to “just have fun” or “date like a guy and keep the emotion out of it” but, is that ever reality? Can you ever truly leave emotion out of it when you’ve made that connection? I wrestle with this every dozen guys or so. I say this so casually because connections are rare in the perfect amount: not too scarce but not easily tangible. So, upon discovering said connection, a rush tingles through your fingertips and now there’s a difference when his name flashes on your phone versus the others. But don’t underestimate the importance of “the others.” These play a part when this temporary “connection” pulls away. When he fades like just another sunset, you’re not alone. It’s a shallow kind of comfort but the heart becomes desperate when struck. This wrapped with a warped confidence that you’re worth it keeps you warm through another night… well, warm enough—it’s not “him” after all. But don’t be naive enough to think you’re the only operator harnessing the secret weapon of “others.” Your “connection” not only has “others” but, there’s a chance you’re one of his. I know, that stings. Isn’t infatuation fun? The Connection?Appreciation is a thing that should be constantly brought to the surface. THIS scene from PInk Panther (the remake of course, no Peter Sellers but, good none the less) is a joy, along with this epiphany I made about "the others." Since I haven't posted much since the last ache, this story is recovery.
This guy strolled up to the bestie and I stood beside her, like a shiny new pack of gum, peaking out of her purse. Wait... what? Gave ya something to chew on, huh? ;) Lol anywhooooooooooo My eyes trimmed in coal mascara skimmed the bar. They came to a screeching halt when I read a graphic t-shirt that read: pizza planet. Instantly let my nerd show and sparked a conversation about it. My intention was to escort myself to the dance floor after that quick Disney convo, but he SO HAPPENED to be the friend of the guy talking to my bestie. AND he had a country accent so thick, my feet seemed stuck right beside him. There's something about an accent so thicc, I can spread on toast... Like another round of shutdowns in 2020, I'm back! .....too soon... Well, this gent and I got to talking about interests and he said he lays pie-puh for work. I'm sorry, what?! Accent so thick, I could spread it on toast! It was sweeter than the green apple crown he got me. Then, ADHeffingD Stephanie tuned into the Shakira song that the dj delighted the honky tonk with. Without missing a beat, this country stranger from Oklahoma got to see first hand, Stephanie in her natural habitat. Breaking it down on the dance floor like I was back in Spain with that strong Reggaeton beat, I was in my element. Not quite a spectacle, but the Crown maybe told me a different story. As soon as the genre changed to country, he, Mr. Other Accent of Honey approached me and spun me into a two-stepping spree. I have no clue what song it was, but I beamed. I loved it! A country nerd spinning and twirling me around in the moment like a bowl of whipping cream and powdered sugar.... foreshadowing. At some point, he asked for a kiss, but I told him this wasn't Hershey's. As we turned, so did the clock and closing time was calling us home. We stepped outside as a group; him and his friend invited us back to their lake house, but before the invite fully dropped out of their mouth, I politely declined. Mr. Other Accent of Honey turned his head, "Wool, ken I at leeeest git yur phoooone number?" <<<best phonetic imitation of this bearded Okie. I slyly shook my head, with no fear of becoming dizzy. My bestie I suppose showed her sly side by slipping my number into his phone while I turned to look for our Uber. We parted ways with a smile and I knew that was the one and only time I'd hear that honey drawl and I was completely content. I kneaded that (like fresh dough on a floured surface). How simply our interaction illustrated that there are plenty of southern fish in the sea; some that are just here for fin and some that didn't belong in your part of the ocean anyway. Even though sometimes foundation is the goal, a dollop of fun that can even be bought out of a can Actual footage of my heart:This "other" showed me that I should whip those feelings of regret with the last country boy with a honeysuckle accent that also tangled me up on that same dance floor. Life is dolloped with sweetness that many times, isn't meant to last. That's the art to its sugar. Like any dessert on datesandcakes, it's sweet while it lasts but, the tray of brownies will eventually deplete or grow stale. It's the memories made while preparing these brownies and the time they borrowed and impression they made.... even if it landed on your hips ;)) Others' Whipped Cream
Indecision of familiarity
Obnoxious interest there with me. Mental gymnastics Recyclable fears sort plastics. Coy connection of parts Bullseye wit, teal darts. Strictly fun, strictly forgotten Serial dater story: rotten. Country and coastal flare Headphones for accent blare. Delectable with every syllable Nectar interest, spillable. Prints stained with more than smoke Rugged ocean collar bloke. Blurring freckles like cinnamon Sharply seasoned by his skin. Forbidden fore contrasting morals Soft silver in his almond portals. Giving light to soul yet explored, Disguised by ground earth adored. Reputation route well-known; Unraveling bows of hearts on loan. Long lashes and long conversation, Held until sexual alleviation. Lazy Boy, symbolic possibility Recline relation simplicity. Short of stock to invest, Another leg pair to impress. Horizon is quilted with clouds Overcast of doubt, he's proud. Realistic opening as an umbrella, This season is one I mustn't dwell. 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.Excuse me for still riding the high of National Woman's month... or don't. "Quite frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."The atrocious "isms" are everywhere: racism, sexism, ageism, alcoholism, ableism, classism, prism... wait, that's just a shape-- I mean not JUST a shape. All shapes matter. This post is specific to the ism I have most expertise on... after all, I have been a woman my whole life.... I "have personally felt victimized by Regina Gorge." Okay, maybe not, but I have without a doubt felt utter disdain in my bones for guys that have even joked "make me a sandwich." Oh, I'll show you the dark side... of my trunk....while you're wrapped in tarp. #earlhadtodieAs IF a kitchen is or has been the only place a woman belongs in the past 80 years! Let that sink in. Longer than most of your grandparents have been alive. So here is a beloved vlog about flipping the script. Unfortunately, I couldn't do so in the US of A, so here is a true story from Iceland just before this pandemic banned our travel :) The Nola Series Continues.....So, while living in Pensacola, the city I've hated living 2nd to Greenville, North Carolina, I met a New Orleans native that I dated for half the time I lived there. Gosh, he was the sweetest, so naturally, I had to give him a ring when we went to our home! He was able to finagle things with his job and Florida life and drove the 3 hours down highway 10 to party it up on Frenchman Street! (THE place to drink and hear any genre of music imaginable) 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." Well, this sweet Mr. Ringo strolled The Marigny with a hobbling girl that moved away. We were in our element! He showed me all his spots when he lived there 2 years prior and found me a club with ratchet hip hop, per request. I got so down to the music that a guy pulled out his phone (in the most discrete manner, flash blinding) and videoed the stanky leg with two broken toes. DON'T STOP ME NOW. I'M HAVING SUCH A GOOD TIME. I'M HAVING A BALL. 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. Ah, the legendary Rock N Bowl. My mother and her brothers (uncles, obviously... thank you "Genealogy for Dummies") went to "gramma school" with the owner. This actually came in handy when they were cash ONLY for Zydeco night and I was $3 short. I named dropped like a recent grad at an interview and was excused the remaining total. 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. <3I saw the man of my dreams on the field.... Mr. Reggie Bush, accepting an award... he's a winner but, he's a real player ;)
If you can believe it... I've got one more NOLA post in me. I thought it was the times |
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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