"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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Smiles at a jogger's pace
Attachment, there's no place. Curiosity always curved Sympathy seekers curbed. Lingering until latched, Genuine intention stashed. Liberally lining their pockets, Energy greater than sockets. Unplug upon satisfaction. Ignore embittered reaction. Sultry scan for a souvenir, Hardly the parasite pioneer. 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 I'm attracted to accents, beards, height, humor, and unfulfilled potential. The last of these is the one that gets me into trouble.... and quite possibly earns me a fraction of these datesandcakes stories.In no way am I saying these guys are not "doing the damn thing" we call life and looking good doing it. What I'm saying is, I look at each one of these guys as what they could be to me and what we could be together. Selfish, right? Instead of basing it off their arrangement of words, gestures, and follow-through (or absence of follow through). I lust over the story-- "our story" that we could tell others how we met. I live for the chase and impossible situation that only we together could make possible. I pretend that time-zone conversion will be a conversion of the soul. Okay... that one was too far. Probably 96% of what is manifesting between this guy and I, (whether it's been 2 weeks or 3 days) is sheer fantasy. This is not to be confused with the perfume, Fantasy by Brittney Spears, who is free now. YOU GO GIRL; 2007 is finally over for you! I make assumptions and expectations with absolutely no scientific evidence. Ones like:
I figured a baker's dozen is a good place to stop ;)) You can't read between lines that aren't even drawn in the sand. Number 11 and 12 are probably the biggest jokes of all, at least lately.... It's like I didn't understand science or the scientific method AT ALL. Stephanie, your hypothesis is continuously wrong!
I'm so consumed with the beauty of what it would mean to be a beautiful structure that people from every land marvels at, that I ignore the lack of building materials, motivation, or color to make such a relationship happen. I lose sense of reality for a little bit and act like Dorothy or Alice, allowing only my imagination and shiny things to guide me. There's been SO manyyyyyyy examples of this in my "dating." The current shut-down status of the world begged for the quotation marks because it seems globally we are shutting people out since life as we know it has shut down and rerouted our day-to-day existence. I cannot tell you the last time I actually felt like I "dated" someone. Seems lonely, but is only at times I'm not pushing myself for better. Actually, datesandcakes' science of attraction and downfall of all the connections I've had in the last year (let's not bite off more than we can chew ;) could really be summed up to one painful truth. It's a personal problem. As arithmetic taught me, I'm the common denominator! So, here's to working on me and maybe my next hypothesis will be have some ground to stand on.You hear the man! And what better pair of flavors that exude the "laws of attraction" than.... (drum roll please)Don't be peanut butter and jealous... as always, I share the recipe. I will say, that picture was for comedy purposes and this is the one DatesandCakes will be making:
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
Her eyes are light in the storm of screams.
Cold as a metal, ripping scenes. Basking in a brutal brunette beauty. Festering in fallacies madness mutual. The cringe before the revolution. Harboring in the waves, she became the depression. Freedom is merely a security secession. Her future as a funnel, with remains a phone. She started like windows "alas, I'm alone." Ill-timed dating, a morphing revolution You Only Live Once (YOLO) so 2 years talking and 4 days in my bed and he's "just living for the moment."After standing up for myself like this, I should've known, the crumble was inevitable--"But that's the thing... You're not showing by actions or emotions. So I'll have to go on his words. And we don't know each other enough (even though we have two years of messaging), to take each other's word as gold. The destruction I've experienced in relationships and seen in marriages... There's no way I'm going to even lean toward something serious w/ someone who isn't going to prove it every day that they want to be with me. And I wouldn't expect anyone else to settle for less with me." Skittish and unmoving with weather forecasts of new weather Comfortable in your habitat, than i should've known better He said he wasn't "chasing me around the globe" yet, he loved that I was a gyspy in the beginning. THAT'S how the cookie crumbles. Ahh, oh so familiar. Umm HELLO, why do you think Carmen Sandiego is such a successful game? Why do you think "Where's Waldo" is a best seller with less than 70 words? Most hearts race for a little challenge; it's an adventure sprinkled with thrill. Waldo might have already found me.... we'll see if this next one can keep up. ;)) "I think that one of these days," he said, "you're going to have to find out where you want to go. And then you've got to start going there. But immediately. You can't afford to lose a minute." Still figuring out where this is, and that's half the fun!
I'm the kind of girl that loves a story, particularly one that I am the protagonist. Thrilled by it all, the initial invitation into my life, the alleged unique connection, and the tension. I tiptoe on coals as to not burn the entirety of my sole. The touch is inevitable and intentional... But never quite sensual. Maybe for a moment, but it fades like paint on a front door. The compliments are currency and my time scenes expendable. Investing in the wrong interests and compliments. Even the radio blurts this message:"Am I only a lab rat? Something you can test things out?" ~Dissolve I've found myself in unbee-lievable situations where it's no wonder I end up bruised and left with only their stinger protruding from my freckled skin. It's not that I needed to feel someone to feel something... Or maybe it was. Reconnecting with an old Flame with his knowledge of everything that's going on is still more than a mutual swipe after closing time. I'm drawn to connections that don't require a tower signal or battery to illuminate the topics discussed. I long to be selected-- for someone to say, "I NEED to know more about that ____." And eventually formulate the conclusion that he also needs that spunky person in their life. He didn't need liquid courage to approach me, or the pressure to "lock someone down" by last call. Even the hope of starting a story at a bar became bleak when pandemic lock-downs were mandated. The simplicity, but possibilities a night out offers seemed so distant from March to June across the country.A dark desperation spread across the single world of inconsistent daters and many of us grasped pens and the hope left to write a dating story. Not one for love, and God knows not one forever, but a story; a connection with someone when it wasn't permitted naturally for the unforeseeable future.My standards became flexible and I attributed it to "open-mindedness." I entertained:
Refusal to be left behind. Refusal to not be capable of my full potential. Reusual for final submission — admitting defeat to spontinuity. This writer is going places alone and for those that refunded their ticket, they'll quickly learn, this companion will be hard extremely hard to replace. Open-Minded Watermelon Cake
https://howtocakeit.com/blogs/recipes/watermelon-cake A sharp connection, a stylus in a groove
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 You're a writer
You're a fighter You're a lighter To get you more than higher. You're among dragonflies Definite rise Limit of skies Gold beyond what it buys. Intricate desire The lick of fire Altitude to aspire Secretly, self-admire. You're solid as a rock Onto the next block Spirit soon to flock You've got survival on lock. 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. In Prague, I found myself in a love parallelogram, if you will. A triangle just doesn't seem to be the shape to most accurately represent what was that day after Christmas night in clubs across Prague. 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." That's not me saying that... That turned out to be the name that was coined at the second or third bar from some of the other guys that approached my guy friend. He said, "man you are so freaking lucky! Those girls are the baddest in here. And you are talking to like all of them?!" 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....Advancing to the last club, I could see that the Russian began "feeling me." Not literally.... yet.... Making his way over to the bar, he whipped his head back at me saying, "You want something? What are you drinking?" 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). Apparently, this club was the the setting for a shitshow for everyone involved.
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. After passing shady figures in the street with determination and adrenaline pumping through me, I made it to my hostel and in through the front door; I practically carved the code with my nail into my skin. Yes, my memory really is that bad. I climbed the flight of stairs, and knocked on our hostel door. I remembered what door was ours by the chipped paint close to the keyhole. Visually, I'm okay... Numbers and address wise? I'm screwed.
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" ;) Just because he didn't push the lines of pastel lace,
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.....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. Since I bounce like an 80's pogo-stick, I figured I should expand on my adventures hobbling and wobbling around in a medical-grade (not Steve Madden unfortunately) Velcro boot. So... I ended up having broken toes I mentioned two posts ago for more than 6 weeks!! Possibly because I didn't seek medical attention or possibly because I can't stop, won't stop....1. Conceal the pain |
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
April 2022
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