The turmoil in tomorrow of the relationship never initiated
Hollows out human of pain never anticipated Bellowing in barefoot basement decisions Outlining bones of dark premonition Stale salute from windowless walls Infinity in shambles, conclusion calls Curtain closes lungs-- short of suffocation Black lace to hang for smug celebration Wings as the carpet and candles with no wicks Remains swept away in hollowed red bricks The crow gave up cawing as dusk won the fight Embedded in another extinguishes light
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Terk says it best, Dates and Cakes OFFICIALLY has a vlog! Not only do you continue to receive outlandish but non-fiction dating stories from the bubbly, punny, and gutsy gypsy, BUT you get to see her live and in color with all her hand gestures, eye rolls, and cackles (at her own jokes) free of charge! This Youtube thing is certainly a learn-as-you-go kind of thing because although my year of birth classifies me as a Millennial..... technology isn't my go to. Actually, this blog started out as scribbles in journals. Yes, red margin, black lined journals; bounded with potential for venting, humor and self-actualization. I know presently, it's a trendy thing to say you're "an old soul" but... I still write friends letters or thank you notes by hand and write 90% of my poetry with a swift pen to paper motion. Okay fine-- sometimes I use thin markers because I want to really capture imagery in a certain piece.... but you get my jest. And I think spending time away from a screen gives you zest you may have been missing from your life (as a text notification blinks like grandma's blinker she was unaware has been clicking for 3 intersections now). So, you may have heard of "please excuse my dear aunt sally" in math for order of operations, but since I'm notorious for spicing or sugaring things up, I'm going to ask you to excuse your dear Steph for her poor editing skills. The videos may seem a little chop-suey.... because they are. I'm sure I'll get better if I just believe! But I'm striving to record each one as natural as possible so it enhances the genuine factor. This world is polluted with edited moments, faces, and perceptions, so I refuse to add to it. As always, these will continue to be about actual dates that happened to me or in the rare occasion, a friend shares a wild date. I know what you're thinking, "Steph could never pull off being a blonde." WELL YOU KNOW WHAT!?! You're right.
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"Since dating in Dallas, Charleston, and Spain didn't seem to be enough, here I am in Pensacola out and about to see their dating pool.... I was surrounded by options! So many so that I felt it necessary to compare them to the Brady Bunch for illustration purposes of these squares. WHAT-- who said that?! Not all of them were squares.....Warning: If you're easily offended, you should read no further in this post or my blog. This is a place of raw material, thoughts, and reactions. It's not of condescending nature where I believe I am above any of the "misters" portrayed honestly in these posts, it is simply my encounters with single men and my opinions on the events to follow. You have been warned ;)) Setting: A warm April night in Pensacola, Florida at the only club in the 22 square miles of the city In case my confidence was lacking, this third night in the newest city I call home, I had encounters with 9 guys in one club. Fewf, I'm exhausted just thinking about it. RingoSeated on the fountain on the back patio of the bar, Missing a tooth on his left side of his mouth, his edgy haircut is what lured me in. No visible tattoos, but a half buzzed, half combed over style of his thick brown hair fell gently into his left hazel eye. While my drunk best friend was pleading for me to come inside, I persisted that I wanted to meander by the fountain. She seated me next to this "Mr. Ringo" and walked away. Laughing at the awkward situation, I sparked conversation and did strive to learn just how edgy he was. He's from Nola. DING DING DING, we have a winner. A couple other things were intriguing.... Surprisingly he opened up to me about his two kids as that his ex wife and him are on good terms, but she got remarried today. It wasn't until after he got my phone number and I was walking away with my best friend that she pointed out his wedding ring on his right hand instead of his left. Since that was something I didn't check, I concocted the perfect nickname: Ring-o because he left his "band" at home. Get it? A stretch, I know but, I'll take a Beatles reference any chance I get! After moving from the fountain into the dance floor section of the bar, I ran into Mr. Cuddly. Mr. CuddlyLooking like a fuzzy, teddy bear, I caught his eye as I descended the three steps onto the dance floor as he caught my hand. Turning to see who dared to disturb my swagger.
"He's ugly and you don't need to be talking to him," she slurred. "Girl, he was just being nice. I don't think he's bad-looking." Rolling her eyes, she pulled me to the dance floor. "You need to work on your self-esteem, honey." "But, he just boosted it..." She shook her head as her hips soon matched the rhythm. That was when I felt someone grinding on me. I kept inching forward until I heard a voice from behind me. Mr. Sleuth and Stand BehindTurning to see a sandy blonde haired guy matching my height with blue eyes and a drunk glaze. "Oh, you don't want to dance?" Thinking what the hell, since he was pretty damn attractive, I began recharging my hips and danced to the Neyo song playing with this stranger. Two songs later, he informed me he was going to get another beer. Didn't care to offer to fill one of my hands with a drink, so I continued dancing with little regard for his return. Mr. Hipster GlassesOutgoing and confident, tall dark and handsome Mr. Hipster Glasses complimented my dancing as he grabbed my hand to give me a twirl. Instantly spinning me into a brunette bearded man, he introduced as his friend. Bashfully smiling at me, I knew the wing-man protocol and wasn't upset at the set up. Mr. Bearded Bottom BreadBefore I knew it, Mr. Bearded Bottom Bread had his pale hand on my right hip and his wing-man friend with the hipster glasses danced in front of me. We created quite the colorful sandwich with a seemingly rye bread on top, a freckled pepper jack cheese gal in the middle (I'm spicy, so this metaphor works ;), and a whole oat bearded slice at the bottom. I can't remember the song we were dancing to, but we were jamming!! Two songs later is when Mr. Sleuth and Stand Behind returned with his one beer. He was drenched in a "what the fuck" expression and all I could do was smile. Then, I shrugged a "happens" expression back to him and continued dancing in my man sandwich. I don't know how this delicatessen creation ended, but it did and I was found dancing next to my best friend again. Looking less than thrilled I tried talking to her over the blaring music, but she didn't entertain it. Shrugging that off too, I continued dancing alone until the next fellow came along.
Mr. "Is that your friend? I'd rather dance with you anyway"
Mr. High and TightThis guy, aside from the first one mentioned on this night is the only one to request my contact information. Instantly Snapchat friends, he danced with me several songs before waving me toward the VIP section. It was evident this was no Dallas club, because the VIP section was two steps up from the dance floor, but, it was something I'd never been invited to in Dallas, so you bet my southern-ass indulged! Mr. VIPHis friends were technically the ones to invite me up to their velvet-roped section, but once up there, he introduced himself with a smile that could melt an iceberg. He had a hawk of a girl with an ass .... well, fatter than mine, there was no WAY (Jose) that I was getting within a 2 feet radius with him. I wished him happy birthday though and sure enjoyed the free bottle service. I danced with 9 guys and a bitch ain't one!Since this night was POPPIN', I made Brady Bunch Caramel Popcorn (1974 recipe) for this loaded post.2 14oz packs of caramel squares
1/2 C butter 1 tsp cinnamon 8 C popped corn
https://www.metv.com/lists/would-you-eat-any-of-these-vintage-brady-bunch-popcorn-recipes Currently working on 27 Dresses, I attended a bachelorette party a week before the wedding and one week after returning from Spain. I was thrilled to spend some time in the gayborhood because that's where my best friend and I used to find the cutest single guys at the clubs; they found our secret that girls don't want to be hit on by a bunch of creepy dudes, so we dance with flamboyant men who can actually keep rhythm and keep their hands to themselves, for the most part. Well, that is not at all how my night went. We didn't even end up going to a gay club which kind of broke my heart because it was a five-minute walk from our B&B, but HEY! I'm not getting married, so if my girl wants to lasso a pinata, I'd grab the rope. After dinner under string lights on picnic tables at this cute restaurant called The Rustic, we made our way to a gay bar for karaoke. Do not be mistaken that the night ends here and that Stephanie had no takers. You my friend, would be sadly, sadly mistaken. While sipping at my post, a girl elaborately dressed for St. Patty's Day chatted loudly next to me with two guys. Glancing over, I couldn't help but laugh at her shirt. In green letters, it read: Bad Puns oh, that's just how Eye roll. Commending her on her shirt, she hugged me and reported that she had made the shirt herself. Impressed with the decal, I sparked up conversation. The bald guy stationed next to her smiled and put his hand on her lower hip. The other one had green bells tied into his light orange beard. "Those are awesome I laughed." " I know right? I helped him," said the other guy. Smiling drunkly, the bearded man said nothing. After casually returning to my group, I refused to sign up for a karaoke song, both illustrated by my crossed arms and my protruding pouting lip. I was presented with an offer I couldn't refuse. A redheaded bridesmaid inquired, is there no one that will do a Billy Joel song with me? Well damn. I can't refuse the legendary Billy Joel. That would be a dishonor. Not to mention I used to be an alto 2, so if there's any ones notes that I could pretend I could hit, it would be his. "Which song?" I barked. "Only the Good Die Young?" She prosed. Smiling, I said, "that's one of my favorites." After the redhead submitted our song request, we were called to the front in no time. While waiting for the previous singer to put the mic down, I whispered to my duet partner, "I can relate to the song because I used to be a little Catholic girl." She fired back, "I can relate to this song too! I used to have a crush on a little Catholic girl." My eyes grew three sizes that day and I laughed inside my head. Alllllllllllllrighty then, I thought. Definitely didn't see that coming. Actual Footage....As the song played, we killed it! Vibing and grooving to the fun track. After a round of applause, we return to our Bachelorette post. Instantly, the girl in the green tutu and bad pun shirt, commended me on our song selection. While telling me about her love affair for Billy Joel, I could feel the eyes of the ginger bearded man looking at me. Flirting in the middle of our Billy Joel conversation, he interjected, "you're really pretty." Looking up and slightly taken aback, I smiled and I said thank you. As my new Billy Joel friend with green glitter continued her conversation, my eyes started toward the wedding band on the bearded man's left hand. As the Billy Joel conversation closed, I took notice of a blonde girl, also decked in green, talking to the other guy in their group. As soon as I made my way back to the bachelorette group, I saw the blonde kiss the bearded man and strapped onto him like a seat belt on a toddler. She too had a ring. Okay, I thought. Hearing some of the Bachelorette members' names being called for a Shakira song; I moved to the stage area to cheer them on. As the song played, my hips definitely did not lie to the track. I was jamming, not really feeling my liquor, but definitely feeling the tempo. Near the song's end, I was shoved to the left as the blonde in green with the ring on her finger, shoved past me with no regard. Raising an eyebrow and looking back at the ginger-bearded guy, his eyes immediately darted from my direction. "What the hell?" I spat. The ginger from the bachelor party directly to my left recognized the tension and inquired. " I have no idea!" I said. I reported of his pretty comment and the fact that I was almost positive that was his wife. She laughed and said ,"it's not like you're to blame." Shrugging it off, I continued to dance to Shakira to avoid that group the rest of the night. I'm not trying to have a girl fight in the middle of a gay karaoke bar. Someone might take off their wig and try to fight me. Also, I didn't want someone to have to be burdened with holding my earrings. As we moved outside, one of the other girls, a Southern American, that I had met earlier that night, joined a conversation with me and the ginger girl from the bachelorette party. The three of us found a high-top table, and stumbled upon the the topic of bi-sexuality. I suppose this isn't uncommon for the setting we were in. "I just don't understand why you can't pick a team," I persisted. The redhead made her stance on the topic, but the Southern American is the one who surprised me. She made many points, but the last one stopped me in my tracks. "Okay, so you know how I just got out of a relationship with my boyfriend? Well that's great and all, but, I also find you very attractive. I'm attracted to you." Oh shit. I'm not prepared for this. I thought loudly in my heart of hearts. I'm sure my facial expression said it all. At that moment, that's when the ginger piped-in. "Yeah, you're gorgeous." Oh sweet baby Jesus, I thought. In that very instant, the maid of honor, shouted, "Stephanie, can you help me with my Romper?" Immediately relieved at my call for duty, I took that as my exit and didn't look back. Entering the one-person-bathroom with her, I unzipped the back of her one-piece outfit and turned my head to the wall as I confessed what just happened. Laughing, while freaking out. She paused and then responded with, "well I do have a little wiggle in my sexuality." "What the fuck does that even mean, Anna?!." Don't worry, that's not her real name. That's actually the name of someone else in the party but it's not even spell correctly. You're welcome. "Well," she said as she pulled up her suit and requested I zip the back. "That means that" as she showed with her hands an imaginary spectrum of straight to gay. "It should...." she pointed and circled in the air of where she lied on that spectrum. "So, I have a little wiggle where I do find certain girls attractive. You definitely, would be my type. You're a knockout." "Oh my gosh!" I said, "not you too! This is too much for one night." After reporting of the angry married woman whose husband had complimented me, she laughed, "it's not like I would act on it. You know I've been with my boyfriend for 10 years. I'm just saying, you got it going on." Cackling, I shrugged my shoulders with nothing to say. Taste the RainbowAfter this, I need a drink. Simply pop out of your package of skittles (like a stripper out of a cake) and organize the candies by color. Then, pour each one into a different bottle of vodka. Let skittles soak for at least 24 hours. This is the ONLY way I aspire to taste the rainbow.
My nickname in this narrative is Miss Madrid since he called me out for changing my location on Facebook from Charleston to Madrid, even though I was only going to reside there for 3 months. Pshhh sir, that's living there, OKAY?!? We agreed to disagree. So, throughout our 8 day journey together, there were a series of questions we continued to get as Mr. Butterwall and Miss Madrid traveled from Spain to Hungary to Greece. Any guesses?
Both of us quickly dismissed the questions, reporting plainly: we are just friends. Or even travel buddies, but nothing more. Now I'm able to throw in my wing-woman story to further justify my claim. . . . . . . . . . When we checked into our hostile in Athens, we squeezed through the matchbox elevator and was hoisted to the sixth floor. Upon turning the handle to our room, we were disappointing to see one bed as our noses were assaulted with cigarette smoke. Immediately returning to the first floor, the receptionist raise his eyebrows when we demanded two separate beds. Also, his eyes shifted towards a no smoking sign hung by chicken wire on the pale yellow painted wall. He called the attractive manager over, he was able to meet a request. We we're LED outside of the hospital into a Alleyway Prime for muggings and urination, just in my shallow opinion, no locals confirmed this. Key granted us access into a glass door with a rusted handle. It was adjacent to an old abandoned shoe store with a little inventory still on the racks. Down a narrow hallway, that was dimly-lit oh, we found it under Matchbox elevator. We took it to the third floor and was pleased to find two separate beds. He of course took the larger one because quote-unquote I'm a big dude. Ladies first does not apply in Greece. After setting are things down, we made our way 2 a liquor store for vodka originally, but were intrigued buy a small bottle much cheaper then the imported vodka. It and 40%. This can't be wine we muttered. The shop owner came over and try to describe it. Google translate was no help. He grabbed one of the mini bottles of that product and twisted it open. Making eye contact with me, he put it in my hands. Oh my gosh thank you so much! He smirked and return to his register. Impressed, mr. Butter wall waited for my reaction before stealing a sip. Coconuts hell, we were impressed. It tasted like nothing I've ever tried before. He said it was something like absentee. I'm not even sure if I'm selling that right cuz I'm really not sure what he was referring to. We got a bottle and three bottles of fruit juice mix that upon exploring the label further, learned it was a Coca-Cola product. Made sense because that was tasty! The one I had was cherry banana, and his was pina colada. After purchasing the products, the clerk smiled warmly when I proclaimed more gratitude. We returned to our room to fix our drinks. The fancy Barista stylings included a few swigs from each juice bottle and filling the rest with our new Greek liquor. Since there was only a little liquor bottle, we each took a shot and made her way to a couple bars and then dinner. Don't let the signage and walls of liquor mislead you into thinking it is a Greek TGIF Friday's. The menu was filled with things I couldn't pronounce, ranging from squid to lamb. As the night went on, since we couldn't find a bar crawl on a Tuesday night, we created our own with our BYOB style. After dinner, and my Gelato dessert, I had to, we stumbled into another liquor store. We pursuit of the same Greek liqueur. Having trouble finding the same label, he picked up on our befuddled looks. Directing to the right bottle, we bought a bottle in milliliters or however they measured over there. It's not kilograms LOL As he was ringing us up, the clerk inquired where we were going next on our travels. He pegged us As Americans when we walked in the store. When butter wall revealed Santorini, the clerk commended us on selecting such a romantic place. Immediately, I corrected him by stating we were just friends. He said, you'll see when the sun sets on the beautiful Island. We smiled politely but dismissed him. By this time, we started to feel the Greek liquor. We return to the found the juice the first time, for me to bat my eyes at the clerk. I don't think he remembered me. Brushing off my failed attempt at tipsily flirting, the attractive manager of the hostel was outside the shady glass door. Instantly, he engaged Mr. Butterwall in conversation and I piped in as necessary. Then, I noticed the questions were directed at buttterwall. These weren't "where have you been" and "how are you liking Athens" kind of questions. He asked, without blinking, "So, is there anyone back home waiting for you?" Actual footage of the hotel manager waiting for Butterball to rise to his man-loving occasion.I had to advert my eyes and hold my breath to keep from bursting into my cackle-induced laughter. I wish I could recall his response! All I remember is that conversation ended quickly as we returned to the room. "Baha! I bet he did that cause he knew we weren't sleeping together since he had to change the room to two beds." "Stephanie, I don't wanna--" He burst into laughter too. "I was DYING! Do you get hit on by dudes in the states?" "Never! This is the first-- well, actually in Budapest, after that American and I left the room, the next bar we went to had a bartender that bought my drinks but not her's." "This is great!" I cackled. "Shut up," he playfully shoved my shoulder. We continued to down the liquor that was quite Greek to us, then headed to another rooftop bar. It was evident, Mr. Butterwall's liquor was hitting him faster than mine. I guess girls are the only one 2 blurb things when they're drunk. "Steph, you know what I tell people when they ask why we'er not together?" Caught a little off guard, I responded to Butterwall in the most sensible way, "Na-ah. What?" "That I wouldn't want to risk what we have. At the end of the day, it's just a warm, wet hole and is our traveling worth ruining that?" First of all, eww. Who says it like that!? Secondly, who knew this kid even considered stuff like that. I truly believed we were just friends. He took a chick home and spoke of women... well, like a guy. 'that ass, I'd break her, efff glasses are so hott' ...that kind of stuff. Sure, there were a couple times he'd compliment me but, with operators like him, you can't take any of them to heart. While mulling this all over, he continued to speak. "If I do get a girlfriend, she needs to be so incredible that it's worth giving this up to travel the world with you." "And if you get a boyfriend, because you finally accepted that you're beautiful-- I still can't understand how you don't...." His eyes searched for mine as mine did a quick roll, while my lips pursed. "Then I hope he's worth giving up spontaneous travel with me. This has worked out so well. We've had no fights or disagreements; I'm impressed with how smooth it was and am laughing more than I even thought I would." Smiling, I sneered, "pshh, you forgot how funny I was?" "I mean, Steph, we met once before this. Twice if you count the first drunken encounter," He sneered back. Shoving my shoulder, I laughed. We left the rooftop bar and made it to our hostel with Mr. Butterball's male suitor nowhere in sight. This post's sweet treat is Santorini tomorrow! ;) Sleep tight.An ageless soul still is tethered to the aging shell holding it.
I don’t fear time and gravity taking its toll, I just fear welcoming it — accepting it, while I sit on a porch swing, sipping watered down sweet tea. No spike. No itineraries. Just the afternoon breeze and the dwindling trees; they sway closer to death with every sway, just as your heart does. Every anxiety attack, every bound of inconsistency and accidental jolt drags you closer to death. What a way to celebrate living. He said, |
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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