You're just another player in the game of operation.
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.
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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 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.Catfishing is when someone posts an attractive picture of themselves that is no longer an accurate portrayal of them, current day. Sometimes, they even go to the extent of using someone else's picture! For the first time in Dates and Cakes history, this happened to me. I was minding my business, baking as usual when a new add from snapchat flashed on my phone. I glanced at the screenname to ensure it wasn't something like grinder4lyfe or puffNpussy and then the bitmoji icon and accepted the request. For those less than obsessed with Snapchat, you can create your own avatar on Snapchat to resemble you.... mind you, this is typically how that person sees themselves and isn't always an accurate portrayal. Why would you prose such a statement, Stephanie? Could you be foreshadowing something? After conversation commenced from the add, I had a feeling I should ask for a picture. He stated that we JUST had matched on Tinder so there were 4 pictures for me to look at. I toggled to Tinder in the time it took me to rip open a bag of sweetish fish, when I saw a slightly nerdy, but fairly attractive man with blonde hair and a neat beard. I returned to the conversation. His nerd side was exemplified when he geeked out about Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones (I have seen neither). I know, I know. GOT is on "my list" to watch but, I don't really sit still long enough to get wrapped into a show and I fell asleep in the theater for Lord of the Rings. I actually enjoy seeing someone nerd out on something that is important to them since I do the same with classic Disney, all things Joker, and Harry Potter (think I'm a Griffinpuff). The words exchanged between him and I mixed like melted butter and melting marshmallows. As I continued to multitask, I received another snap message, which took my focus off Mr. Bottom Feeder for a few seconds. When my eyes returned to the list of screen names, It took me at least 30 seconds to figure out which one he was (sorry not sorry? plenty of fish in my sea ;) When I finally found which one was him, I asked for a picture to save in the chat. He sent one already loaded on his Tinder. This is where my suspicion rose. "I like your beard," I commented politely, "but can you send me a current one?" The picture he sent "live" was HARDLY even the same picture as the ones on Tinder. There was at least an 80lb weight difference and an unruly mane on his round face. My knee-jerk reaction was to abstain from being shallow and then I thought, WHAT THE FISH?! Not only are there plenty more in the sea, but if I were to have put a picture later than 3 months ago, then I would've been written off or scolded. Confrontation for the FIN! He tried to blame society and the shallow focus and I was having NONE of that. I said, "Look, if guys are able to swipe left or leave a date with a girl that is not his preferable circumference, then I can certainly do the same. This was dishonest and I have nothing left to say on the matter." I left in a splash. Dessert should be something fishy.... lol maybe with Swedish fish or imitating? Ingredients
Spring 2020Nothing 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. Another quote out of context that illustrates my suspicion about the motive for ripping this relationship up from the roots sounds something like this: Where'd you learn how to act like that? But don't worry, I don't wish I were bread.Today's suitable recipe is pain d’épices |
Who the hell did I think I was? I know there's a movement right now about girls being able to play the field and take their emotions out of physical interactions, but I need to face the bass-buzzing, window-down-blaring music that I'm different. My emotional capacity is not that of your average bear. Oh, did I forgot to give you the earth-shattering conclusion of this crush? GHOSTED. |
This is how the world works: you gotta leave before you get left." - T Swizzle
So, something finally has to give.... "I'm sorry [enter names here], I'm cleaning out my closet." Call it spring cleaning for my soul!
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.
I thought it was the times
Or the attitude of my finds
Maybe it was that particular guy
A compliment or another lie?
Manners were never taught
New to a girl that can't be bought
Healing from fresh a wound
True intentions surface soon
Unimpressed to disappointment
A new cologne becomes ointment
Onto to the next mistake
For granted he did take
Another fling cannot stand,
Dating a boy instead of a man
What to keep your eyes peeled for:
*manipulative behaviors
*inability to hold a serious conversation
*disrespect in any form, even if "joking"
*blatant selfishness
*close-mindedness
*seeks convenience in every opportunity
*self-righteous
*guilt tripper
*unable to express feelings more times than not
*avoids taking responsibility even in the smallest of matters
*requires prompting semi-regularly
*eyes wander
*lacks aspiration
Girls really want the D ;)
haha but for cereal, that's the thing boys don't understand. If you respect a good girl, it will be WELL worth it. Disrespect her and you'll get the wrath she's been cultivating.
I've written plenty of posts about people showing you exactly who they are and excusing myself from accepting the fact that I let another loser burn my energy.
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
2. Blend dark colors with my black boot for fashion forgiveness
3. Cover-up the restrictions and contort adventure
My aunt offered me first dibs at a dog and house-sitting gig for 3 weeks in October; Hallo-YEAH! October 31st is my second favorite holiday; my first favorite fluctuates but, Halloween is always a solid 2nd. <3
Voodoo Fest has ALWAYS been on my bucket list! Having the privilege of spending every summer and fall break in New Orleans, this vibrant city easily became my heart's home. From Jackson Square (Main Name proof I belong there ;) to The Saints to crawfish boils, that place exemplifies my existence. I don't really know what that means but... it felt right and a little spicy ;)
Why did I waste my time talking to a guy on the phone from Texas while I was in my favorite city in Louisiana? Because I was in a pathetic state where I thought I needed the comradely. It's not that he showered me in compliments or promises of some fruition when I returned, I think it was he was a deep voice on the other line of my phone. Bleak, I know, but we only talked while I was in New Orleans. I've GOT to re-channel my energy. .....This is actually one of the conversations I had with Comet (pictured above). He ghosted me and I'm not even focusing on it on this post? Wow, that's.... progress.
Now back to the 3 week stay in a boot in New Orleans in a transition.
Since I was less than impressed with the Voodoo line-up, I signed up to volunteer so I could gain admittance fo free. The fest was 3 weeks away, so to ensure I soaked up as much of this vibrant city as possible, I met with my bad ass uncle (yes, that is an official name I call him to his face. Any birthday card or Christmas present is addressed to him as so) who gave me the low-down on local music throughout the city.
"Damn girl! You're hoofing it in that thing!"
"I won't let this thing stop me. I'm headed to a Blues Fest right now!"
He chuckled, "I see ya!"
I continued with my swag (bahaha) and as the rip of an electric guitar greeted my ears, I breathed easy. Bypassing the over-priced beer tents (there were at least 7. I approve) I made my way to the stage that had a man with long curly hair adjusting his kapo and microphone. Moving further from the stage currently producing music and locking my eyes on the magician to perform, I was in a trance. Yes, I know I wrote magician and I meant it. He was a blues rockstar that reminded me of "The Publisher" I dated in 2018. Long hair, passionate, and guhhh could he play the guitar (I later learned).
While caught in my trance, I rooted my feet in a spot right behind a walkway so my view would never be fully obstructed. Immediately to my right was a group of Californians that offered their lawn chair before I could make my way to the dry patch of grass below my mismatching shoes.
"Oh no, I'm fine! Thank you so much though," I smiled.
"Are you sure?" said the only guy in the group of four westerners.
"Absolutely, but the thought means a lot!"
It turned out, I had made friends almost instantly. Once the set of my "magician" started, I returned comfortably to my trance swaying and really soaking in the blues. Gosh, why don't I listen to blues more often... or at all? I thought to myself.
As the songs bled into each other, I was taken with the soul on stage and almost didn't hear the man from the group of four beside me insist I sit in his chair while he get in line for more beer. Smiling at the hospitality and actually up for the gesture, I transferred my weight to my hands and then back to my uninjured foot to stand. My first step toward the chair, I almost ate it and plummeted face-first into the lawn of Lafayette Square Park.
The three Cali girls seated in lawn chairs leaned forward in urgency and one even let out a gasp. Catching myself, I laughed, "See? Clumsy. That's how I got this boot in the first place!"
Once seated, we began conversation as the Blues's set played it's final song. You bet your sweet self I hopped to my uneven feet for a standing ovation when they were done. Gah! That was talent.
He seemed really humble when a burly stranger slapped him on the back and said, "great playing man. Haven't heard blues like that since B.B. King."
"I really appreciate that man," the star responded while placing a hand on the stranger's back.
As he continued to walk to the north side of the park, the guy who's chair I was in, returned to our pow-wow spot. As I scrambled to get up, the two girls to my left rose to their feet and offered one of their chairs. In a game of musical chairs where I couldn't lose, I casually and carefully made my way over to one of the vacant seats.
I conversed with them about music and travel (my two favorite things on the planet) and then they invited me to smoke with them. Pulling out a blunt from his breast pocket, he lit it and just like the rap songs, "puff, puff, pass."
My eyes were probably as big as my boot. "Oh... I have a new job I am trying to land and if I get it, I've gotta pass the drug test in like 2 weeks. Thanks though!"
"You sure?" His wife asked in-between inhales.
"Oh yes," I smiled.
I listened to another set before setting off to church in The French Quarter. I absolutely LOVE being able to walk everywhere in a city. This suburan girl never got that. That's probably part of the reason I loved Madrid and Barcelona so much. Okay.... that's only 1 of like 9834 reasons ;)
Wouldn't you know as I made my way further through downtown, I found myself smack in the middle of a 2nd line for a wedding!!!
Anywho.... after shimmying my way out of someone's special day, I made my way to church and continued to make my way around this fabulous city at the same pace I could have under normal conditions.
Let's be honest, I'm anything but normal. This blog of 400 something posts is living proof of that.... Until next post of this NOLA series.... cheers!
Those that are supposed to offer unconditional concern often shoot betrayal from their fingertips as snares dangle from their earlobes. Such medieval imagery leaves little hope for complete strangers. How could a new face and new name combat such an evil expectation? It only takes one time to touch a hot element before thinking twice, given another chance.
But where does this leave you? Feeling with fear first, and then tiptoeing around life with the leftover emotions? What about feeling sand between your toes, hearing a baby's giggle, or seeing a puppy smile? You have to leave the tiptoeing for ballet and prance into opportunities outside of the studio.
It took me until I crossed Atlantic on Christmas Eve night to unfriend a combination of friends, acquaintances, and scrub-a-dubdubs that deemed less than worthy of my effort. Cleaning house is more than just a literal expression for the spring time. I unfriended 10 people and quite frankly, wish I would have done so sooner. A day will always consist of 24 hours (unless you're changing time zones of course, which in my Euro Trip #2, I did so 4 times). Don't. Waste. A. Minute.
I won't bore you with all ten, but here is one that we were quite friendly and it looked quite promising for us to go out, but then he stood me up. GHOST the night we were supposed to go out in downtown Dallas. It was already going to be an hour drive, but I felt he was worth that.... he obviously did not feel the same.
Although most girls (or guys in this situation) would have removed this person from their phone and their hope chest, I for some reason unbeknownst to me, did not. I must admit, I got a little snappy, but.... one couldn't argue I didn't fight fear to confront the inconsiderate slime.
In the brink of cuffing season, it seems many of the failed connections I thought I friend-zoned found their match. So there is a happy ending.... right?
Here's certainly one way I've seen guys trying to combat the friend-zone:
It didn't work for either of us because he stopped being the sweet guy I knew and started treating me like an object.... so, like 96% of the other ones currently swiping through tinder. Knowledge of each other's existence ceased as we know it.
So, in a way, friend zoning someone is a relationship (not solely intimate) death sentence.... so "zone" wisely.
How do you react to rejection?
This guy was certainly not the latter....
I've gotten to the point where rejection from guys is the least of my worries. Rejection from jobs of my dreams, rejection from buttoning my favorite Levi's, rejection from a sold out show, and rejection from the gate when boarding closes 15 minutes before takeoff when you thought it was 10 are FAR more of a travesty. It's all about frame of mind and honey, mine is now bedazzled!
Gosh, I love this quote! My other favorite quote about arrows is something to the effect of:
You are an arrow; when life pulls you back, it's only to launch you into greatness.
Bacon Bourbon Brittle .... that you have to "break-down" as part of the recipe.
1 cup packed brown sugar
3/4 cup real maple syrup
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup cooked, crumbled bacon (not bacon bit shit lol)
2 ounces bourbon (1 for mixing and 1 for shooting)
- Add butter to a 2 quart, heavy bottomed pot over medium heat.
- Once the butter has melted, stir in the brown sugar and maple syrup.
- Bring this mixture to a boil, then let simmer for 10-15 minutes until a candy thermometer reads 300 degrees.
- Once mixture is at 300 degrees, turn the heat off and carefully add the baking soda and stir. The mixture will bubble up when you add the baking soda so stir quickly.
- Next add the bourbon and stir quickly again. This is a prime time to take your shot; cheers!
- Pour onto sprayed baking sheet and spread out into and even layer that’s about 1/4 inch thick.
- Add bacon bits to the top of the brittle while it’s still warm.
- Let the brittle cool for about an hour, then break it apart into pieces.
I was astounded that you would spend your literary gift on me. I'd be lying if I said I thought you would spend romanticism, letters, and songs on me. Let's pretend I wasn't impressed by your willingness to venture to a new place for first date. Let's pretend we didn't have our own version of "You've Got Mail," but possibly better. And let's pretend I don't still have those emails, more than a year later.
Let's pretend you didn't think you'd be the envy of all my friends with the weekly flowers. Let's pretend I wasn't as disappointed the hurricane spoiled our plans for our weekend getaway in Maine, complete with arrangements for my best friend to tag along.
Let's pretend I didn't get giddy like a schoolgirl when family followed my advice to call the missed reservation office to get a partial refund, but you called me "your girlfriend" in your explanation to the customer service person. I wish I could pretend we actually went on that trip that I thought was bound to be one of the cutest first dates.
Let's pretend your liquored words didn't chip away at your established chivalry and that you didn't try to pin alcoholism on me in the end. Let's pretend you didn't practically blacklist me from your publications, which you swore you'd never do "regardless of how it ends."
Let's pretend you would have actually given me the space I asked for. My, things could have ended without spats via email, painful poetry, immaturity at its finest, and blame for why good guys are extinct.
Let's pretend I wasn't invested in an artist I never met that painted me in lights I seldom allowed; that's why when your light turned to shadows of villains, I closed the book on my passion because you were my muse for months. Let's pretend it didn't revive demons most people couldn't imagine fighting; thanks for that. Let's pretend your increase in followers and pity didn't add to the list of "self-proclaimed victim's" in my life. Let's pretend I'm the loose, heart-breaking, materialist, alcoholic narcissist you swindled your fans into believing. Oh.... guess according to you, it's not pretend.
Let's pretend the sting of your backlash didn't tarnish the honey of your courting; the poems, the songs, the serenades, and even your published works-- spoiled.
Like your story, these contents are robust and complex. To get to the sweet stuff, the steps are intricate and requires precision.
Beesting Cake
- 2 cups whole milk
- 2 large eggs
- 2 large egg yolks
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- 2/3 cup granulated sugar
- 4 teaspoons vanilla extract
- 1/4 cup cornstarch
- 3 tablespoons cold unsalted butter cubed
Dough:
- 1 cup + 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 2 tablespoons unsalted butter at room temperature
- 1 tablespoon granulated sugar
- 1 teaspoon instant yeast
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1 large egg
- 2 tablespoons tepid water
Topping:
- 4 tablespoons unsalted butter
- 1/4 cup granulated sugar
- 2 tablespoons honey
- 1 tablespoon heavy cream
- 3/4 cup sliced almonds
Instructions
Filling:
- Place the milk in a medium-sized heavy saucepan and set pan over medium heat. Warm milk until very hot, but not boiling.
- While milk is heating, combine the eggs, egg yoks, and salt in a medium mixing bowl. Beat with an electric mixer set to medium speed until thickened, 3 to 4 minutes. With mixer on medium-high, gradually add the sugar (2 to 3 tablespoons at a time), beating 30 seconds after each addition. Continue beating until the mixture is very thick and pale, about 3 minutes more.
- Turn mixer to low and beat in the vanilla and cornstarch, mixing until very smooth. With mixer still on low, gradually add the hot milk—beat in about 1 teaspoon at a time at first, then slowly begin adding more, beating well after each addition.
- Once all the milk has been added, pour the mixture back into the saucepan you used for the milk. Add the cold butter, then set the pan over medium heat. Heat the mixture, stirring constantly with a rubber spatula. When mixture begins to thicken (it will look lumpy), decrease the heat and switch to stirring with a whisk. Continue stirring the mixture gently for another 7 or 8 minutes, until very thick. At this point, reduce heat to very low and cook 1 minute more, stirring with your spatula again.
- Remove from the heat and scrape mixture into a medium mixing bowl. Cover with plastic wrap, pressing the wrap onto the surface of the pastry cream. Cool to room temperature, then refrigerate overnight.
Dough:
- Combine all ingredients in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the dough hook and mix on low speed until ingredients are combined. Turn mixer to medium and mix until the dough becomes smooth and supple, about 5 to 10 minutes. (You do this by hand if your mixer is too large to knead the dough effectively.)
- Lightly spray a large mixing bowl with cooking spray. Transfer dough to the prepared bowl and cover loosely with plastic wrap. Let rise for 1 hour, until puffy.
- Generously spray an 8-inch round cake pan with cooking spray and set aside.
- Transfer the dough to a lightly greased work surface and deflate gently. Pat into an 8-inch circle. Place dough circle in the prepared pan.
- Cover pan loosely with plastic wrap and allow to rise for 30 minutes. After 30 minutes, gently stretch the dough so it reaches the edge of the pan.
- Ten minutes before the dough finishes rising, make the topping and preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
Topping:
- Melt the butter in a small saucepan set over medium heat. Stir in the sugar, honey, and heavy cream. Bring the mixture to a boil, stirring occasionally, and boil for 2 to 3 minutes, until lightly golden. Remove from the heat and stir in the almonds.
- Spread the topping into an even layer on top of the dough. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, until the top is golden. Cool in the pan on a wire rack for 30 minutes, then run a knife around the edge of the pan to loosen the cake. Gently remove cake from the pan, then cool completely on a wire rack almond-side up.
- Once cake is cool, use a large serrated knife to split it in half horizontally. Top the bottom layer with the chilled pastry cream. Slice the top layer into 8 wedges, then place on top of the pastry cream. (Slicing the top first prevents the filling from oozing out when you slice the cake.) Serve and enjoy.
Author
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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