Anyone that has underestimated Steph or DatesandCakes is gravely mistaken-- including Steph herself. This girl is gonna have the force, even though I had NO clue "gravely mistaken" was a phrase from Star Wars.... I was really just emphasizing to any of my past flings or anyone else that seems to have their opinion of me in a bunch, that I'm worthy of the love I seek. That message is to me too <3 I've been back and forth with blogging and vlogging due to insecurities rooted in other's words but perpetuated by my own weakness. Well, thanks to my new blog friend, I'm taking a stand and publishing it! This datesandcakes recipe is for me! GASP I didn’t think you are sleeping w all these guys. Don’t worry about what others think, it is none of their business, and everyone has their own lenses for the world. You are making the best decisions for you and your life. I wonder what dessert that would be, one for you, a big heart for loving yourself so well and not settling out of fear, boredom, or hormones! I've been running this race of life in a unique pair of shoes that have more than "soul." I've prided myself on not checking (or climbing inside) the boxes society has built: |
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!
Do NOT mistake this for the 80's Rom-Com, "Pretty in the Pink." The protagonist does NOT get the guy, have a theme song, or have any recollection of wearing or packing the color pink on this 3 day trip to Prague.
Well..... did you at least earn a great story? Czech!
At the meeting spot for the pub crawl at 8 sharp, I saw a tall blonde with a sweater, or "jumper" as they call it, and skinny jeans similar to mine. I sparked up conversation instantly and her accent was quite a surprise. Australian, hands down. Stereotypical of an American, a vast number of us are infatuated with Australian and English accents. I know that's a stereotype... But are you really going to argue with me? You don't enjoy a good "mate" or "bloody hell?"
Yeah that's what I thought...
Anyway, after befriending The Awesome Aussie, we began to take shots that were compliments of the crawl for the first hour. Completely unlimited. She claimed she needed to pace herself, but I had experience with my blonde best friend back home on how-to entice others to take shots. There were three Brazilian girls standing, smiling, and sipping a beer. Why are you sipping during the only hour of free drinks, I thought. Beginners.
The Aussie must have had a similar thought because she prompted me, "let's go talk to them! They need to live and it up!"
Before you knew it, we had formed forces. Three beautiful Brazilians, The Awesome Aussie who was also beautiful, and me and my American Travel buddy (whom I guess to someone is beautiful ;) Since my travel buddy is a dude, I guess he's not included in our group that became known in the crawl as "The Baddest."
Another one, an American... Of course! If you've listened to any of my other European Bar Crawl stories... I always end up getting tangled up with an American. How basic of me LOL This particular one was a tall glass of water that also approached my travel buddy and said, "Man, the girl in the dress..... great job landing her, because she can freaking dance!"
Immediately, he corrected him and prompted him to approach me since I was single and could be bothered to mingle. Of course, he never did. Then what about the parallelogram? It's coming... I promise!
As one of the Brazilians found another Brazilian and kind of coupled off with him for the rest of the night... The rest of us continued to dance, flirt, and soak up Prague, since none of us had ever been here before. After one conversation my travel buddy had with The Awesome Aussie, my travel buddy looked defeated.
He approached me and said, "Well damn. At least she likes one of us."
Confused with who he was referring to, I pressed further.
"The awesome Aussie! She's not into me... But she likes you."
"Oh yeah, she's awesome," I said innocently.
He threw a teasing look at me and said, "Nah man, she dates girls too."
I threw my head back cackling. And if you've ever had the privilege to see this in real life, it's quite the scene. Completely flattered, I took the compliment and continued with my drinks. Scanning the room, I found this beautiful blonde, tall glass of water that I'd noticed that the first club, but figured he was out of my league. This time, his blue eyes met mine. Damn it! Another blue-eyed beauty.
He had an edgy kind of guy next to him who was also quite attractive, but didn't have my eye on that one. The Aussie walked right up to them. So feeling bold as well, I figured I'd join her. Flirting commenced and we ended up dancing around each other, but never necessarily together. Picture 4-year-olds playing soccer-- they get close, but usually never actually get the ball, they just hover.
While the Aussie interacted with the one I found most beautiful (he hailed from Poland), I interacted with the attractive, but edgy Russian. The only thing I could have ever imagined as a personality trait in regards to a Russian is that they're kind of intense... This guy definitely fit that bill, or that "Todd"... Just kidding! I can't remember his name anyway.
On the way to the bathroom, or "the lou" as she called it , her and I exchanged notes on which boy we were trying to pursue. She was into the Russian, I was into the Polish man, the Polish man seemed magnetically attracted to the Aussie and the Russian seem to gravitate to me, even after our conversation ended and I trailed off both literally and mentally. Then, keep in mind the Aussie has also had a girlfriend... So the possibilities here for what everyone was wanting seems endless.
See what I'm saying? A triangle would just not suffice....
Regardless of the country, I seldom pass up a drink offered from a cute boy as long as I can see it being made. I matched his vodka Sprite with "an abundance of limes." That's a quote. Usually I go for soda water, but the cute little bottles were something I couldn't resist. European bars seldom have carbonated soda stations or soda guns like our land-of-the-free bars. They also charge for water, since it too is bottled. Affordable? It's almost always more than an alcoholic drink. #hellohangover
After three of those lemon and lime sugared puppies (not ruff in the slightest), we made our way to the dance floor and he tried to keep rhythm. I would like to "Blame It On the Alcohol," but I'm pretty sure this boy just had no rhythm. Cute though, we danced as I glanced over at the other pair, The Awesome Aussie and my fleeting Crush, the Polish dude. Once Queen came on, it was a wrap. The Aussie and I screamed at the top of our lungs and jammed (no peanut butter in this country, unfortunately) together and the two boys found their way into other girls' arms. Fine by us, we thought. But like my blonde best friend in the states and I discovered time and time again, they usually come back.
So acting as if nothing happened, they were turn to us probably 5 songs or 10 songs later. That was the best measure of time I had since I don't sport a watch and my phone was rapidly dying. At this point, we had forgotten about our Brazilian girls until we ran into one of them (not literally, I only run to buffet lines and from commitment).
- My phone was at 2%, of which I had not unlocked it, therefore my SIM card did not work
- The Polish man made a move on the Aussie and apparently he's an atrocious kisser
- The Brazilians had to leave because one of the girls lost their purse with their passport at one of the prior clubs
- I completely lost my travel buddy, whom had the key to our hostel.
It was around 5 a.m. when the club closed, and the parallelogram of unrequited lust, made its way toward Old Prague, across one of the famous bridges. My hostel, mind you was in a completely different direction. Since I had no data or internet connection, I couldn't order an Uber, I couldn't get on maps to see how to get back, and oh yeah, I couldn't remember the name of our hostel. Do you know any hostels there are in downtown Prague? Probably equivalent to hotels in downtown Dallas.
FML why don't I eat more blueberries?
I tried to take notes from the Aussie's Google Maps to a hostel that sounded like mine, but I had no pen and no paper. So where else can I put the notes? In my dying phone. Awesome.
Now we know the Polish dude was never interested, but do you think the Russian even offered a "that sucks" or "good luck?" No.
Totally disregarded, I made my way into the foreign city alone. Along the way of my makeshift MapQuest directions, I miraculously found an open wi-fi connection that I could connect to. I'm not exaggerating here. It really truly was a miracle to find a place with free Wi-Fi.
During our 6 hours of daylight earlier that very day sightseeing, I could not find even one place that had open wi-fi. Not cafes, shops, tourist spots, and internet cafes were extinct in this city.
Thanking God I found this open Wi-Fi connection, I turned to Google for help. I sent a message to my travel buddy to keep an eye out for me and to tell me the code to get into the hostel. Isn't it fun, how some guys seem to be around till you need them?
After feeling like I got my bearings, I ventured out again with now 1% on my phone battery. Just as it was dying, I came across a taxi man helping a couple and their luggage into his car.
In all my experience in Prague, you know the whole three days of it, I found a blatant disregard for humans that we're not "in Czech" with their culture. Maybe just humans in general. So, I was a bit timid to ask the driver for help since I've been shut down several times just when ordering coffee, getting dinner, and sipping air through my freckled nose. It's not like I wasn't paying... well, aside from the air.
Well, thankfully, this guy only rolled his eyes once and told me which direction to go. I totally guessed it was "the Central hostel" and he helped me head in the right direction.
As my travel buddy answered the door, I began gushing about my night and inquiring of his. I found a different air in the room and I couldn't quite put my finger on it until it struck me that we may not be alone.
I prosed the famous question... "Is someone here?"
"Sorry," I heard as covers pushed up and out, revealing a small face framed with brown wavy hair.
Wow, I thought to myself, but tried hard to maintain a poker face. I know we share the same name, but I am no Lady Gaga. The stranger began laughing, unveiling her as American. The kind of "Minnesota-nice ....dontcha know." Somehow, the conversation turned to Celine Dion. The other American was so young that she was unfamiliar with the artist! Laughing hysterically, I belted into a famous Celine Dion song. My Travel buddy joined me and cued the backup music on his iPhone. After my performance, I told him to not even think about waking me in the morning, since it had been such an eventful night. Wouldn't you know that my happy little ass woke up at 3 p.m. the next day. Hungover, but happy.
Although it wasn't my favorite city because of the rude people, I do believe you should give this place a Nike Czech and "just do it" ;)
I could write about New Orleans for the rest of this blog but.... I've got quite a few more unbelievable dates and male encounters to share in Europe, Arabian clubs, and breweries... Here is the finale of my 3 week Nola venture with two broken toes.
I signed up to volunteer at the voodoo Fest and made a friend there that hooked me up with another connection to music. Not only could I enjoy seeing Bring Me The Horizon, Brandi Carlile, Moon Taxi, and post Malone for free, but she offered me an opportunity to see Five Seconds of Summer and Chainsmokers where the Hornets play. I'm not particularly a fan of the Pelicans but it's across from the Superdome and I've always wanted to see those smoke in the hot for Australians play! I know some people classify them as like a teeny bop bands, but I think they're great! Although I try to dislike Chainsmokers and some of their mixes, some of the words kind of get to me. One song I grew appreciation for when I went to Europe, 2 months after the concert let's take away. "Your heart for take away." Instead of to go since that's a common English and Irish term. My favorite, twisted line is:
" Before I love you, I'm going to leave you. Before you're someone I leave behind I'll break your heart so you won't break mine."
3 weeks is a long time when you're not working and don't have anyone to hang out with. Most of my cousins were occupied, aunts and uncles had their own schedules and lives, and it's not like I'm going to sit on my phone the whole time I'm in my favorite city. So, I researched some bars with great happy hours that I would enjoy going to and made my way to Uptown New Orleans.
The wine and beer house was not exactly a great kept secret since most of the seats at the bar and on the patio were taken. I perched up next to very attractive brunette bluechew a hockey game on the screen directly in front of him, slanted down for his vision. After ordering a delightful sour beer, I glanced at the screen and noticed it was the Dallas Stars thing.
"Dallas huh?" I started.
"Yeah, I'm from there," he replied.
"No way," I exclaimed!
Instantly our conversation ignited. He was from Coppell which is five cities over from where I grew up. The competition was just deep, engaging, and pleasant conversation. He later revealed he had a girlfriend that he met LSU and is living with now here in New Orleans. Thigh is what you think my response would have been, but I wasn't really face. Sure, he was cute, but that didn't belittle the conversation we had. An interesting night where again I close the bars and then made my way back on the streetcar with my Hopalong boot.
Doesn't automatically render a space
In your jumbled head of drafted plans
Shading the night to grays and tans
He brushed your curl aside as if it were practice
Outlined your firm expression that of an actress
Breathing close in a rhythm to hypnotize
Temporary this moment, yet to realize
Just because the scene has set doesn't mean he is
On the syllables of your name or how it sounds with his
So don't mistake a mere glint for an enlightening
You'll meet a thunder, fit to be his lightening
The Nola Series Continues.....
Here's the 4-1-1 on the back story of how Mr. Ringo came to be.... and a semi-funny meme, since I couldn't find a Parent Trap meme with Merideth Blake saying, "Here's the 4-1-1."
There was this blonde dude-bro that was at least 4 years younger than me watching intently. He looked like a school-yard boy waiting to jump into double dutch. He made his move before Christmas and I was elated while grinding to Ludacris. While feeling the emotions, among other things, I felt eyes on me when Mr. Ringo walked back up. Guilt swept over me.
Even though nothing was stated about rekindling anything, he was a complete and utter gentleman and I still felt guilty. I don't know if the guilt would have subsided if a girl would have danced with him (even though he "doesn't dance").
The words of another guy before him rang in my ears while putting my weight on the foot in a right Van shoe. Mr. Publisher wrote words that I didn't believe when he bitterly spat them via internet forum but they rose to the top of my liquored mind (in which he bought some of the drinks...yes, I'm the worst BUT, he was staying with me BUT he came to SEE ME). I lose. So, in this moment in my favorite American city, I believed the words that publisher wrote about me... something to the affect of:
she's the reason there's not any good guys left.
Now, I do not take responsibility for ALL the good guys converting to scum-between-my-toes but, I do feel for the good guys that I.... well are no longer taken with. I don't do it on purpose... just as I assume guys that were never intrigued long enough with me didn't fall off to spite me.
Well, this Mr. Ringo is a gentleman, loving father, and generous person with a colossal heart. It meant more to me than I let on that he came to visit me... I have family that wouldn't spend time with me and I WAS IN THEIR ZIPCODE.
I made breakfast and we had some of the most comfortable conversation of my life and then, like a pound of maple bacon, he was gone. I tried to see if we could meet up for Mardi Gras but, to no avail. I truly wish him the best and hope to still frolic our city together. Then again, I also understand if he chooses not too; I've been on that side of the equation as well.
I hobbled my way into the bowling alley across an open space of hardwood floors where Cajuns where jigging in every which direction. The music even smelled of this great city. I am not really sure what that means but gosh, it was a lively scene. Unlike any other dance hall I'd been to.... and I've been to Billy Bob's and Florabama more times than I can count.
After securing a cold Budlight in my hand #ballingonabudget, I watched the feet of the colorful enthusiasts spinning and bouncing with jubilee. The washboard was almost hypnotizing. Gosh, that sounds like a Tide commercial. X)
A vibrant hippie was stepping to Zydeco alone so I joined her.
"Hey! Can you teach me?"
"Honey, we can learn together!"
After giving it a go with a clomp clomp clomp (still in the boot), a studious, yet big-headed bald guy flashed me a smile and asked me dance.
Rolling my eyes inside, I was in no position to turn him down; my desire to learn exceeded my distaste for cocky males. After cheap conversation and obvious judgement of my dancing, the second song ended and he made his way to a thin blonde with evident Zydeco experience.
After returning to my new hippie friend, we danced the night away with no remorse for butchering the dance of this great city.
There wasn't a day that didn't pass during my dog-sitting days that I didn't find some vibrant thing to do. Since I've bled black and gold since birth, I figured why not try my hand at a saints game.
The dome really is home. <3
If you can believe it... I've got one more NOLA post in me.
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!
You're the type of person I wish I couldn't like.
Intellectually sound with a meandering spirit.
You've faulted girls before, but I still want to hear it.
Bunny slippers and thick skin,
You pay no mind to the lane you're in.
Tickled by serendipity, you indulge
Personally astonished by the "me" I divulge.
My desire is not rooted in the intangible type.
I took comfort in being where you set your sight.
Under a street light, opportunity and lips locked,
Even though neither ship was docked.
Converting time and available hours,
Leasing the place where idleness cowers.
Paralleling pains in hidden trails,
Any other comparison this one pales.
Until the last page I am intrigued.
But alas I refuse to follow the lead.
Oh! I broke two toes... did I forget to mention?
Well, on a beautiful October night in Fort Worth, I made the first bone break/fracture/sprain of my entire existence on this planet. My best guy friend in Texas...
[Side note: I have 3 best guy friends that are differentiated by location. They have earned their title in this chronological order:
- Texas- code name "Kitty" from Monster's Inc. Yes, I am "boo." Established in 2016
- Charleston- code name "The Beard to be Feared." We share the same favorite beer brewed in Kilkenny, Ireland; we shared it locally at Madre Rua in The Low Country. Established in 2018
- Mobile- code name "The Desk." We had failed travel plans but he's a great goober to keep around. Established in 2019]
Achem. Now back to the story! **There will probably be several more side bars. I regret nothing**
Meeting up with his crew (consisting of all couples this time), we began our own bar crawl and hit the high points of West 7th Street.
"Dude, my toes are killing me," I blurted to "Kitty."
"Steph, stop being a little BITCH!" he laughed, ordering two of his go-to vodka and Redbulls. Passing one over to me, we exchanged a smile and I swallowed the pain and the blueberry flavored energy drink with bottom-shelf vodka.
In between engaging in conversation with his friends and scurrying over to the dance floor that was illuminated with spinning lights and 10-year-old hip hop, I developed a new dance move:
"Gosh [Kitty], I'm in a 9 out of 10 in pain and I don't have insurance. What the fuck am I gonna do?"
"Shit dude, I don't know," he slurred.
"I'm gonna get another drink."
"Ayeee!" He cheered.
While waiting at the bar, I watched the male bartender on the north side flirt with a pair of blondes while popping open two slim, silver cans. Once setting them on the bar, they were revealed to be nothing other than White Claws. I chuckled at the stereotype and an array of endless memes crossed my mind.
Smiling, he fired some flirty compliment across the bar I didn't commit to memory.
"A vodka soda would be delightful if you don't mind."
"Certainly, babe."
Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my card as I looked over my shoulder. The two blondes with White Claws were watching. Awk-ward, I thought.
Sliding my card on the only part of the bar that was dry, I thanked the flirtatious bartender. Thinking to myself, I swear, if this fool winks at me.... and he did.
Good grief, Charlie Brown. I retrieved my card and passed the White Claw representatives. After returning to the table, one of the girls in the group rocking a pair of Vans informed me we were going to stay at her place.
"Oh, are you sure?"
"Steph, look at him. You really think [Kitty] can drive? And you can't drive a stick."
Not in any state to argue with her facts (Lysol kills 99.9% of germs), I nodded and offered a "thanks, girl."
We made it back to her and Kitty's best friend in the group's apartment, revealing a sofa-bed for the two visitors, Kitty and I. Needing some air, I walked onto the patio with the girl rocking the Vans. Both feeling our drinks a little, it turned into a confession session. She asked why I was so adamant about me and kitty being friends and colored us as 'a cute couple.' I brought up the past and his reputation in high school, in which he dated 3 of my friends... some, concurrently. Then, called me "Sarah" when he saw me at a bar 7 years after high school.
Wait. Hold up. Carry the one.... yup, the math computes: I'm old.
She told me what I should've seen then, "But, that was the past...."
The stylish girl with the Vans had many other insightful things to say that night, but I am still transfixed on those 5 words. Gah, how many times have I let it rule me, stop me.... and even change me? I always gloat that I wouldn't change my past because... you guessed it-- It made me who I am. But the Stephanie today has to beg the question, why do I let it define a person and actions moving forward? Fear of repeating history. That's why it's a tested subject in school, isn't it? To prevent a revolving hamster wheel reality. This revelation did not hit the drunk, blue-streaked brunette with two broken toes... no, no. Instead, this clumsy creature was hit with the spins, nausea, and a hell of a hangover the Sunday to follow. I stayed balled up on my side of the spring-supported bed until it was time to recover in my own bed.
I limped out of Kitty's car and phoned guy friend number 3 to seek medical advice. After free consult from the highly-acclaimed medical trainer, "The Desk" deemed they were broken. Even if I had the concept, an American over 26 with a job that doesn't offer benefits doesn't have the luxury of, the doc couldn't do anything but put it in a boot and collect his/her copay. So, I polled the audience and found a boot I could borrow ;) Shout out to Elle.
Don't believe me?
GASP! Did she just admit...
You bet your friendship I did! Oh, speaking of friendship-- today's blog post is brought to you by a foundation for a delightful loaf bread called Friendship Bread. You can't make the bread without this labor-intensive "starter."
"Kitty" could not have been more apologetic when I informed him of the breakage.
"Shit, Steph! You were for serious!"
"I know you can feel my eye roll through this phone line," I spat.
Laughter was exchanged on both lines of the phone and we made plans for his birthday bash.
This story became the staple when people asked what happened when they saw my boot.... Feeling a sequel coming on..... hold the drum roll and my earrings!
To Start the Recovery of Brokenness, Amish Friendship Bread Starter
- .25 ounce active dry yeast (or 1 packet)
- ¼ cup warm water 110° F/45° C
- 1 cup flour
- 1 cup sugar
- 1 cup milk
Instructions
- In a small bowl, dissolve yeast in water. Let stand 10 minutes.
- In a 2-quart glass, plastic or ceramic container, combine 1 cup flour and 1 cup sugar. Mix thoroughly with a whisk or fork.
- Slowly stir in 1 cup milk and dissolved yeast mixture.
- Cover loosely and let stand at room temperature until bubbly. Consider this Day 1 of the 10-day cycle.
"She's got a ticket to ride and she don't care." Beatles bumping, spirit flapping, and mind buzzing, she does it again.
After watching relationships of ones I love, my heart bled for their misery. This was especially true when I inquired of the reason for starting the relationship. My level of astonishment couldn't be measured. This isn't a romantic comedy where the music shift foreshadows the revelation of the protagonist. This music was never turned up. They exchanged their dreams of "happily ever after" for 5 minute sex and a cigarette after or a sunset with nightmare laughter. They jumped out of singleness, painted gloomy into taken, shackled with diamonds. No one bothered to chip away at the paint, they just wanted a highway to happiness. I can't blame them--- certainly sounds like a highway I would set the cruise to 90 on. But, what the signs don't tell you is this is not "the" highway to happiness, there are always alternative modes of transportation to achieve this ultimate goal. The signs offer no warning that the road may take you to a similar fog from happiness you're currently enduring.
Daylight and Sunlight are NOT the same thing!
Some people feel that they would have it all if they just had a significant other. That mentality leads to settling and agreeing to that person because of a delicate equation of
time spent+morals-patience/time left.
This isn't proven with mathematics or science, but just what I've noticed from women (and one man) that I respect and used to admire--- idolize their marriage.
Prior to this observation, I was venturing out into new states and opportunities, hoping to be rerouted with a "good find." For the right person, I was open to slowing up so we could prepare to launch somewhere together. My imagination scribbled plans of following his job and starting anew a build a network because he would already have our direction. It wasn't until the corruption of the marriages I adored loosened their bandages that I removed my gaze from cloud-framed imagination and I amped-up my hustle. Put in longer hours, said no dates (while spending no effort on excuses to suitors), and cut my spending in half. Put up signs for a garage sale and hit the library in the Non-Fiction section. After pouring over 10% of the geography books 3 branches in Fort Worth had to offer, I spread my wings to Dallas and received notice from a friend with a mutual obsession for travel.
A week later, it was official: I had my own ticket to ride.
.....Actually, I got 7 tickets to ride.
On Christmas Eve, I kissed my family, tradition, and a ham feast goodbye as I boarded a 787 Dreamliner to London. Nontraditional, not regrettable, and inevitably unforgettable.
For the next 19 days, Prague, Brussels, Bruges, Dublin, Howte, Glasgow, Edinburgh, and Reykjavik became my temporary home. I became my own ticket and took my imagination for a ride.
There is more that fuels you than a significant other; find it and pursue it passionately.
Be Your Own Escape like the Blue Lagoon was to me in 32 degree weather in Iceland.
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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