Sometimes what I find myself telling guys is something I needed to hear myself.So, you've heard about endless dick pics and possibly read about them on my blog several times before. .... but you haven't heard my approach to reduce this kind of unwanted assault to my eyes: Okay here's why I'm weird about pictures. Because I'm more than just a tight ass and a beaming pair of green eyes. Like I understand looks are important to you but at the end of the day, once I relinquish pictures of my body or engage in stuff with my body and the person is not the least bit interested in me as a person, then it's meaningless and makes me feel really empty. So, I refuse to stop making myself feel that way. There are like 4 billion dudes in this world, so... no need to be anything but who I am to impress just one. Odds are, other(s) will react differently. Or insightful; stay thirsty my friends.
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Firework state of mindThe lengths these guys will go to to get some! Think 'm exaggerating? Take a stroll from South Carolina to Cali to Oklahoma. Meanwhile, there's one presently texting me from Texas to come over since he called in sick for work tomorrow..... Mr. Hoping for a touchdownMr. Off his wooden horseMr. Needs JesusThis guy was as predictable as a carousel. Bright lights and painted horses, with music any girl would be privileged to hear all overcompensating for an inflated Pride and a feeble personality. Boasting and posting as a noble Steed, he was merely a barnyard pet. Straight from a dating site, he texted this juvenile narrative, which in this message, he cast me as the lucky female role. Although I could have made this up, my story would have been much more elaborate and convincing... Here are his words. I want to be sitting on your porch when you come in from work tonight. I'm sure you'll be tired and maybe even a little grumpy but I'd just give you a really long, tight, warm hug. I'd glide my fingers down the back of your arm and lace my fingers inbetween yours holding your hand and with my other hand I'll gently place it on your neck and just give you the most passionate kiss ever. I'd just wrap my hands around your hips and pull you really close to me I'd just look into your eyes and give you a cute nose kiss and then tell you to go grab a change of clothes. I'd sit on your porch until you came back out. And I'd just embrace you with another hug and whisper in your ear. I'd hold your hand and we'd walk to my car so I could drive you back to my place. we'd go into my room and I'd just collapse on that bed pulling you on top of me. I'd wrap my arms around you and just adore that gorgeous smile of yours. I'd begin to make out with you for a few minutes doing nothing more than resting my hands on your hips and gently feeling your ass. I'd stand back up and I'd tell you to get comfortable so I could give you a massage. I'd step out of the room to grab some lotion or something and come back in to find you in nothing but your bra and panties. (I'd loose my mind 😍) Although his imagery was quite colorful, I'm not the slight bit interested in his copy and paste, pick animals with white sprinkles carousel.He only supplies the animal crackers (in my soup), so you'll have to create your own happy ending for this one.....
https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/food-network-kitchen/frosted-animal-cracker-carousel-cake-5238246.amp No longer in the shadows.....When did intimacy become casual? Or better yet, when did it become an expectation?I felt a bit hesitant about posting the imagery leading up to denied intimacy in last night's post, "Mr. Blade." Overall, I feel like it was a good read and decent writing BUT, I feared readers would slap a label on me like a can of soup. Chicken Prudle Soup. "Why didn't you just sleep with him? It isn't a big deal..." But maybe that was my point. Why isn't it a big deal whom I decide to let in, more than just physically? When did it stop becoming one? He didn't even call me beautiful or anything other than sexy. Every person is beautiful (yes, you reading this). I just want to know when sex became as casual as day drinking. Has it become a 2019 standard to reward a mediocre dinner and a few over-priced cocktails for sex? While what-- I twirl my balayage hair, holding $23 of product and most of my self-esteem? And then what? I'm left with unraveling attachment, an additional "notch in my lipstick case," and underground worth. All while he thinks about.... I don't know-- ANYTHING ELSE. Even if the guy in no form or fashion was prince charming, thoughts of "why was I not enough to stay" suffocate me. It's a form of rejection I can't combat. The standard deviation is the perception of the interactions with these intimacies. This blog is a platform for scrutiny in its purest form. It is a tightrope between Slut Shaming or Prude Patronizing, either way, you fall flat on your face. So, you keep your little black book in your dresser or turn it into a blog. Guess I took the road less traveled and yet I still hesitate. I hold back details that could reveal the identity of the "misters" that have made their debut. I insinuate very little about the physical course of every interaction to allow an element of mystery and one of imagination for the reader. With imagination comes great responsibility and... apparently judgement.One of my "fans" left a comment branding me as a "slut" and this blog being "proof." Ahh! There's the slut shaming you were talking about, Stephanie. What's humorous to me is the vast assumption made that I sleep with all these misters. Not to mention, the reinforcement of that "standard" that if a guy buys you craft beers at a Minneapolis brewery, brings you flowers before taking you to the Charleston Ballet, or even takes you to Disney World for a first date, you're obligated to sleep with him. Well, spoiler alert: of those three lavish, but real dates I went on, I didn't sleep with any of them.
Now wait a minute.... He took you Disney and you didn't get intimate with him? How was that not a home-run? And THAT'S the prude patronizing I'm talking about. Either way, I'M WRONG. I've lived my whole life not wanting to cause any trouble or be in it. I've been driven by guilt, far-fetched promises, one-sided relationships, and acceptance. I've apologized for things I didn't do and problems I couldn't have begun to ignite. I've been a doormat in floods and used up like a marker; even the brightest marker in the box runs out of ink. So, I guess mostly for myself, but also for the "misters" mentioned here and soon to come (I have at least 8 stories itching to be revealed from the last couple weeks ;) I'm not sorry that I didn't sleep with you even if you expected it or felt like you deserved it. Such a crazy thing for me to type... but, I think I mean it. Yeah, I do :)) Standard recipe? Bring your own icing and write your sweet ending.This boy's shoelaces must be untied, because he tripped all over my best friend's heart.This boy hailed from Charleston and rekindled a fire with the blonde bestie. He ended things in the first place because he chose another girl "more high maintenance" than her. maintenance I know! She should have head for the hills BUT, I've been there. You've been there-- think about it. The titanic may have been sinking, but boy was it beautiful. So, this Mr. Two Step Tripping is a South Carolina country boy with expensive taste. He was single, but was a two-stepping fool. Here's 10 reasons why:
Let me get this straight: he "reconnects" with a girl he "shouldn't have turned down" to visit her in a beach town south of his current beach town? So he drove 9 hours for.... friends with benefits? A free trip? Old Hickory Whiskey Bar (pictured above) is a landmark here for sure, but he wasn't even aware of its existence. He did no research for restaurants, history, or festivities, which was evident in his wandering. Maybe he was ready to replace someone's shower curtains-- Fixer Upper Style I didn't really see the difference.... feel like it's one of those "find the difference." Oh, but my best friend noticed. She was steaming; who throws away someone's ....anything?!? I'm all about traveling and having connections in different destinations, but getting intimate and then hitting on other people? Here's how it went down: I was volun-told to bring him around downtown until she got off from work. He revealed to me that he retrieved the bartender's phone number AND his hopes of engaging in a threesome. Well, by the time she showed up, she was well aware of the juicy gossip. I ready dismissed myself from Mr. Two Step Tripping tour guide duty, so I gave him my number in case he never found her. It was better than the alternative: he begged me to give him my house key so he could "talk with her at home." Mama didn't raise no fool.... so I gave my digits instead. Mistake. He texted me not even 15 minutes later saying: you need to mediate this; she's trying to kick me out. Trick (or treat), I don't need to do anything. You're the antagonist here. She let him have it. She kicked him out of her house, AFTER listing the reasons he's single. baha! She kicked him out of her house Fluff and I agreed with her decision and good riddance! I would disclose his two stepping dessert, but I replaced it with this beauty. I figured I didn't need his permission.....
Remember when I said I dumped the dating site and I still had a few leads I exchanged information with before deleting it? This 24-year-old was the last one left, and funny enough, he looks like this hottie pictured above. Thank you male Vanna. To start this date off, I was HELLA late for a not-so-important-date. Hardly time to say hello, goodbye- I was late, late late! How could I have been so disrespectful? I warned him that I NEVER get my hair did (felt oh-so glamorous) so I was unaware that coloring your natural hair took hours upon hours. Once my mermaid hair was vibrant and flip-worthy, I called him to inquire of his location and profusely apologize. He was surprisingly understanding and sent me a location to meet where we could walk on the beach. I'm not a girly girl that would normally complain "oh my hair!" but... I did JUST get it done. Not only would no one else get to see it in its shiny glory, but it wasn't even worth it! The conversation was prompt, and to the point; boy was on a mission. Yes, he was merely a boy. The way he asked to hold my hand under the full moon crafted an eerie air around us. I began mentally planning my escape route when I felt a sense of desperation in his tone and body language. Since I had no restraint to hold anything back at 9 o'clock with a stranger on a humid, no-breeze night on the beach, I made a comment that he seemed a little "girl deprived." "I am girl deprived," he confessed. "But... you must be boy deprived if you haven't had a boy friend since December." Mr. P Deprived had the audacity to What? Are you kitting me? You are desperate for any cat. I should have called him Mr. Thirsty, but it was beyond that. After this painful and haunting encounter, these were the messages exchanged: (get the popcorn) I obviously had no concern with proofreading that last message since it should have said "them" instead of "him first." As if this date wasn't enough of a joke, his last response is definitely mic-drop worthy: "It takes too much time. Too many girls are on those apps for self esteem boosts from random guys. I refuse to wade through it anymore. 😂" I'm sorry.... but you looking for pussy cats is acceptable? Hands down he was one of those guys that swipes right on EVERYONE to "increase his odds." If this isn't a wake-up call, I don't know what is.Get yourself an ice cream sandwich before your judgment melts like mine obviously did. What a sticky mess!Bras strung like Christmas lights beaming proudly weeks into the new year, country twang in the air, and the sound of beer bottles being poured and sloshed became our immediate future.. This was our introductory to the notorious Flora-Bama Bar. The blonde best friend and I were at it again as we explored our new watering hole. It had the atmosphere of a larger "Billy Bob's" with an Alabama attitude. I was designated driver and.... you guessed it, she was designated drunk. After getting her numerous Jack and Cokes, we made our way to the main stage where of course, we stumbled upon an attractive, well-dressed man. Would it really be blog-worthy if there wasn't a story to tell ? A strawberry blonde-haired man made a comment in our direction when someone stumbled by, baptizing the three of us in a sticky red liquid. The conversation ignited and the flirting and competition commenced. It was hard to read which of which one of us he was in to. Not just initially, but the entirety of the night. His parents were close by and the man later identified as his stepfather, made a winced kind of face while scanning my blonde best friend's cleavage and short shorts. Her and I both read the look like chapter 1 of a World Lit. class. The man in pursuit introduced both of us to his parents. He kept making jokes that well, "y'all have already met my parents..." like it was a unit kind of thing. Then, he made a comment that we were both gorgeous and naturally, I deflected it (just the compliment towards me. The blonde bestie is hella gorgeous). He went out of his way to reinforce his compliment. To which I retracted again, because that's just who I am. Not a compliment fisher... I have very little patience for fishing even though I've dated enough fisherman to feed the crowd of 500 where Jesus performed the miracle of 5 leaves and 2 fish. God knows I need a miracle-- but don't we all? He seemed genuine and offered to buy us drinks. When I informed him of my appointed position of responsibility for the night, he respected it, but his smile faded ever so slightly. During one of my blonde best friend's potty breaks, Mr. High Maintenance Insurance (good name right? Just wait for it...) gazed at the stage while a likely intoxicated blonde in a black dress did a seductive dance. Before being escorted off the stage by security, she slipped off her bra and hung it among the other hundreds on one of the ropes overhead. Turning to me, Mr. High Maintenance said, "now THAT girl is high-maintenance." Smiling, since I am textbook, ink-line, and sinker the opposite of that, I nodded. His blue eyes would have made my bra fall off if my best friend wouldn't have returned a moment later. [I will not lose all control when peering into blue eyes. I will not.... oh gosh!! *knees buckle*] As the night progressed with two country-fied girls, a cute 32-year-old, and his parents, the music became more and more appetizing to a dancers heart. As my hips continued to sway, my innate two-stepping skills (that were practically branded in me from my 16 years calling Texas my home) took precedence in the moment. Watching this closely, Mr. High Maintenance Insurance grabbed my hand with a flick as I spun into laughter and eventually his arms. We danced for 3 or 4 songs. And then, like a buttermilk pancake, he flipped me. My face definitely said it all. My mouth agape, I gasped for air. "Oh, was that okay?" He smirked. The blonde best friend joined us on the dance floor as we returned to standing position. He took this opportunity to request both of our phone numbers. As the band continued to play, she revealed to me that his mom ran into her in the bathroom and informed my bestie that she had the best boobs she had ever seen. What? While I was still processing the information, he tugged on her arm lightly and they made their way to the bar. Damn. This all happened so fast, and the guy goes to..... the girl with mom-approved boobs. Oh, and in case you haven't had the privilege of reading up on the blonde bestie, there is a link below. Some of you may even have encountered her, or girls like her. Don't get me wrong-- she is one of a kind, but she requires a lot of attention. A LOT. She admits it. But... definitely is classified by guys and herself as HIGH MAINTENANCE. Yet he told her he was into her, even though he told me that the girl that hopped on the stage and threw her bra up on the rope was high maintenance. Am I missing something? And I know insurance.... I SELL IT FOR A LIVINGI was at a loss for words and the affection or chance with this man, I consulted a couple of my guy friends about the situation and the jury is out: It was a form of manipulation-- insurance if you will in case things with the bestie didn't work. It was explained to me like this: Steph, that's like a guy telling an obvious intellect that "dumb girls are not his type" and then going for an airhead. If the airhead would've have gone for him, he already laid the groundwork for the intellect. Insurable GlazeFor the man full of hot water, he is simply a sugary glaze on a strawberry scone. Mix one part hot water with four parts powdered sugar. It drizzles well on low and high-maintenance scones of all kinds.
Tangelo (n): hybrid between a romantic and a rat. Every word he or she composes is zested flavor, but upon delivery beyond a screen, they fall short. Their intentions are truly rotten and remains lurk near sewers. No subtly in this post. This man must have set a record with how quickly he made me bitter. I know, I know. A guy starts spitting perfectly arranged words at you behind a screen on a tired dating app, should hold very little relevance. But call me vulnerable. Call me naive. The first is probably more true. But, for some reason unbeknownst to me, I believed him. This guy was super cute and seemed genuine. Or maybe I just wanted him to be. He opened with a warm compliment about my smile, in which I jokingly replied was only appealing because of the many toothless smiles in this area. He cracked up, but reassured me. Great sense of humor too, check. It was as if he was playing a game of Dance Dance Revolution. Synchronizing arrows to the illuminated foot square. He couldn't wait to meet me he couldn't stop complimenting me, he was sweet, and he was interested. I knew deep down that he could very well be spitting the same things to other girls, but I didn't think it would text so close to home, again. Should I continue the story or do you already know where this is going? He had also been spitting almost identical messages of affection and longing to my blonde, bff roommate. I felt like I was in a 2008 R&B song.....She said they had talked while I was in Spain and he stopped talking to her because he got a girlfriend. He found her again on the site the day after we realized he was a word Romeo, and began zesting the conversation with hopeful compliments. Immediately, she addressed the situation and he said he missed her and made amistake makingthe other girl his girlfriend. Meanwhile, back at the office, I was slammed with work and didn't check his snap message until later. When I did, it was erased. I guess I'll never know what it said (more fragrant fluff, lacking genuine girth). I inquired, but he refused. He didn't inform me of the happenings, my bff did. So... when I was filled in on the details, she said they had a date established. I'm sorry.... what? Why was her appeal to someone whom was quick to dress up a stranger in messages, but hoped to undress a girl he "should've picked" the first time? In conclusion, he did just that. At dawn before their date, she asked honestly what his intentions were. She specifically prefaced that if it were for sex, she wouldn't be mad, but would just would like to know. She didn't have to squeeze him for information... he pealed the romantic facade right off. "Just sex." "You asshole!" *block* All that was left was his pulp.... Since this is the most unappetizing flavor of the week, the dessert should illustrate that.....I could NOT think of a better dessert. Each ingredient is another line that "sounded good" for him to throw at some innocent girl.
Okay, okay.... I know neither my roommate or myself fall in the innocent girl category, but hey! This still doesn't warrant Mr. Tangelo's actions.
When playing with Shoots and Ladders, I should have exercised caution....Before starting the finale of Mr. Shoots and Ladders, I must highlight that I did NOT know the end of this fling upon choosing his name. Dare I say, this pretense is foreshadowing for how this unfolded. I climbed the ladder of date number two to his home in a small town, 35 minutes away. He introduced me to the interesting world of disc golf, in which I found out I’m not as atrocious as I thought.... Every sport I’ve ever played, I’ve won most spirited (dad was NOT proud); this game however, I had a decent overhead toss. I threw it with such fury that actually went places. Built up anguish? Nah. It didn’t hurt that he encouraged me with kisses along with the way of the course. We returned to his house where he made queso mac and cheese and something else I can’t remember. He cooked like a high schooler when his parents were out of town and they forgot to leave pizza money. I guess I didn’t mind the change of pace. He put on a movie, which seemed to be our MO but the slow, intentional kissing was an enjoyable sequel. It was the kind of kissing where your lips linger and the moment matters; it drew us from his couch to his bedroom. I ended up spending the night in his campfire-of-a-room so, I grabbed my handy dandy revolving fan that just so happen to be in my backseat. Why such a random hidden gem? Cuz I'm that cool, okay? We had pillow talk about exes and seemed to be starting something. Yet, I knew the shoot was just around the corner. Because I'm a female and I certainly have a crazy factor to me, a little bit of Facebook creeping revealed his mysterious ex shared the same name as me and attended the same University. A little bit too much of a coincidence for me... But I pushed the eerie fact aside. Upon discussing our next meeting, he revealed that it would again have to be at his house since his car was disabled as part of his legal agreement for his recent DUI. Damn Steph, again? Did you not learn from the guy that begged you to drink 3 glasses of water at a bar so he could pass his breathalyzer? What about the one that was day-drinking since 10 am and refused to take an Uber over driving his truck across three bridges with 17-inch tires? "Shoot," some girls don't learn their lessons.... Exercising forgiveness, I didn’t write him off. Then, he revealed he’s much more of a pot smoker, but since he’s in the military, he goes for things that don’t show up on a drug test. Ignorant when it comes to drugs and their chemical affect and ability to trace on a drug test, I inquired which drugs could he possibly pass a drug test with. "Shrooms and acid," he responded plainly. "I just like to sometimes unwind and not feel something." I have no clue why I didn't "feel something" about that red siren of a statement, but I proceeded with this fling that was guaranteed, in my mind, to be only that. Directly leading up to date number three, we exchanged some flirty texts at work. I'll be candid and reveal that I was the one that rolled the dice and "started it." After all, I like playing the game.... Okay, okay.... when I say flirty, I mean steamy, in the back of a parked car, with Rose’s hand marking through the condensation on the window. Woops? Hey, it made a Monday feel like a Friday in a blink and a wink... or 3. Date three was composed of Buffalo chicken dip with tortilla chips (another crafted after school special) and time enjoying my fan in the heat of the moments. The clock was the only "shoot," because I had to be up at 4 am to leave for my 4th of July trip. In the morning, he gave me a compliment and a coffee to-go. During my trip, he kept his distance aside from leaving a comment on my selfie for my night-out in West Virginia. A simple, "look at you." I didn't really know how to respond, so I sent an emoji. Then, days later after returning and a little radio silence, I landed on the ultimate "shoot." My response was totallyyyyyyyy falsified. Upon reading this, I was hurt, vulnerable, and at a self-esteem All Time Low (no relation to the fabulous punk band). My best friend swooped in and saved the day with advice for my response. Refusing him anymore power, she encouraged me to lie through my teeth and make it seem that not only was I not feeling this interaction either, but I was going to have the decency to end the fling in person. What hurt the most was the fact that a guy with fresh DUI and an avid acid dropper dumped ME! A girl with a great head on her shoulders, a brighter future, mastery cooking skills, treasure chest of jokes, and a heart of the rarest gold couldn't keep a guy like that. But then, it fazed me... What kind of self-deprecating train am I riding that would make me want a guy that admittedly wanted to feel numbness and would go to such great lengths to achieve it? Even though he's the one trippin' acid.... I certainly did my share of trippin' ;) To add insult to injury, he dropped my fan at my front door before I got off work. Now that's something I'm not a fan of... Mr. Shoots and Ladder's dessert is.....Because I'm still a little salty and it can only go up from here....
Look. I can take a joke; my humor can twinkle with Disney princesses and then get grungy with a pinch of raunch in two blinks. Dark humor is sometimes my essence and other times (majority) I'm pun-tastic, but I'm hyper aware of my audience and strive not to offend anyone or cast a tone that would make the environment uncomfortable. I'm sure you're aware and could name a few of these misguided and misplaced jokesters. My two in this case are called Mr. Pull My and Mr. Middle Finger. No, neither of them looked close to this.....so they get no "hott pass."Before you read their messages, a little back story:
Mr. Pull My took something minuscule and blew it out of proportion and then blocked me!Mr. Middle Finger is from Texas.... dammit Stephanie! Can't you leave those Tejas boys alone?Hailing from San Diego, and a little wild, I give you: Mr. Go Diego, Go!This guy was beyond babyface-young. He opened up his mouth and I almost screamed. It wasn't as bad as him sipping on helium, but my voice was significantly deeper than his. As we learned a couple blogs back, Mr. Deserted certainly had a preference with voices and wanted to make sure mine wasn't too low. I never thought of the other way around. The boy was sweet. We started talking with a simple question....that I gave this ravenous response to. The depth of my words kind of poured out of me and I found myself apologizing in the next text. "Sorry, didn't mean to get so deep LOL." He responded with an equally intriguing response and enjoyed my honesty. The paragraphs of conversation continued and we eventually set up a date. I mean who could say no to tacos? Not I. He was from Cali and taught me this California ways. For example, locals never call it Cali. He made San Diego style tacos with fall-apart barbacoa meat. So delicious and tender. Kind of like him. What? LOL who said that? He made margaritas with some bottled mix I've never heard of but it was pretty phenomenal. Did half the mix, and half tequila. Two drinks in and I was feeling pretty great. He revealed he was part of only-child-syndrome and later let slip that he's about to start flight school back up and wasn't sure how much time he would have. Of course, I made mental notes. We also made a rum cake together and told him I'd just retreive my pan next time I saw him. Risky, but playful, I thought. The cake was luscious even though he was a bit of a baby about. "It's really strong," he whined. I rolled my eyes playfully as I knocked my hip into his. "Hey now!" He said flirtily, as he leaned in to kiss me . He took his time when he kissed me; I liked that. He put a movie on that we never watched and I found myself nestled to him in his bed, on top of the covers. "You make me feel... wanted," a statement I relinquished with no struggle. "Well good," he breathed. He started to drift to sleep, so I gathered my things. "Goodnight" he said, as he kissed me. Hardly walking me to the door, I walked 5 blocks to the visitors section of the well-lit parking lot. The song that played on my ride home could not have been more perfect. U2's "still haven't found what I'm looking for" poured over my ears and my recently kissed skin. "Yeah," I thought to myself. Yeah. Taking this dessert to GO. And don't expect to get your pan back....No Instructions needed: I knew what I was getting into trying to talk to a military 22-year-old. Woops.... ;)So, typically these blog posts are about guys that I’ve met and things have seen. Certainly, everyone has their own perspective and perception of how things went, but they’re never embellished or falsified, and obviously I leave out details of the identity of these "misters" that I date. Well, this story is still authentic, it just didn’t happen to me. My friend shared with me because she felt it was worth writing about. This is why I Love non-fiction I'm on a Wayne lyric kick... #sorrynotsorryTo this girl I been talking to this guy for a couple months and please schedule the date. On the night of the date, she receives a call from him in jail. "Hey, I'm to be able to pick you up for our date, because I'm in jail in Wilmington for a DUI." Forgiving and more compassionate than most girls in this predicament, she responded, "Ohh kay... are you okay?" "Yeah, but is there anyway you could pick me up?" From an entire State over, she tracked to pick up the guy she's never met from The Slammer. Talk about a first impression. So, she arrives after packing a lunch and going over the valley and through the woods, and tried to drop him off at his car. That's when he informed her that he didn't have car insurance oh and the little bit about him having his own place is also not as accurate as she would have hoped. He's 47 and still lives with his parents. Womp womp. And now has a DUI that will be on his record forever. AND the date's not over... Her biggest thing is that he lied. She understands if you're down on your luck and you have to live with your parents, then admit that, but don't LIE! As if the events of the story we're not enough, then he tried to make a pass at her in her car and started playing with himself. I'm sorry. What civilized folk whips their dick out on a first date after being released from jail in someone else's car? Keep Willy Wonka in the Chocolate Factory! Oh and he didn't have insurance on their car, so she had to take him to his parents house. I've been through some crazy dates, but this is by far one of the bestttttttHe thinks he's a big dill, but at the end of the day, he's just "a pickle, Rick." 1 1/2 c. all-purpose flour 1 1/2 tsp. baking powder 1/2 tsp. kosher salt 1/2 c. butter, softened 1/2 c. sugar 1/2 c. sour cream 2 eggs 1/4 c. pickle juice 1/4 c. chopped pickles FOR THE FROSTING 1/2 c. butter, softened 8 oz cream cheese, softened 2 c. powdered sugar 3 tbsp. bourbon Pinch salt Pickle slices, for garnish DIRECTIONS
So typically these blog posts are about guys that I've met and things have seen. Certainly, everyone has their own perspective and perception of how things went, but they're never embellished or falsified, and obviously I leave out details of the identity of these "misters" that I date.
Well, this story is still authentic, it just didn't happen to me. My friend shared with me because she felt it was worth writing about. This is why I love non-fiction.... I guess in an extremely confident manner, I had a flaming desire to show him what he wasn't aware he needed..... I shared my -2 vision for settling and positive 1.75 for flying beyond the limits. He shared sparingly. I was ready to cut the frayed losses when he exhibited intelligence. He became intrigued with the honesty in my writing and I laced up my apron. Conditioning began with jumping to digital messages; he wouldn't think twice about my suggestion under altered conditions after the bewitching hour. He layered words appealing to a single girl's ears with honest observations. Although his technique was transparent, my interest had peaked. Lips locked, my rom-com narrator followed me through the steps if 6 through 9. I broke my hard-to-get rules to "live a little." Like I said, there was no step by step for this one, so I flew by the seat of his immature pants. I'm not saying he was young, but I felt young when I was with him. Few and far between since he was transfixed with other flavors; he had to "taste the rainbow." Skittles boy, with no real desire to walk away from the vending machine, still held a sweetness I couldn't resist. I'm not faulting him-- I've been there... Hell, I didn't fumble with change; I had the key. I'm not certain I wanted the vending machine key anymore. He could sense my hankering for junk food was fleeting, so he made sure to convey with explicit reasons, why he needed the rainbow. I'd like to think I could have colored his perception, but deserted desire makes the point moot. So, arguably I was pushed out and and am still taking steps. Ironic that Steph is having trouble stepping away from this one. Meanwhile, row A through D is calling me from my vending machine. One foot. No, no, forward. Don't look down. Put the Candy Crushers out of sight and get back into your own mind. I guess in an extremely confident manner, I had a flaming desire to show him what he wasn't aware he needed. The spontaneity of trips and song lyrics, the Swagger of a frolicker, and the appetite of eviction in all categories.
The painful puns, crescendoing to roof-shaking cackling, and goofy grins shot from all directions with 100% accuracy of hitting its target. The foundation of a female with a campfire heart, crackling with faith and ambition. Open minded ears, empathetic eyes, and a freckled embrace, but those weren't his parts of interest. He dismissed every playful accusation, even though I knew their validity. The chase drove me up a wall and then drove me nowhere at all. There's no pinterest instructions for this DIY. There's an obscene number of married guys that have hit me up both online and in person. My initial reaction was "what kind of girl do you think I am?" But then, I was overcome with grief and disgust of the type of man they are.... and his wife probably doesn't know the degree of his questionable character.The amount of emotional havoc a person inflicts on their partner is colossal. I wish they would be reminded of that before they cheat....A wedding is the ideal place to reflect on your current relationship, or lack of one. The best part is, this reflection is usually 100% unintentional and subconsciously sneaks in. This was certainly the case at the 3rd wedding I've been to this year, also being in Texas (first in Fort Worth, second Dallas, and third Austin). This realization of my singleness, was overcast by disappointment in the overwhelming number of disloyal people. We've all had someone we were committed to step out on us with someone else (I'm certain) but, the emotional cheating and constant lusting toward new faces is uncanny. At this beautiful wedding in hill country that my sister and I attended, was gushing with married or taken guys that continued to gravitate their eyes toward us. I'm not talking just a gentle smile or quick glance, I'm talking full-on stare! My sister pointed two out to me, as I pointed out another to her. Rings fastened on their left hand couldn't fasten their eyes to the person with the matching metal. I know there's a couple ways this could be interpreted:
I don't think it's "Disney of me" to believe a man can be faithful or a woman can be faitful if they are in love and down-right committed. My heart of hearts believes if you love someone, truly love someone, it's almost as if the other sex becomes less inticing. Sure, six-pack abs are alluring and guys' or even girls' eyes may wander to a pair of double-d's but, their heart and attention belongs to their person in this crummy little world. Although I have quite the dating record and I've earned the reputation of being a bit of a player, once love is on the table, there's no room for any other games or players. Put the CandyLand away. The last, and only time I've been in love, was to a man I couldn't have even fantasized of being with someone else. I was so taken with him and was prepared to give up everything for him-- hell, I practically did! I know loyalty wasn't even a question with him, nor was it for me. And I know I have a tendency to be quite naive, but it's the God's honest truth. Tat's why it's so heartbreaking to see these guys in committed relationships looking for more. The point of being in love, is to look no further. So get off your lustful ass and find your one and only and stop trying to have your cake and eat it too! Find Your Cherry On Top..... and if you're married, you should've already found em2 cans Crescent Rolls
8 oz softened Cream Cheese 21 oz Cherry Pie Filling 1/2 cup Sugar 1 tsp Vanilla 1 cup Powdered Sugar 1 tbsp Milk Preheat oven to 350. Beat creamy cheese with sugar and vanilla until fluffy. Unroll crescent dough and separate. On a pizza pan place triangles overlapping with long pointed ends outward. So that there is about a 6″ circle left in the middle of the pan. Spread cherries over the lapped dough area. Spread dollops of cream cheese mixture over the cherry filling. Fold pointed ends of crescents over the filling and pinch into lapped dough to seal. Bake for 18-20 minutes or until golden brown. Mix Powdered sugar and milk until smooth glaze forms. Drizzle glaze over left-finger dazzling ring. https://cincyshopper.com/cherry-cream-cheese-crescent-ring/ You're unbee-lievable; every spoken word, a sting.
Your presence is a constant buzzing. Yellow Jacket edge with peripheral admiration. Flashes of freedom with wings of resistance. Pollinating my schedule as you please, you create your own fragrance. After combing through your expressions of affection, I've rejected your honey as worthy. So share your sap with someone else! |
AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
April 2022
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