We all know immediately following a second chance, that person is on their catholic school's BEST behavior. Mr. Hook was minding his P's Q's LMNO's ...the whole alphabet soup.Plainly, I'm too exasberated to recall the "good things" Mr. Hook did and feelings he evoked. Hook yourself a bag of popcorn and sink down into a beanbag chair for this spin of events. He "made it up" to me (still not sure if that is all he made up) by recreating our skype movie date complete with date attire and an energy drink in hand (since he works nights, he wanted to ensure he was engaged and alert in our afternoon date). Things continued as they were before the first date disappointment and possibly were even better. What makes me say that? As illustrated by Dates N. Cakes: Laughing I said, "yeah when he was my man." "I wish you would let me be your man." "Pshh, you said you wanted to wait until we meet in person." "I mean... I thought that's what you wanted. I was trying to read you; I know what I want." {nothing sexier than when a man knows what he wants.... okay I could think of a handful of things ;))} "Well...." I smiled. "There's only one way to find out..." "Stephanie?" "Hook?" "Stephanie?" "Yes?" "Will you... be my girlfriend?" Could barely keep a smile from my thin lips when they formed the word "Yes." We continued in a long-distance relationship for 3 daysThe Tuesday [before it went down], we had a LONNNGGGGGG talk in which he stated he was in this for the long-term. He even called ME OUT when I questioned his intentions claiming I was deflecting. I agreed. Hey! I appreciate when people call a spade a spade. Not to mention, it's kind of a turn-on when guys do it to me... ;) As the 6 hour conversation into the night continued, he mentioned the word "marriage." Like 96.821% of females, that word stops us in our tracks. Even though, presently, I'm not even sure if I want that anymore, I pushed it aside nervously. Remembering how pivotal honest intentions and trust is to Mr. Hook, I revealed a secret about myself that I wasn't quite ready for. Upon hearing this news, he uttered, "I have to marry ya now." He said a variation of this phrase again and then we engaged in certain relations... ;) It played out like this after I called him 3 times in a drunken daze missing my "babe." He answered in a groggy phase, even though on the REGULAR, I stayed up with him until 6 or 7 am my time, talking and enjoying every moment...which I must have mistaken as mutual. I told him I missed him, naturally since I assumed it is a safe space when you're official with someone. I was officially wrong. He said he was stressed about his failing grade in school and an upcoming exam on Tuesday. So, I suggested we chill until then and he snapped with, "Well, I'll have another after that. I'll continue with them until June." "But June is when you leave California..." My voice trailed as I could feel the distance in his voice. He said nothing. "What are we gonna do?" I whispered as I rolled over in the full sized bed, 2 time-zones away from his. I don't remember his tone, I just remember that I pressed on. "What do you--- I thought you wanted this." "I wanted this, but I want my career more." The past tense in his weak word choice triggered tears. "But you knew this before you started this..." "I really have to get my grade up and pass these and between school and my friends I just..." Sobbing was all I could release. His end of the phone was silent. I think what hurt the most was how little he cared in this moment, but had no problem ordering handcuffs for us to use, conveniently pinning the "m word" (marriage, marry, m'nms) on me as a manipulative trick I've now experienced 7 times (from 7 different dudes that obviously didn't step to back up their little words), and dismissed anything we were or exchanged before. "I don't think it would be fair to you..." he said halfheartedly. How do I convey the rage building? The betrayal and abandonment AGAIN? Genie, take it away:
"I guess so," he said. "Can I call you tomorrow or something?" "I don't get the point." I said in deep devastation.
Have I learned NOTHING in my datesandcakes history? Guh, you bet your sweet pippy that there is gonna be an explosive vlog about this.... stay tuned ;)
0 Comments
Excuse me for still riding the high of National Woman's month... or don't. "Quite frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."The atrocious "isms" are everywhere: racism, sexism, ageism, alcoholism, ableism, classism, prism... wait, that's just a shape-- I mean not JUST a shape. All shapes matter. This post is specific to the ism I have most expertise on... after all, I have been a woman my whole life.... I "have personally felt victimized by Regina Gorge." Okay, maybe not, but I have without a doubt felt utter disdain in my bones for guys that have even joked "make me a sandwich." Oh, I'll show you the dark side... of my trunk....while you're wrapped in tarp. #earlhadtodieAs IF a kitchen is or has been the only place a woman belongs in the past 80 years! Let that sink in. Longer than most of your grandparents have been alive. So here is a beloved vlog about flipping the script. Unfortunately, I couldn't do so in the US of A, so here is a true story from Iceland just before this pandemic banned our travel :) The Nola Series Continues.....So, while living in Pensacola, the city I've hated living 2nd to Greenville, North Carolina, I met a New Orleans native that I dated for half the time I lived there. Gosh, he was the sweetest, so naturally, I had to give him a ring when we went to our home! He was able to finagle things with his job and Florida life and drove the 3 hours down highway 10 to party it up on Frenchman Street! (THE place to drink and hear any genre of music imaginable) Here's the 4-1-1 on the back story of how Mr. Ringo came to be.... and a semi-funny meme, since I couldn't find a Parent Trap meme with Merideth Blake saying, "Here's the 4-1-1." Well, this sweet Mr. Ringo strolled The Marigny with a hobbling girl that moved away. We were in our element! He showed me all his spots when he lived there 2 years prior and found me a club with ratchet hip hop, per request. I got so down to the music that a guy pulled out his phone (in the most discrete manner, flash blinding) and videoed the stanky leg with two broken toes. DON'T STOP ME NOW. I'M HAVING SUCH A GOOD TIME. I'M HAVING A BALL. There was this blonde dude-bro that was at least 4 years younger than me watching intently. He looked like a school-yard boy waiting to jump into double dutch. He made his move before Christmas and I was elated while grinding to Ludacris. While feeling the emotions, among other things, I felt eyes on me when Mr. Ringo walked back up. Guilt swept over me. Even though nothing was stated about rekindling anything, he was a complete and utter gentleman and I still felt guilty. I don't know if the guilt would have subsided if a girl would have danced with him (even though he "doesn't dance"). The words of another guy before him rang in my ears while putting my weight on the foot in a right Van shoe. Mr. Publisher wrote words that I didn't believe when he bitterly spat them via internet forum but they rose to the top of my liquored mind (in which he bought some of the drinks...yes, I'm the worst BUT, he was staying with me BUT he came to SEE ME). I lose. So, in this moment in my favorite American city, I believed the words that publisher wrote about me... something to the affect of: she's the reason there's not any good guys left. Now, I do not take responsibility for ALL the good guys converting to scum-between-my-toes but, I do feel for the good guys that I.... well are no longer taken with. I don't do it on purpose... just as I assume guys that were never intrigued long enough with me didn't fall off to spite me. Well, this Mr. Ringo is a gentleman, loving father, and generous person with a colossal heart. It meant more to me than I let on that he came to visit me... I have family that wouldn't spend time with me and I WAS IN THEIR ZIPCODE. I made breakfast and we had some of the most comfortable conversation of my life and then, like a pound of maple bacon, he was gone. I tried to see if we could meet up for Mardi Gras but, to no avail. I truly wish him the best and hope to still frolic our city together. Then again, I also understand if he chooses not too; I've been on that side of the equation as well. Ah, the legendary Rock N Bowl. My mother and her brothers (uncles, obviously... thank you "Genealogy for Dummies") went to "gramma school" with the owner. This actually came in handy when they were cash ONLY for Zydeco night and I was $3 short. I named dropped like a recent grad at an interview and was excused the remaining total. I hobbled my way into the bowling alley across an open space of hardwood floors where Cajuns where jigging in every which direction. The music even smelled of this great city. I am not really sure what that means but gosh, it was a lively scene. Unlike any other dance hall I'd been to.... and I've been to Billy Bob's and Florabama more times than I can count. After securing a cold Budlight in my hand #ballingonabudget, I watched the feet of the colorful enthusiasts spinning and bouncing with jubilee. The washboard was almost hypnotizing. Gosh, that sounds like a Tide commercial. X) A vibrant hippie was stepping to Zydeco alone so I joined her. "Hey! Can you teach me?" "Honey, we can learn together!" After giving it a go with a clomp clomp clomp (still in the boot), a studious, yet big-headed bald guy flashed me a smile and asked me dance. Rolling my eyes inside, I was in no position to turn him down; my desire to learn exceeded my distaste for cocky males. After cheap conversation and obvious judgement of my dancing, the second song ended and he made his way to a thin blonde with evident Zydeco experience. After returning to my new hippie friend, we danced the night away with no remorse for butchering the dance of this great city. There wasn't a day that didn't pass during my dog-sitting days that I didn't find some vibrant thing to do. Since I've bled black and gold since birth, I figured why not try my hand at a saints game. The dome really is home. <3I saw the man of my dreams on the field.... Mr. Reggie Bush, accepting an award... he's a winner but, he's a real player ;)
If you can believe it... I've got one more NOLA post in me. I thought it was the times |
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
Categories
All
|