So, I don't have any dates .....to report since I've genuinely been dating myself (music festivals, craft beer, diy fashion, beignets.... there's no cap to the sweetness), but I have some pretty entertaining conversations to share over the next couple posts..... Of course this boy met the first requirement of having blazing blue eyes. He kicked things off in a flirty manner, with sexual undertones, naturally. He was quite beautiful, yet quite aware of that surface beauty. He sent me 14 pictures, all selfies of himself in different poses and shirtless. Sure, to many, this may be a dream but all I could think was.... gosh I hope he's not on some strict diet, burgers and fries are a delicacy for me.
The more words that were exchanged, the less interested I became. This boy was dense as a sack of bricks. My vocabulary is not complex, yet he kept questioning words I was asking. He needed clarification for practically everything! I felt like I was tutoring again. Then, he sent me a picture that wasn't in the Inbox, so it was a live one that you had to click out of to make it disappear. Instantly, the anticipation of a dreaded dick pic consumed me. For hours, I never opened it. Turned out, it was just another harmless selfie..... It was quite liberating for me to walk away from a guy with washboard abs. This total babe was built like a brick house with a box of matches and armful of candles for electricity; at first thought, that seems romantic, but the wick will burn out. I walked away because I wasn't interested, not because he thought I wasn't enough physically or quite literally too much physically since he had polished six pack. But, he was less than suave and then unfriended me!
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Seasons fade, as do emotions,
No need to allude devotions. Preying on practicability Prudent legs: swift mobility. Steps are strings hitting the chord Risks are more than can afford Silly boy, don't let words walk. At closing there will be no shock. For words are weary woven webs: This non-poisonous spider's already dead. Terk says it best, Dates and Cakes OFFICIALLY has a vlog! Not only do you continue to receive outlandish but non-fiction dating stories from the bubbly, punny, and gutsy gypsy, BUT you get to see her live and in color with all her hand gestures, eye rolls, and cackles (at her own jokes) free of charge! This Youtube thing is certainly a learn-as-you-go kind of thing because although my year of birth classifies me as a Millennial..... technology isn't my go to. Actually, this blog started out as scribbles in journals. Yes, red margin, black lined journals; bounded with potential for venting, humor and self-actualization. I know presently, it's a trendy thing to say you're "an old soul" but... I still write friends letters or thank you notes by hand and write 90% of my poetry with a swift pen to paper motion. Okay fine-- sometimes I use thin markers because I want to really capture imagery in a certain piece.... but you get my jest. And I think spending time away from a screen gives you zest you may have been missing from your life (as a text notification blinks like grandma's blinker she was unaware has been clicking for 3 intersections now). So, you may have heard of "please excuse my dear aunt sally" in math for order of operations, but since I'm notorious for spicing or sugaring things up, I'm going to ask you to excuse your dear Steph for her poor editing skills. The videos may seem a little chop-suey.... because they are. I'm sure I'll get better if I just believe! But I'm striving to record each one as natural as possible so it enhances the genuine factor. This world is polluted with edited moments, faces, and perceptions, so I refuse to add to it. As always, these will continue to be about actual dates that happened to me or in the rare occasion, a friend shares a wild date. I know what you're thinking, "Steph could never pull off being a blonde." WELL YOU KNOW WHAT!?! You're right.
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.Remember my emphasis on how small of a town Pensacola is? Remember Mr. Roadtrip Rascal? Well, he's back. In Black and sloshed. While enjoying the tipsy 2 o'clock hour, at Seville, the only club in the whole panhandle (okay, I'm slightly exaggerating) someone lanky and completely out of control of their muscular system came into my view. Oh. My. Gosh. It's the dude I went to New Orleans with, Mr. Roadtrip Rascal himself. I don't know what was the most entertaining about this encounter:
"Roadtrip Rascal," I called. "Oh, hey," as he imposed the most uncomfortable hug of my life. "You ignored my wave." Again, ignoring me, he walked away. He not only responded to my text from a week ago, but he had the audacity to drunk dial me. CURVE. curve No dessert necessary.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. This lovely story takes place on the night of one of my good friend's weddings in the heart I'm downtown Dallas. Dolled up at the Renaissance Hotel, I had a run-in with the officiator of this wedding after he was incredibly intoxicated. Hey, an open bar at a Mexican wedding, don't think I'm faulting him. They sure knew how to throw a party! The bride looked beautiful (and not because I'm biased) and there was hours of great dancing music of multiple languages for her and her dance-hungry guests to indulge in. This lad, because I have no other name for him at this point, went to the same high school as the bride and I, our sisters spent time at each other's houses frequently, and we hung out on a boat trip a couple years ago with the now bride and groom. If that's not enough to at least remember who a person is, then there's no point. Unfortunately, true as it may be, I had a crush on this lad in high school. He was kind of popular, and pretty darn handsome for a senior in high school. Rumor had it, he was quite the man whore, so I steered clear. Not that I really was in the same league as him that time and day anyway. My choir-nerd-self was completely content with being single, working as a Vice President of choir, and the American Sign Language Club. We were incredibly flirting on the boating trip, but I knew that was just how he was. I had no desire to pursue anything with this lad, but I at least knew who it was, by first and last name. >>>>>Fast forward to this wedding, and he suavely tried to spark up a conversation by addressing me as "Cheryl," in confidence with a wink. I thought for sure he was kidding. He was not. I let him have it in front of all his friends. "How much of a hoe are you that you can't remember someone's name that you went to school with, you dropped off your sister at her sister's house all the time and I was the one to answer the door, and the boating trip a couple years ago..." He cut me off and pointed to his military uniform. "I've had one too many hits in the head. You can expect me to remember your name." "Oh can't I? Have a good night Robert." I used to last name as well in a condescending tone. Some of his friends, other groomsmen in the wedding, spatted, "ohhhhhhh!" While I strutted my way back to my place on the dance floor with Spanish reggaeton playing. Whoever said people don't change need to be more specific. The person can sure as hell digress. I'm not the greatest with names, so when I mess up (naturally) I at least own up to it and wouldn't use my job as an excuse. ESPECIALLY when I know for a fact, he enlisted as a last resort. Cool bro. Have a good life. He's beyond last season-- he's two seasons ago, like pumpkin cookies in spring. Stephanie's taste in high school was certainly just another thing I grew out of.
Directions:
Since dating in Dallas, Charleston, and Spain didn't seem to be enough, here I am in Pensacola out and about to see their dating pool.... I was surrounded by options! So many so that I felt it necessary to compare them to the Brady Bunch for illustration purposes of these squares. WHAT-- who said that?! Not all of them were squares.....Warning: If you're easily offended, you should read no further in this post or my blog. This is a place of raw material, thoughts, and reactions. It's not of condescending nature where I believe I am above any of the "misters" portrayed honestly in these posts, it is simply my encounters with single men and my opinions on the events to follow. You have been warned ;)) Setting: A warm April night in Pensacola, Florida at the only club in the 22 square miles of the city In case my confidence was lacking, this third night in the newest city I call home, I had encounters with 9 guys in one club. Fewf, I'm exhausted just thinking about it. RingoSeated on the fountain on the back patio of the bar, Missing a tooth on his left side of his mouth, his edgy haircut is what lured me in. No visible tattoos, but a half buzzed, half combed over style of his thick brown hair fell gently into his left hazel eye. While my drunk best friend was pleading for me to come inside, I persisted that I wanted to meander by the fountain. She seated me next to this "Mr. Ringo" and walked away. Laughing at the awkward situation, I sparked conversation and did strive to learn just how edgy he was. He's from Nola. DING DING DING, we have a winner. A couple other things were intriguing.... Surprisingly he opened up to me about his two kids as that his ex wife and him are on good terms, but she got remarried today. It wasn't until after he got my phone number and I was walking away with my best friend that she pointed out his wedding ring on his right hand instead of his left. Since that was something I didn't check, I concocted the perfect nickname: Ring-o because he left his "band" at home. Get it? A stretch, I know but, I'll take a Beatles reference any chance I get! After moving from the fountain into the dance floor section of the bar, I ran into Mr. Cuddly. Mr. CuddlyLooking like a fuzzy, teddy bear, I caught his eye as I descended the three steps onto the dance floor as he caught my hand. Turning to see who dared to disturb my swagger.
"He's ugly and you don't need to be talking to him," she slurred. "Girl, he was just being nice. I don't think he's bad-looking." Rolling her eyes, she pulled me to the dance floor. "You need to work on your self-esteem, honey." "But, he just boosted it..." She shook her head as her hips soon matched the rhythm. That was when I felt someone grinding on me. I kept inching forward until I heard a voice from behind me. Mr. Sleuth and Stand BehindTurning to see a sandy blonde haired guy matching my height with blue eyes and a drunk glaze. "Oh, you don't want to dance?" Thinking what the hell, since he was pretty damn attractive, I began recharging my hips and danced to the Neyo song playing with this stranger. Two songs later, he informed me he was going to get another beer. Didn't care to offer to fill one of my hands with a drink, so I continued dancing with little regard for his return. Mr. Hipster GlassesOutgoing and confident, tall dark and handsome Mr. Hipster Glasses complimented my dancing as he grabbed my hand to give me a twirl. Instantly spinning me into a brunette bearded man, he introduced as his friend. Bashfully smiling at me, I knew the wing-man protocol and wasn't upset at the set up. Mr. Bearded Bottom BreadBefore I knew it, Mr. Bearded Bottom Bread had his pale hand on my right hip and his wing-man friend with the hipster glasses danced in front of me. We created quite the colorful sandwich with a seemingly rye bread on top, a freckled pepper jack cheese gal in the middle (I'm spicy, so this metaphor works ;), and a whole oat bearded slice at the bottom. I can't remember the song we were dancing to, but we were jamming!! Two songs later is when Mr. Sleuth and Stand Behind returned with his one beer. He was drenched in a "what the fuck" expression and all I could do was smile. Then, I shrugged a "happens" expression back to him and continued dancing in my man sandwich. I don't know how this delicatessen creation ended, but it did and I was found dancing next to my best friend again. Looking less than thrilled I tried talking to her over the blaring music, but she didn't entertain it. Shrugging that off too, I continued dancing alone until the next fellow came along.
Mr. "Is that your friend? I'd rather dance with you anyway"
Mr. High and TightThis guy, aside from the first one mentioned on this night is the only one to request my contact information. Instantly Snapchat friends, he danced with me several songs before waving me toward the VIP section. It was evident this was no Dallas club, because the VIP section was two steps up from the dance floor, but, it was something I'd never been invited to in Dallas, so you bet my southern-ass indulged! Mr. VIPHis friends were technically the ones to invite me up to their velvet-roped section, but once up there, he introduced himself with a smile that could melt an iceberg. He had a hawk of a girl with an ass .... well, fatter than mine, there was no WAY (Jose) that I was getting within a 2 feet radius with him. I wished him happy birthday though and sure enjoyed the free bottle service. I danced with 9 guys and a bitch ain't one!Since this night was POPPIN', I made Brady Bunch Caramel Popcorn (1974 recipe) for this loaded post.2 14oz packs of caramel squares
1/2 C butter 1 tsp cinnamon 8 C popped corn
https://www.metv.com/lists/would-you-eat-any-of-these-vintage-brady-bunch-popcorn-recipes One thing that happens quite a big with guys following your social media account that are essentially strangers, is the assumptions they make.
I've certainly learned to take these assumptions with a grain of salt, some of them are insulting, but now I just find them humorous and ignorant. The latest and greatest was not degrading, thank goodness, but was an assumption that was certainly a first. After I returned to the States from Spain, I posted some of my usual selfies, and received a couple compliments from a guy I used to talk to solely on Snapchat when I lived in South Carolina. This lad, struck up a flirty conversation, no different from interactions with him; he teased about how he would love to take me on a date if I lived in South Carolina. Well, at this point anyone that knows me, distance isn't an end-all-be-all.
So, naturally, I responded with, pick a place and we can meet there. He took this to mean that I was going to buy his ticket, I assume the accommodations, and possibly whatever we were to do together... I'm sorry what? Aren't you the guy? More time what?. He said, "you would have to get me or something to that effect." My response was: I'm not made of money. I'm unemployed. And it's like that was the most shocking thing I could have ever said. "Then how are you traveling all over the world?" I almost didn't respond. I was in awe. How many people have drawn this conclusion? I'm not some fortunate little white girl that took a break from real life on Daddy's credit card. I worked my ass off. I worked at least two to three jobs at a time, long nights, on calls, difficult requirements, I made sacrifices. I Double coupons, I said no to brunch and outings and reservations. I shopped second hand or not at all. I wore clothes until they went out of style and back in style again. I brought my lunch to work. I mean the list is endless. But what I did not do is take a break from life because it was handed to me or because I just have it like that. Anything you want in life, for the most part, is obtainable, it just takes a hell of a lot of work to get it. And most people aren't willing to make the sacrifices to do it. To get a job that's going to allow you to have the time off, or be willing to let go of said job to give yourself the time off. To forfeit concerts and music festivals and road trips. To change clothes in the car leaving one shift to start another ... the American dream is whatever you want it to be. And one thing I learned by going abroad was life becomes what you value and what you set as a priority. If money, in any currency is it, then work will obtain, train, and own you. But if adventure, self-discovery, creating your purpose, is it, then you work with your dreams instead of for someone else's specifically the person that hired you. I'm not trying to be dramatic or overzealous or snooty or however this can come off through these written words. I'm just trying to say that enjoying what you wanted as a reality is so much sweeter when it is the fruition of Blood Sweat and Tears that you did with a Little Help from your friends. Anyone in my close tribe of Warriors, knows that. And they all would find it hysterical for someone to think I had Daddy's Money to be able to do anything my soul truly desired. Some people have that luxury and good for them I hope that they fully appreciate and soak up the opportunities that presents, but for those of us that have two hustle with arm muscle, I salute to that! Also, any guy is tripping to think that I would bring him on a trip before any of my besties. Those girls work so freaking hard and are there on the clock. So if I were to take anyone with me he would certainly have to get in line. My best friend just started a blog, just finished an internship that was full time for free, is working 40 hours at management level in what she's held that position for over 5 years, and started a new position which is emotionally taxing at least 20 hours of week that will continue to build. Not to mention, she has a boyfriend and two cats at home. My sister, lives in her dream city, with a best friend at home, two dogs, a full-time job she is held for over 4 years and it's quite prestigious, and a part-time job enhancing her skills as a sign language interpreter, while studying and preparing for the state sign language licensure exam. My previous boss is a single mother of two boys that are both heavily involved in extra curricular activities. Her support for them in every imaginable way, contributes to their extreme success and potential scholarships. Not to mention she is the executive director of an agency to serve adults and children with special needs, rescued two abused dogs, and is one of the greatest friends any person could ask for. You would never guess their pages from reading the cover. |
AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
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