Through the progression of this blog, I have slowly gathered the courage to stand up to people (not solely guys) that have treated me poorly. I have come to the conclusion that I deserve to be treated like a human; that's all that I ask. Respect needs to be earned but, since I am innately a human, being treated inhumanely is unacceptable.
Those that are supposed to offer unconditional concern often shoot betrayal from their fingertips as snares dangle from their earlobes. Such medieval imagery leaves little hope for complete strangers. How could a new face and new name combat such an evil expectation? It only takes one time to touch a hot element before thinking twice, given another chance. But where does this leave you? Feeling with fear first, and then tiptoeing around life with the leftover emotions? What about feeling sand between your toes, hearing a baby's giggle, or seeing a puppy smile? You have to leave the tiptoeing for ballet and prance into opportunities outside of the studio. It took me until I crossed Atlantic on Christmas Eve night to unfriend a combination of friends, acquaintances, and scrub-a-dubdubs that deemed less than worthy of my effort. Cleaning house is more than just a literal expression for the spring time. I unfriended 10 people and quite frankly, wish I would have done so sooner. A day will always consist of 24 hours (unless you're changing time zones of course, which in my Euro Trip #2, I did so 4 times). Don't. Waste. A. Minute. I won't bore you with all ten, but here is one that we were quite friendly and it looked quite promising for us to go out, but then he stood me up. GHOST the night we were supposed to go out in downtown Dallas. It was already going to be an hour drive, but I felt he was worth that.... he obviously did not feel the same. Although most girls (or guys in this situation) would have removed this person from their phone and their hope chest, I for some reason unbeknownst to me, did not. I must admit, I got a little snappy, but.... one couldn't argue I didn't fight fear to confront the inconsiderate slime.
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After beaching, dating, and dancing through Charleston for 2 years, I returned for a southern bite of glory.They say, "if you can't stand the heat, get out the kitchen," but what about the bar? At the strike of happy hour, I made my way down the notorious "King St." It is the "6th Street," "Bourbon Street," "Clark Street," or "Broadway" of Charleston. Blurry memories, minimal clothing, lust-on-the-menu is the kind of scene to expect. I had a .... friend we'll call him "on his way" from the coun-try in 5 o'clock traffic, so naturally, I made my way down King St. to spot a happy hour special. Honestly, it was one of only a handful of times I had seen the street during daylight. #noshameinmygame I made my way into a bar that had been redone at the end of my Charleston residence in 2018. I found a bar stool at the bar, like a dozen overplayed country songs, and ordered the first fresh cocktail off the menu, a whopping $6 on special. Parched from the humidity beyond the tinted windows, I downed the drink in 3 large gulps. Since I'm not much of a spotlight girl (anymore ;), I didn't wave over the bartender. Casually sitting there in a little black dress with sleeves cut out, revealing my wealth of freckles, I gazed at the drinkers to my left and right. Interrupting my thoughts, the bartender's voice bellowed, "Damn! That's impressive. Do you want another?" Smiling at the comment (since I wasn't close to "trying" since I, myself didn't take notice to the bartender) I replied nonchalantly, "Well.... I was thirsty." Beaming, he inquired how I was doing and if I wanted him to create one of his new cocktails. After tiny talk (far inferior to small talk) I agreed eagerly to try his new concoction. As he plucked mint leaves and mixed liquors, I noticed his white teeth when he smiled and the intent in his eyes when he spoke to customers. I also took notice of the guy to my right, buying a drink to the girl on his other side with a pear-shaped diamond on her left hand. Again, my thoughts were interrupted by this Mr. Woolfe, that introduced himself as a different name. I know I was "just a girl at a bar" but, he saw me.... and I guess I'm not used to being seen. Again, thirsty as an elephant at the watering hole, I downed the second cocktail in a matter of 2 minutes. "Good God! I can't get over you," he spat. Feeling my face turn the color of the drink, resting directly in front of my dominant hand before being emptied, I batted my eyes and smirked. He proceeded to make me ANOTHER original cocktail, also not even on the menu. Just as I finished the third, it was apparent a shift change was in order. I tried to give my card so I could close out with him and he waved the second two cocktails. Flattered and not the least bit flustered, I leaned over the bar and heard myself say, "I know girls offer you drinks all the time, but have you ever had someone offer to buy you buffalo cheese curds?" A smile covered his face as his thin lips motioned, "I'll meet you at the front door." SKURT. What just happened? Do I have game like Jordan? Did I just ask a hott bartender out? SHOCKED. Wait a minute.... did he just say yes?!?! AGAIN, he interrupted my thoughts by walking beside me to the social club. Then, after discovering they discontinued the melty, cheesy, goodness, he introduced me to a sour ipa that wasn't in the least bit hoppy. Impressed already, we began reading each other's story. I knew then I was in trouble.... He revealed he was:
I bought the two beers and his shot of fireball and apologized for the disappointment of the spicy cheese curds. He laughed and expressed appreciation for the drinks. He leaned in as he told me about his album he's about to release and how he's a punk rock guy at heart. He revealed Wolfe was his stage name and he tries to keep it separate from work present day because he doesn't want to "make it big." His street sign should have been "desire." |
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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