I give you the animated world of Steph's dating in her premiere post of Dates and Cakes Blog.
0 Comments
Depths of blue eyes, I breathed. Haven’t I been here before, I thought to myself. Yes, but not with this particular pair. Not like this. He was a roommate of an ex (ages ago) that I never really thought twice about. Married and grinding away at this thing called life in the state I left behind, he only crossed my mind when he crossed my Snapchat. Mr. Blade, we’ll call him, because he had the potential to cut right through me, was always the flirty type. He began with jovial jousting of words and smiles were exchanged, along with quick-witted responses. A common love of traveling was revealed and then a suggestion of visiting each other’s town: mine, a quiet beach town with a twang and his, a Hispanic city of significance with culture to match. “Yeah, you and your wife are welcome to crash on the futon,” I typed. “Oh Steph, we’ve been divorced for 2 years now,” he typed back. In a mischievous manner, I was relieved, but shared a response of empathy, to which he dispelled immediately. “Shit happens.” Not the sharing or feeling type… I have been here before. The walkway to his apartment was lit with string lights over artificial grass. He guided me through the countless gates of security and illuminated the elevator button for second floor from the top. His front door too was opened with an electric chip. Guiding me through his modern palace, I felt his cold eyes on my skin, as my eyes wandered the different rooms and patches of decor. As we drifted into the kitchen, he breathed something coy and as I fired back, he lifted me onto the granite island. “Time to address this tension,” he smirked. Completely unaware that there was enough tension to address, I cackled as he brushed my unruly bangs out of my emerald eyes. His lips pressed hard against mine and he gripped the back of my curly head. Hard-pressed to reject an invitation for adventure, I kissed back. The fingers to my left hand lightly massaged the back of his blonde hair, while my right hand clutched his bicep. Breathing heavily after several, several moments, he inquired of my appetite for something other than him. Chuckling, I put my freckled hand in his as we strolled alongside the river to a fabulous Mexican restaurant. The date was everything a date should be: great ambiance, warm company, and chivalry galore. From pulling out my chair upon arriving at our teal table and crimson chairs, to planning a drive-by-viewing of a plate I thought looked dreamy, to paying, he was a gentleman. He even entertained my request for photography reinforcements. Instead of exploring the city, as expected, he lead me back to his security-clearance apartment. It's as if we picked up where we left off on the granite counter top, but this setting was a bit more comfortable. While kissing on his Tempur-Pedic bed, he kept moving my "wispy" hair in-between nips at my fair neck. Uttering the words I loathe, I closed my eyes so he couldn't see them roll. "I want you so bad" ricocheted off the walls of my cranium. Again, again, again, I thought. But then his blue eyes broke my train of thought. His kissing slowed and his gaze lengthened. He looked at me-- really saw me and I sighed. I felt like we stayed in that moment. It was our moment and I was captivated. Almost paralyzed with lust, I almost buckled, like my knees would have if we were standing. He's everything. This is right. Maybe if I just..... but my self-discipline hijacked the whimsical soundtrack. You know how this ends; you have been here before with these blue-eyed beauties. I pulled away in more ways than one and partook in another form. After recovery, he caressed me and slept skin-to-skin. Sweating from the blue-eyed furnace against me, I smiled even in my absence of sleep. The next morning, he surprised me with kisses throughout the day between flashes of his baby blues. When the chance to venture into the city presented itself, he caressed me and were back into a spiral of seduction. Passionate, but patient, we kissed with intent. Tugging at my high-waisted shorts, I sheepishly revealed the presence of "mother nature." Displeased, he suggested a towel. I scoffed, "this is like our first time hanging out- hanging out." "We've known each other for years..." "Yeah, but even if I wasn't on my period, I still probably wouldn't." I knew that was possibly a declaration of war, but I was tired of being the casualty of every "connection" I misread for something more. Naturally, he played it cool and offered a shower option. I considered it, but again, the emotions taunted me. I couldn't afford to relinquish that kind of control when I was still rebuilding. I caught glimpse of those eyes and his smile coaxed continuation of kisses. They weren't soft, but steamy. They beckoned more as his body tensed beneath me. I complied as whispers of my name filled the air. I longed for that feeling, but swallowed it. We laid there staring at the ceiling as I hinted at his earlier proposal of the shower. "I could be up for that," he uttered, motionless. He laid there while my patience and ability to hold my tongue dissipated. My next hint was as subtle as Christmas lights in January, yet his only advancement was towards his phone. WOW. I laid there fuming. Thank God I was on my period. Thank God I didn't allow his blue eyes to cut right through me.... completely. Knowing this wasn't a trip to earn a boyfriend, it also wasn't a trip I thought I'd be in his bed. My naive heart read more of a friendly vibe that maybe would turn into a drunken make-out but not this. Not a selfish repeat of a previous encounter(s). I grabbed my phone to pacify my climbing rage. He made attempts at conversation while I offered a cold, freckled shoulder. Precise responses sprinkled with a pleasant front, were served to him luke-warm before inquiring about dinner plans. He suggested a burger place and a genuine smile returned to my face. As I rode shotgun like a dog in a country song, my restraint to hold my tongue disappeared. "You know, I thought you were different, but you turned out to be like everybody else. I'm so much more than a good lay... it's so exhausting." Yup. I actually told the man driving me around and sharing his bed with me that he was like everybody else. Like Gretchen Weiners, I had cracked. Practically speechless, Mr. Blade sputtered, "more than a good lay?" Laughing in my head that those words left my lips, I shrugged my shoulders and nodded with a smirk the size of the state of Texas. After what I'd been through in Pensacola, I vowed to no longer tolerate belittling and manipulation. If things aren't in my best interest, I'm probably going to take "two steps to the left and then take it back now y'all. Chacha real smooth..." Needless to say, the blue-eyed Mr. Blade bid his time. We made conversation like strangers at a bar while stuffing branded burgers into our mouths. When we returned to the near penthouse apartment, I voiced frustration with his failure to follow through with his suggestion for shower play, because at this point, I was in competition mode. This attempt again supported my claim that he was like everybody else. I felt like an unattended Halloween bowl of candy with a sign reading, "please take only two." EMPTY. Many of the guys I've talked to belong in the sea because they are Sel-fish. When you have to take care of yourself anyways, it makes even the brightest of blues seem dim. Sigh. So I bought myself a drink at a bar on the river, had a ball fighting Tropical Depression Imelda back to his gated, guarded, locked-down apartment... much like something else alluded to here... After ringing myself out, I offered to sleep on the couch and Mr. Blade declined. So, alas, another sleepless night with a blue-eyed furnace spooning me. This night, I knew I was nothing more than a space-holder. Although he probably thinks he's cutting me out of his life, I've been on a bit a purge lately so.... Like Bonquiqui, boy, "I will cutttttt you."Mr. Blade's dessert would be fudge, since that's his favorite verb. Melt a bag of chocolate chips, like you normally would with blazing blue eyes. Then drizzle condensed milk over the melted madness. Stir with uneven expectations and then make it cold, like you both are after it's all said and not "done."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.
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....
This story is the epitome of why I'm single. BAHA I WISH this was fiction, but like all other posts on this blog, this is authentic 100%. I found it fun to write it from the alleged perspective of my date. I used his body language, context clues, and slow distance from me help write his perspective. I don't think I was far off because I haven't heard from him since and previously he had a 12 second response rate.Once upon a time...She was tall and fair, and had a far darker hair color than my ex, so that was good. She was pretty, funny, and found my jokes pretty hilarious, or at least put up a good front that she did. She was much taller in person and had a fuller figure than I expected. Not big, just not size 2 skinny-- definitely would give a guy something to hold onto. She was from Texas and knew nothing of the west, which I'd come. I educated her as she proved that she could certainly hold her liquor. That's always something I look for in a woman. So, she was a cheap date at the fancy restaurant I chose, because she got full after the fries. I'll be honest, I actually did too. That's what happens when you put beef and au jus on french fries. Once I received my sandwich, I actually had to go drop it off in my car since, I was pretty stuffed myself. She dropped off her umbrella and we continued to peruse the city. At the wine bar is when both of our alcohol started to kick in. We revealed things about our past and I could tell she wasn't in it just for sex. Especially when one of my tells with something I could tell she was uncomfortable with. I guess I can rule threesomes off the list... Might need to go with another girl for that... But the date continued on . On the way to a brewery, she stopped short and made a short kind of a shriek. What was that? I thought. I turned around to find her standing on her left foot while tending to a broken wedge. The right wedge had completely flipped its lid and removed itself from the sandal part still attached to her foot. Oh my gosh. The shit only happens to me. I can't just leave her... She laughed and asked if I had a switchblade or a pocket knife. A switchblade? What kind of hood shit is she used to in Dallas? I had one in my car but she wasn't pleased at the response. I offered my keys, like a dumbass, and then found myself putting my key in her ignition. Okay just kidding. I put my key in the bottom wedge of her left foot. This is not how I thought the evening would play out. This Cinderella never made it to the ball....After successfully ripping the other wedge off, she played it off, cool as a cucumber. I couldn't just leave after that... what guy is that heartless? And she already alluded to the fact that she had a negative connotation of military men... So I figured I'd see where the night leads me. She disposed of the bottom half of her shoes and we made it to a brewery. She kept joking that I would never talk to her again... She's a pretty good judge of character, but I certainly wouldn't want to be walking in her shoes.... After another beer and a friendly game of shuffleboard, I swooped in for the kill. For the game, not for her. I was still undecided how I felt about her. Any other girl would've been distraught to have lost one of her fav pair of stilettos or whatever, yet she certainly rolled with the punches. Also, she was closer to my height now, which made her less intimidating. She seemed to be enjoying herself, but she strikes me as the type of person that is genuinely happy with things, which is a pretty okay quality. The stakes for our shuffle board game was low. I let her pick, hoping she would be a little more creative than a sandwich... hubba hubba. Then again, she had made it pretty clear via texting she was not interested in guys that made things all about sex. Certainly took some of the fun out for me. As time drew closer to the bewitching hour, we ended up making out in her car, but she kept pulling away. I looked over towards my parked car, during one of her hesitations, and saw another couple making out ON MY TRUNK. On my car! This kind of stuff always happens to me. We both laughed about it and she kept prompting me to click the unlock button on my keypad. So, I unlocked it and the couple was unfazed. I could tell I wasn't going to get anywhere with shoeless, so, I exited stage right. I texted her once, as to not seem to be ghosting her for her wardrobe malfunction, but then let it go. Hey, if the shoe doesn't fit....."This isn't Disney where animals will sing you through the dessert. Piece the pictures together and figure it out yourself.... That's what I should've told Miss WISHES-she-were-Cinderella"Will I ever learn with musicians? How many times can I get burned from the same fire? But this one was 41. But this one had been hurt so many times before. But this one was so sweet and taken with my sarcasm and wit. But this one loved my eyes. But this has all happened before.... All too familiar. He has like 17 followers on YouTube and sent me some of his songs three-corded songs. Cool, so his musical talent hasn't really gotten to his head yet.... ehh, okay, it's a 50-50 shot. I'm sure it's helped certain reassurance of one head... He worked nights and mid's on and off, so talked to me when he could but swore he was gonna work on coming to see me from Panama City Beach. The weekend my best friend's parents came in town, we made our way to Panama for one night and two days. Naturally, I told him of this occurrence and he seeked excited to see me, but he worked 10p-6am. I've worked nights before so I totally understand it's hard, but if someone is going to be in your area that you allegedly like from 2 hours away, I would find a way to at least stop by. While on the 2 hour road trip over there, I noticed messages were opened and left without attention even though his snap location showed him on the beach!Wait- you checked his location? I mean... if you're not going to respond to meme, I at least have a right to see what's so much more entertaining ;) And THAT is why you keep some of your social media preferences discrete. I only had my location on when I was in Spain because no one on my media could gather the means to get to me. Well, before accepting the L, I called him one last time. Left a voicemail and then deleted him digitally and hopefully emotionally in the days to follow. Instead of meeting the latest homeboy, my best friend and I spent the early morning with this Captain Crunch. He chased a wave that almost capsized us all. This dessert is actually for me regarding my poor judgment in even giving him fractions of my time. I was 1/2 out of luck and 1/6 reminiscing other musicians and how they strummed my heart strings. This is called Rasberry Fool because the truth of my dating life and taste in men is a little tart.Now that I've poured my heart into digital print about the are's, here are two examples a different are's I've come in contact with and attempted to date. This guy was not even my type. A bit young, a bit cocky, a bit goofy, but not in the super cute way. He requested a match with me and had a funny comment on his profile so, I decided to give him a chance. Immediately, I could sense that he was a skeeze and the conversation, turn to where I can invite my best friend to the date for us to get Margaritas. He was on his way out of town due to military orders and certainly wasn't looking for anything of substance. My best friend had just gotten her heartbroken and was certainly down for some free margaritas. I sent a picture of the two of us to him and of course he made some crude comment about a threesome or something. Then, he said, "You're *insert phrase here*"I continued to play his little game and just said, "we'll see when we get there." My best friend was fully content with getting the margaritas and bouncing. The day before our projected Margarita date, him and I begin talking back and forth. He actually seemed like a cool dude and actually was looking for a relationship, according to him... I don't know if anyone really means that anymore. He said we could visit him in Wisconsin when he moved and naturally, I was up for the cheesy adventure! He began fantasizing to me, via text about my best friend kissing him and the probability of him getting attached. But hold up, you messaged me here. Matched with me on a dating site. AND I don't even have a pic of her in my profile for this very reason and this is still going where I think it's going? Wait for it..... "This is where I'm really shallow... Youre cute and have a good head on your shoulders but I'm not super attracted to you. We couldn't be more than friends." Of little substance, this dessert is most suiting to last week's skeeze.Felicia's Frosted Flake Cluster F*ckSmall mindedness has very little substance, like 2 or 3 ingredients worth.
Upon fruition, with little effort and care, results into a sub-par dessert, suitable for those under 12.
She didn't trip and fall into love |
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
|