I'm the kind of girl that loves a story, particularly one that I am the protagonist. Thrilled by it all, the initial invitation into my life, the alleged unique connection, and the tension. I tiptoe on coals as to not burn the entirety of my sole. The touch is inevitable and intentional... But never quite sensual. Maybe for a moment, but it fades like paint on a front door. The compliments are currency and my time scenes expendable. Investing in the wrong interests and compliments. Even the radio blurts this message:"Am I only a lab rat? Something you can test things out?" ~Dissolve I've found myself in unbee-lievable situations where it's no wonder I end up bruised and left with only their stinger protruding from my freckled skin. It's not that I needed to feel someone to feel something... Or maybe it was. Reconnecting with an old Flame with his knowledge of everything that's going on is still more than a mutual swipe after closing time. I'm drawn to connections that don't require a tower signal or battery to illuminate the topics discussed. I long to be selected-- for someone to say, "I NEED to know more about that ____." And eventually formulate the conclusion that he also needs that spunky person in their life. He didn't need liquid courage to approach me, or the pressure to "lock someone down" by last call. Even the hope of starting a story at a bar became bleak when pandemic lock-downs were mandated. The simplicity, but possibilities a night out offers seemed so distant from March to June across the country.A dark desperation spread across the single world of inconsistent daters and many of us grasped pens and the hope left to write a dating story. Not one for love, and God knows not one forever, but a story; a connection with someone when it wasn't permitted naturally for the unforeseeable future.My standards became flexible and I attributed it to "open-mindedness." I entertained:
Refusal to be left behind. Refusal to not be capable of my full potential. Reusual for final submission — admitting defeat to spontinuity. This writer is going places alone and for those that refunded their ticket, they'll quickly learn, this companion will be hard extremely hard to replace. Open-Minded Watermelon Cake
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Remember the romantic comedy "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?" Well.... DatesandCakes has her own real approach on it!Guess I'll have to continue to play the cards I've been dealt.Featured in the vlog as the young navy guy that wants to date me and respected my "giving up dating for lent."Although he respected that and asked me on the first conversation we engaged in if I would come visit him on the west coast, his actions didn't measure up to his talk.
Although all those are true datesandcakes first dates, this one didn't take our date seriously and for the first time in years, I knew I deserved better.He kept getting on his phone, his friends barged in for like 4 minutes of the movie, he almost left the date to go to the other side of the California base to help his friends sneak back on, he brought up a YOLO message that some girl put on his story, and then he said he's "got this in the bag" and assumed we were having a second date. I made sure to make it clear that he didn't have to be sorry, but it was actually me that was sorry; I was the one that had unrealistic expectations because I took this seriously. Naturally, he schmoozed me and talked me into a second movie with him. Oh, but don't get ahead of yourself. We didn't watch it.... he had to go talk to his buddies in a couple hours so cut it short before another movie was brought up a second time. I was ASTONISHED that yet ANOTHER guy that claimed to care failed to follow through with actions. I felt foolish and lonely and quite frankly, desperate. If you've read even 2 DatesandCakes posts, you'd know that this is new concept or lesson to learn. Yes, he listened for my favorite flower BUT, still owes me royalties for using my Stephanie Original that quotes Tony the Tiger...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. Since I bounce like an 80's pogo-stick, I figured I should expand on my adventures hobbling and wobbling around in a medical-grade (not Steve Madden unfortunately) Velcro boot. So... I ended up having broken toes I mentioned two posts ago for more than 6 weeks!! Possibly because I didn't seek medical attention or possibly because I can't stop, won't stop....1. Conceal the pain |
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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