No.He asked me through crowded phone lines and two zones defining time.
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Do NOT mistake this for the 80's Rom-Com, "Pretty in the Pink." The protagonist does NOT get the guy, have a theme song, or have any recollection of wearing or packing the color pink on this 3 day trip to Prague. In Prague, I found myself in a love parallelogram, if you will. A triangle just doesn't seem to be the shape to most accurately represent what was that day after Christmas night in clubs across Prague. At the meeting spot for the pub crawl at 8 sharp, I saw a tall blonde with a sweater, or "jumper" as they call it, and skinny jeans similar to mine. I sparked up conversation instantly and her accent was quite a surprise. Australian, hands down. Stereotypical of an American, a vast number of us are infatuated with Australian and English accents. I know that's a stereotype... But are you really going to argue with me? You don't enjoy a good "mate" or "bloody hell?" Yeah that's what I thought... Anyway, after befriending The Awesome Aussie, we began to take shots that were compliments of the crawl for the first hour. Completely unlimited. She claimed she needed to pace herself, but I had experience with my blonde best friend back home on how-to entice others to take shots. There were three Brazilian girls standing, smiling, and sipping a beer. Why are you sipping during the only hour of free drinks, I thought. Beginners. The Aussie must have had a similar thought because she prompted me, "let's go talk to them! They need to live and it up!" Before you knew it, we had formed forces. Three beautiful Brazilians, The Awesome Aussie who was also beautiful, and me and my American Travel buddy (whom I guess to someone is beautiful ;) Since my travel buddy is a dude, I guess he's not included in our group that became known in the crawl as "The Baddest." That's not me saying that... That turned out to be the name that was coined at the second or third bar from some of the other guys that approached my guy friend. He said, "man you are so freaking lucky! Those girls are the baddest in here. And you are talking to like all of them?!" Another one, an American... Of course! If you've listened to any of my other European Bar Crawl stories... I always end up getting tangled up with an American. How basic of me LOL This particular one was a tall glass of water that also approached my travel buddy and said, "Man, the girl in the dress..... great job landing her, because she can freaking dance!" Immediately, he corrected him and prompted him to approach me since I was single and could be bothered to mingle. Of course, he never did. Then what about the parallelogram? It's coming... I promise! As one of the Brazilians found another Brazilian and kind of coupled off with him for the rest of the night... The rest of us continued to dance, flirt, and soak up Prague, since none of us had ever been here before. After one conversation my travel buddy had with The Awesome Aussie, my travel buddy looked defeated. He approached me and said, "Well damn. At least she likes one of us." Confused with who he was referring to, I pressed further. "The awesome Aussie! She's not into me... But she likes you." "Oh yeah, she's awesome," I said innocently. He threw a teasing look at me and said, "Nah man, she dates girls too." I threw my head back cackling. And if you've ever had the privilege to see this in real life, it's quite the scene. Completely flattered, I took the compliment and continued with my drinks. Scanning the room, I found this beautiful blonde, tall glass of water that I'd noticed that the first club, but figured he was out of my league. This time, his blue eyes met mine. Damn it! Another blue-eyed beauty. He had an edgy kind of guy next to him who was also quite attractive, but didn't have my eye on that one. The Aussie walked right up to them. So feeling bold as well, I figured I'd join her. Flirting commenced and we ended up dancing around each other, but never necessarily together. Picture 4-year-olds playing soccer-- they get close, but usually never actually get the ball, they just hover. While the Aussie interacted with the one I found most beautiful (he hailed from Poland), I interacted with the attractive, but edgy Russian. The only thing I could have ever imagined as a personality trait in regards to a Russian is that they're kind of intense... This guy definitely fit that bill, or that "Todd"... Just kidding! I can't remember his name anyway. On the way to the bathroom, or "the lou" as she called it , her and I exchanged notes on which boy we were trying to pursue. She was into the Russian, I was into the Polish man, the Polish man seemed magnetically attracted to the Aussie and the Russian seem to gravitate to me, even after our conversation ended and I trailed off both literally and mentally. Then, keep in mind the Aussie has also had a girlfriend... So the possibilities here for what everyone was wanting seems endless. See what I'm saying? A triangle would just not suffice....Advancing to the last club, I could see that the Russian began "feeling me." Not literally.... yet.... Making his way over to the bar, he whipped his head back at me saying, "You want something? What are you drinking?" Regardless of the country, I seldom pass up a drink offered from a cute boy as long as I can see it being made. I matched his vodka Sprite with "an abundance of limes." That's a quote. Usually I go for soda water, but the cute little bottles were something I couldn't resist. European bars seldom have carbonated soda stations or soda guns like our land-of-the-free bars. They also charge for water, since it too is bottled. Affordable? It's almost always more than an alcoholic drink. #hellohangover After three of those lemon and lime sugared puppies (not ruff in the slightest), we made our way to the dance floor and he tried to keep rhythm. I would like to "Blame It On the Alcohol," but I'm pretty sure this boy just had no rhythm. Cute though, we danced as I glanced over at the other pair, The Awesome Aussie and my fleeting Crush, the Polish dude. Once Queen came on, it was a wrap. The Aussie and I screamed at the top of our lungs and jammed (no peanut butter in this country, unfortunately) together and the two boys found their way into other girls' arms. Fine by us, we thought. But like my blonde best friend in the states and I discovered time and time again, they usually come back. So acting as if nothing happened, they were turn to us probably 5 songs or 10 songs later. That was the best measure of time I had since I don't sport a watch and my phone was rapidly dying. At this point, we had forgotten about our Brazilian girls until we ran into one of them (not literally, I only run to buffet lines and from commitment). Apparently, this club was the the setting for a shitshow for everyone involved.
It was around 5 a.m. when the club closed, and the parallelogram of unrequited lust, made its way toward Old Prague, across one of the famous bridges. My hostel, mind you was in a completely different direction. Since I had no data or internet connection, I couldn't order an Uber, I couldn't get on maps to see how to get back, and oh yeah, I couldn't remember the name of our hostel. Do you know any hostels there are in downtown Prague? Probably equivalent to hotels in downtown Dallas. FML why don't I eat more blueberries? I tried to take notes from the Aussie's Google Maps to a hostel that sounded like mine, but I had no pen and no paper. So where else can I put the notes? In my dying phone. Awesome. Now we know the Polish dude was never interested, but do you think the Russian even offered a "that sucks" or "good luck?" No. Totally disregarded, I made my way into the foreign city alone. Along the way of my makeshift MapQuest directions, I miraculously found an open wi-fi connection that I could connect to. I'm not exaggerating here. It really truly was a miracle to find a place with free Wi-Fi. During our 6 hours of daylight earlier that very day sightseeing, I could not find even one place that had open wi-fi. Not cafes, shops, tourist spots, and internet cafes were extinct in this city. Thanking God I found this open Wi-Fi connection, I turned to Google for help. I sent a message to my travel buddy to keep an eye out for me and to tell me the code to get into the hostel. Isn't it fun, how some guys seem to be around till you need them? After feeling like I got my bearings, I ventured out again with now 1% on my phone battery. Just as it was dying, I came across a taxi man helping a couple and their luggage into his car. In all my experience in Prague, you know the whole three days of it, I found a blatant disregard for humans that we're not "in Czech" with their culture. Maybe just humans in general. So, I was a bit timid to ask the driver for help since I've been shut down several times just when ordering coffee, getting dinner, and sipping air through my freckled nose. It's not like I wasn't paying... well, aside from the air. Well, thankfully, this guy only rolled his eyes once and told me which direction to go. I totally guessed it was "the Central hostel" and he helped me head in the right direction. After passing shady figures in the street with determination and adrenaline pumping through me, I made it to my hostel and in through the front door; I practically carved the code with my nail into my skin. Yes, my memory really is that bad. I climbed the flight of stairs, and knocked on our hostel door. I remembered what door was ours by the chipped paint close to the keyhole. Visually, I'm okay... Numbers and address wise? I'm screwed.
As my travel buddy answered the door, I began gushing about my night and inquiring of his. I found a different air in the room and I couldn't quite put my finger on it until it struck me that we may not be alone. I prosed the famous question... "Is someone here?" "Sorry," I heard as covers pushed up and out, revealing a small face framed with brown wavy hair. Wow, I thought to myself, but tried hard to maintain a poker face. I know we share the same name, but I am no Lady Gaga. The stranger began laughing, unveiling her as American. The kind of "Minnesota-nice ....dontcha know." Somehow, the conversation turned to Celine Dion. The other American was so young that she was unfamiliar with the artist! Laughing hysterically, I belted into a famous Celine Dion song. My Travel buddy joined me and cued the backup music on his iPhone. After my performance, I told him to not even think about waking me in the morning, since it had been such an eventful night. Wouldn't you know that my happy little ass woke up at 3 p.m. the next day. Hungover, but happy. Although it wasn't my favorite city because of the rude people, I do believe you should give this place a Nike Czech and "just do it" ;) I could write about New Orleans for the rest of this blog but.... I've got quite a few more unbelievable dates and male encounters to share in Europe, Arabian clubs, and breweries... Here is the finale of my 3 week Nola venture with two broken toes.Since I've always referred to New Orleans as one of my homes, I strive to avoid the cliches. Only drinking at the postcard bars, getting wasted on Bourbon, and only coming in town for Mardi Gras. Well, I definitely broke one of these this night. Live music to me will always make a city. That was one thing I enjoyed about Charleston, even though some of the genres of music weren't necessarily my cup of tea, add a little whiskey or cocoa tequila, and any cup of tea could be worth sipping. ;) I signed up to volunteer at the voodoo Fest and made a friend there that hooked me up with another connection to music. Not only could I enjoy seeing Bring Me The Horizon, Brandi Carlile, Moon Taxi, and post Malone for free, but she offered me an opportunity to see Five Seconds of Summer and Chainsmokers where the Hornets play. I'm not particularly a fan of the Pelicans but it's across from the Superdome and I've always wanted to see those smoke in the hot for Australians play! I know some people classify them as like a teeny bop bands, but I think they're great! Although I try to dislike Chainsmokers and some of their mixes, some of the words kind of get to me. One song I grew appreciation for when I went to Europe, 2 months after the concert let's take away. "Your heart for take away." Instead of to go since that's a common English and Irish term. My favorite, twisted line is: " Before I love you, I'm going to leave you. Before you're someone I leave behind I'll break your heart so you won't break mine." After Day 3 of Voodoo, I met up with my cousin who is a flight attendant and is based out of Miami! We had no clue either of us were in town! Well, with a little faith, trust, and cajun dust, we ventured to Bourbon St. Beads flying in the air, hand grenades discarded near the gutter, and music filling the streets... this was Bourbon. I'll be damned if I didn't make friends with every doorman on the street and I was DD! The bachelor parties were going strong and we managed to pick up a light-up tambourine on the way of our self-directed tour. No phone numbers, no drama, just dancing in the street in good ole New Orleanssssss Harmless, but hoppy conversation 3 weeks is a long time when you're not working and don't have anyone to hang out with. Most of my cousins were occupied, aunts and uncles had their own schedules and lives, and it's not like I'm going to sit on my phone the whole time I'm in my favorite city. So, I researched some bars with great happy hours that I would enjoy going to and made my way to Uptown New Orleans. I parallel parked on Canal Street (thank you home days for making that skill a reality) and took the streetcar, which made me totally feel like a local, and I made my way to frose'. Okay, I actually had two, but I thoroughly enjoyed the atmosphere of the wooden bar, the vanity lights oh, the cute manager that kept passing by because it was his job, and the accent of course. I wrote in my journal and created poetry about the atmosphere of this quaint bar. The bartender intervened for casual conversation and then I closed my tab and proceeded to a tight little bar off of Oak Street.
The wine and beer house was not exactly a great kept secret since most of the seats at the bar and on the patio were taken. I perched up next to very attractive brunette bluechew a hockey game on the screen directly in front of him, slanted down for his vision. After ordering a delightful sour beer, I glanced at the screen and noticed it was the Dallas Stars thing. "Dallas huh?" I started. "Yeah, I'm from there," he replied. "No way," I exclaimed! Instantly our conversation ignited. He was from Coppell which is five cities over from where I grew up. The competition was just deep, engaging, and pleasant conversation. He later revealed he had a girlfriend that he met LSU and is living with now here in New Orleans. Thigh is what you think my response would have been, but I wasn't really face. Sure, he was cute, but that didn't belittle the conversation we had. An interesting night where again I close the bars and then made my way back on the streetcar with my Hopalong boot. Just because he didn't push the lines of pastel lace,
Doesn't automatically render a space In your jumbled head of drafted plans Shading the night to grays and tans He brushed your curl aside as if it were practice Outlined your firm expression that of an actress Breathing close in a rhythm to hypnotize Temporary this moment, yet to realize Just because the scene has set doesn't mean he is On the syllables of your name or how it sounds with his So don't mistake a mere glint for an enlightening You'll meet a thunder, fit to be his lightening 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 |
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