tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16610963982291081722024-02-19T09:58:39.189-05:00Pretty NoireBlogging about my life's adventuresJoliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-25297402821255594952019-07-21T20:25:00.000-04:002019-07-23T20:22:43.835-04:00Bienvenido a Miami<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
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Back in the day, the Disney Channel was a premium channel that you had to pay extra for, like HBO or Showtime. About twice a year Disney would to do this marketing scheme where they offered their channel free for a week, so you could see what you were missing.</div>
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Well it was the summer of 1999 and <i>NSYNC</i>, whom I had fallen in love with on Total Request Live, was performing a live for TV concert in Orlando. The concert was going to be broadcast on the Disney Channel during the promotional week. Unfortunately, I was going to miss my opportunity to see Justin, Joey, JC, Chris and Lance's synchronized gyrating because I was being forced to go on a family road trip. I wanted to see that concert so bad, I would have sacrificed my little brother just like Thanos did Gamora for the soul stone in <i>Avengers: Infiniti War</i>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me sacrificing my brother in order to watch the NSYNC Concert</td></tr>
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I was salty that entire trip. We went to the Columbia Zoo and out of spite, I may have thrown my brother’s Pokémon cards into the lion enclosure and tried to convince him to climb the barricade to retrieve them. </div>
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In the new millennium, with the advent of online streaming, and for you rich folk that still pay for cable, DVR, there’s almost nothing better than going on a road trip. I won’t miss TV shows and I still get the chance to stuff my face with local cuisine, laugh until my sides hurt, and almost die in a car with my best friends.<br />
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Even if I finally find a guy to spend the rest of my life with, have cute babies and start my very own homemade artisanal jelly company on Etsy, I will make time to go on girls’ trips for the rest of my life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The first day of our trip to the 305, my friend JD and I fly into Ft. Lauderdale and meet up with MD who flew in from New York. JD and I met 20 years ago in Algebra II/Trigonometry the summer after I tried to have my brother killed at the zoo.<br />
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*<b><span style="color: #e06666;">Sitting next to each other in 1st period Math class back in 1999</span></b>*<br />
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“<span style="color: purple;">You’re TK, right?</span>” JD adjusts the choker around her neck.<br />
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"<span style="color: #e06666;">Yeah.</span>"<o:p></o:p><br />
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“<span style="color: purple;">People keep telling me there’s a Black girl named TK that looks like me</span>.”<br />
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She looks me up and down with a Regina George you-can’t-sit-with-us-glare. “<span style="color: purple;">I don’t see the resemblance</span>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">JD and I boarding our flight</td></tr>
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I thought JD didn’t like me when we first met, but in actuality she is just a very observant and direct person. Later that year she encouraged me to try out for color guard with her and has been advising me on important life decisions ever since.<br />
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JD was also a huge <i>NSYNC</i> fan and we went to my first <i>NSYNC</i> concert together. I guess my family realized they had ruined my summer by making me spend time with them and tried to make it up to me with <i>NSYNC</i> tickets. Either that, or the ransom note I left on my parent’s bathroom mirror actually worked. <i><span style="color: #e06666;">If you ever want to see your son again, you’ll buy your daughter tickets to see NSYNC.</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
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We pick up our rental car as the sun is setting and grab some sopas and horchatas at a cute little restaurant that has string lights hanging from their patio. Afterwards we decide to get some liquor and snacks from the supermarket to last us the duration of our trip.<br />
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“<span style="color: purple;">My body feels fine, but my eyes feel sleepy</span>,” JD says as she picks up a bottle of wine from the shelf.</div>
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“<span style="color: #e06666;">Me too</span>,” I yawn. “<span style="color: #e06666;">Almost like I’m high. But I know I’m not high</span>.”<o:p></o:p><br />
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“<span style="color: purple;">Are you sure you’re not high</span>?”<o:p></o:p><br />
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I think about it for a couple seconds.<br />
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MD comes around the corner holding a 2 liter of coke and some baby carrots.<br />
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“<span style="color: #3d85c6;">Do you guys feel weird</span>?”</div>
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“<span style="color: #e06666;">You know that part in <i>The Hangover </i>when Zach Galifianakis</span><span style="color: #e06666;"> admits to drugging everyone so they would have a good time</span>?”<br />
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“<span style="color: purple;">Yeahhhh</span>,” JD says suspiciously<br />
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“<span style="color: #3d85c6;">What if they put something in our food at the taco place?</span><span style="color: #e06666;"> </span><span style="color: #3d85c6;">I told them it was my birthday. Maybe they really wanted us to have a good time</span>,” MD reasons.<br />
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“<span style="color: #e06666;">Welcome to Dade County</span>.” I smirk at MD, “<span style="color: #e06666;">I plan on having a good time</span>."<br />
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“<span style="color: purple;">You mean sex don’t you?</span>,” JD says.<o:p></o:p><br />
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“<span style="color: #3d85c6;">Ayyyyeeee! </span><span style="color: #3d85c6;">I’m so happy to be here with you guys</span>,” MD gushes.</div>
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MD gets excited about pretty much anything and it’s so endearing to see her childlike wonder. Every time we go on a trip, she points out the most mundane things and comments on how beautiful they are. Leaves on trees, squirrels with bushy tails, finding extra french fries at the bottom of the bag: MD’s face<o:p></o:p></div>
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I met MD when her and JD were roommates living in Harlem. Over the years MD and I became close friends and travel buddies. I think living in New York for more than 10 years will make you appreciate the little things in life, because MD certainly does. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We head to the registers to pay for our snacks and I see JD look up from her phone. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“<span style="color: purple;">TK, your entire boob is out</span>,” she says nonchalantly.<o:p></o:p><br />
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“<span style="color: #e06666;">OMG! How long was it like that</span>?” I slip my left breast back into my bralette. It's always been the rebellious one of the two.<br />
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“<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I was right next to you and I didn’t even see it</span>,” MD laughs.<br />
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I catch the eye of an older White guy in front of us in the checkout line.<br />
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After nipple gate is handled, we go to our hotel and I can tell the ladies need a pep talk. </div>
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“<span style="color: #e06666;">If we don’t go out, then we won’t go out</span>.”<o:p></o:p><br />
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“<span style="color: #3d85c6;">Huh</span>?”<o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="color: purple;">“I think she really might be high</span>,” JD says to MD.<o:p></o:p><br />
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“<span style="color: #e06666;">If anybody even sits on a bed, we will realize how tired we are, and we won’t go anywhere. We are over 30</span>!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I successfully bully the group in to going out. MD pours everyone Hennessey and Cokes and we all get dressed. We get to Mango's in South Beach and its every bit the discoteca I thought it would be.<br />
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Attractive people stand along the bar shouting their orders at bartenders. Women wrapped in bondage dresses with their boobs sitting under their chins rhythmically move to Afrobeats on the dance floor. A guy is singing Reggaeton on a stage surrounded by living palm trees while a beautiful woman wearing a glow in the dark thong shakes her (<span style="color: #e06666;">real? fake?</span>) butt cheeks beside him. Either way, her ass looks good.</div>
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The three of us make our way through the crowd to the back of the club where there’s a DJ playing Ozuna and a fog machine blasting cool air across the room.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We start dancing when an attractive man that looks like the sexy bad guy you’d love to hate in a novela (<span style="color: #e06666;">Spanish language soap opera</span>) bumps into someone, splashing a drink onto JD. He quickly turns around to say sorry and then our eyes meet.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcCrz1UcfrP4ba7uP3Lz91FY3htQJsG9DTk6qXe6Zu0OKoOi3gm1Hl_VFP3wC1PLD0ml_QtbdY5bF2yJMF3mqePuJfonR3spW-xSZYHKoWTsFwJRW5XZ9YHWGqIj66qT00BT8KF_z7g74/s1600/2019-07-21-10-24-23-768.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="863" data-original-width="1000" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcCrz1UcfrP4ba7uP3Lz91FY3htQJsG9DTk6qXe6Zu0OKoOi3gm1Hl_VFP3wC1PLD0ml_QtbdY5bF2yJMF3mqePuJfonR3spW-xSZYHKoWTsFwJRW5XZ9YHWGqIj66qT00BT8KF_z7g74/s320/2019-07-21-10-24-23-768.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 3 of us on our way to the club</td></tr>
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The fog machine smoke clears and in one swift move Novela Villain puts his hand on the small of my back, pulls me towards him and we start dancing. Multi colored lights flash down on us from the ceiling and it looks like confetti is tap dancing from his face to mine.<br />
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He is an amazing dancer, almost as good as I am. We dance all night except for the moments when he stops to kiss me. When we kiss, the people moving around us blur into the background and the music almost sounds muted, like we’re in a tunnel. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Our lips part and I can hear the base line of a J. Balvin song start bumping again. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“<span style="color: #0c343d;">I want to go for a walk mamí. Ven conmigo</span>.”<o:p></o:p><br />
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I breathlessly mouth, "<span style="color: #e06666;">Okay,</span>" but inner me is like...<br />
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We snake through the crowd towards the exit and I see JD and MD dancing with drinks in their hands. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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“<span style="color: #e06666;">I’m going with him</span>.” I cock my head in Novela Villain’s direction, who is standing next to me.</div>
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MD steps in front of Novela Villain and wags her finger in his face. “<span style="color: #3d85c6;">You better take good care of her</span>.” But the music is so loud that I don’t think he can hear her tipsy threats.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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He takes my hand and leads me outside of Mango's. When we finally get to the street a warm ocean breeze blows across my face and makes me aware of how much I was sweating inside the club.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieIaiGoTI08pFFz8pkcLGu26I_G6I4KH4F3wuNZUyfcfAv5GzZWz2mkyip3vyhyTqIK3R4hcgaCDHXooCR0BH5GXG-jh-Z361V81Avm9u-P3BrH4asnuLkXO9jh-eSDu7Hhs4pWBHGijw/s1600/tumblr_nzonq3CVi01rlafseo1_400.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="226" data-original-width="400" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieIaiGoTI08pFFz8pkcLGu26I_G6I4KH4F3wuNZUyfcfAv5GzZWz2mkyip3vyhyTqIK3R4hcgaCDHXooCR0BH5GXG-jh-Z361V81Avm9u-P3BrH4asnuLkXO9jh-eSDu7Hhs4pWBHGijw/s320/tumblr_nzonq3CVi01rlafseo1_400.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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"<span style="color: #134f5c;">Soy de Honduras, pero vivo en Cali. Sorry, do you speak Spanish</span>?"<br />
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"<span style="color: #e06666;">Sí,</span><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #141414; font-family: "verdana" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "roboto" , "oxygen" , "ubuntu" , "cantarell" , "fira sans" , "droid sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span style="background-color: #fefefe; font-family: "verdana" , "segoe ui" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "roboto" , "oxygen" , "ubuntu" , "cantarell" , "fira sans" , "droid sans" , sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><span style="color: #e06666;">hablo un poquito de español</span></span>."<br />
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"<span style="color: #134f5c;">Tell me something</span>."<br />
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I try not to giggle like an insane person<br />
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I reach over and run my finger down the side of his cheek, over his close shaved beard. "<span style="color: #e06666;">Me gusta esa barba.</span>"<br />
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In a heavy Honduran accent he says, “<span style="color: #134f5c;">You are so cute.</span> <span style="color: #134f5c;">I want to kiss you all night long</span>.”<br />
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We kiss in the middle of the street and when we pull apart a group of people walking past slow down as they get closer to us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Awww,” a black girl who looks to be in her early 20’s cooes at us. She has on a neon green bikini covered by a bright pink fishnet mini dress. Basically the standard dress code for a night in South Beach. “You guys look really cute together.”</div>
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I put on that MD smile...<br />
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I mean direct deposit every 2 weeks and finding extra french fries at the bottom of a McDonald's bag is great, but have you ever had a group of complete strangers tell you how cute you and your telenovela villain are? Maybe thats just the Libra in me talking. Us Libras like to look good and feel good. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Novela Villain kisses me on the cheek and the scantily clad group of amigas say, "Awwww," in unison one more time before continuing down the street. This is the best night I've had since last Tuesday. I definitely feel high. But not from tacos this time. </div>
Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-49610229431135262282019-01-25T00:14:00.002-05:002019-01-25T10:13:09.284-05:00Sisterhood of the Traveling Panties<div class="MsoNormal">
People often ask me what I do for a living because I travel so often. The short answer is that I'm self-employed and work special events for marketing companies. In theory, being self-employed means I get to make my own hours, but in actuality there have been times when the jobs were few and far between.<br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">About 2 months had gone by, I hadn't picked up any work and was starting to get low on funds. My good friend Melisa, who I had met when we both worked an event for Google, was in the same unemployed boat as me. Over Blackberry Messenger, Melisa and I would </span><span style="text-align: center;">chat about how we were spending our jobless days</span><span style="text-align: center;"> and send each other jobs to apply for.</span><br />
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So when she offered me a gig working along side her as a crew member on a cross country train trip, I was extremely grateful.<br />
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"<span style="color: #741b47;">Working on the train is hard work, but it can be really fun too,</span>" Melisa walked down the train's narrow hallway, leading me to the sleeper car I'd be using for the next three weeks. "<span style="color: #741b47;">There aren't a lot of rules, but the first one is simple: Don't fall in love with Tom</span>."<br />
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"<span style="color: #e06666;">What</span>?"<br />
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"<span style="color: #741b47;">I'm just saying, every time some woman works on this train trip, she falls in love with him. Then I have to hear, 'Oh my God Tom is so hot! </span><span style="color: #741b47;">Do you think he likes me? </span><span style="color: #741b47;">Should I ask him out</span>?'" She rolled her eyes.<br />
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I laughed and offered her my pinkie finger, "<span style="color: #e06666;">I promise I will not fall in love with Tom.</span><span style="color: #e06666;"> Pinkie swear</span>."<br />
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And I didn't fall in love with Tom on that work trip. He didn't make it easy though. He was a very charming guy with a strong jawline.<br />
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A few months after I returned from working with Melisa and Tom on the train, my Recruiter Jake called and asked if I’d be interested in working a three week event for Microsoft.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">What are the job duties</span>?” I could hear Jake typing while I spoke.<br />
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“<span style="color: #274e13;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;">You’ll be driving a Microsoft branded Tahoe across the country and making a few stops for 1 day events along the way.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;"> You’ll have a partner to help you with everything and</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;"> your final event is at the BET Awards in Los Angeles</span></span>.”</div>
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“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Sounds fun. I’m in</span>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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In my industry, a coworker you go on the road with is called a tour partner. Jake was supposed to give me my tour partner's info so that we could get to know each other before hand, but he never got around to it. </div>
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The night before I’m supposed to leave, I get a text from someone named Andre, who is apparently my tour partner to be.<br />
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Andre gives me his address so we can carpool to the office. I ask him for his last name and tell him it's so I can add him to my contacts list, but the real reason was so I could <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">stalk him on the Internet</span>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I browse Andre’s Facebook profile and he seems normal. He doesn’t post much, but he has pictures of him smiling with friends and family. There are a few action shots of him playing various sports. We don’t have any mutual friends, but he doesn’t strike me as a <i><span style="color: #e06666;">Chester the Molester</span></i> type. My mind is nearly at ease about traveling with a complete stranger.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You know how you start looking up something on Wikipedia and get sucked into researching a bunch of other things? Somehow you’re reading about flying squirrels when you originally wanted information about an actor you saw on a Sprite commercial.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Well an hour later, as I’m snacking on a fried chicken sandwich from the restaurant around the corner from my apartment, and scrolling through who I believe to be Andre’s sister’s church friend’s profile, I come across a photo of Andre that makes me pause.<br />
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Naturally I download it and text it to my best friend Tina.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">This is my tour partner for the next few weeks</span>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Tina immediately texts back, “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Daaaaaaamn son</span>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I reply right away, “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Nothing is going to happen. We are coworkers and I am a professional</span>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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She replies with the quickness, “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Girl you better GET 👏🏾 THEM 👏🏾 DRAWERS 👏🏾</span>”<br />
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The next morning when I pull up to Andre’s house, the photo I found of him on Facebook flashes through my mind. I’m super nervous for some reason.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Andre opens the door, and there stands one of the most attractive men I have ever seen in my life. He was about 6'3, which is the perfect height for me because I’m 5’9 and like to feel like I’m with my own personal bodyguard at all times. I also prefer guys who are at least 6 feet tall to ride this ride, however, I do make exceptions for shorter brethren with a good sense of humor and great cooking skills.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After his height, I noticed Andre’s muscular arms. He looked like he could chop down a tree without breaking a sweat. Another great trait to have if you're going to be a part of my life because I've always wanted someone to build me a treehouse.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">Would you like to use the bathroom or get a drink before we leave</span>?” He offers.<o:p></o:p></div>
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"<span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666;">Yes</span>."<br />
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Andre looks confused for a moment and then I realize I didn't tell him if I needed to use the bathroom OR if I wanted something to drink. But he makes the choice for me and shows me to the bathroom.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span>Alone in the bathroom I start thinking, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">If he can figure out what I need without me giving him a straight answer, he's a unicorn, or at least boyfriend material. I'll wait for him to ask me what I want to eat, reply "<span style="color: #e06666;">something yummy</span>," and see if he chooses the correct meal.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">If he succeeds at this task,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"> he is the one I will marry</span>. </div>
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I realize I had been in the bathroom for a while. I was so nervous that I couldn't even pee. I just sat on the toilet thinking, “<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">How on earth am I supposed to travel next to this gorgeous man, in an SUV, for the next 3 weeks, without farting</span></i>?” </div>
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On the start of our journey, we realize that we like the same type of music. This is a relief, because could you imagine having to listen banjos for 3 weeks straight, against your will? Instead of 20 questions, we decide to play 200 questions since we’re going to be driving for such a long time. Our first event is in Fargo, North Dakota and we have two days to get there from Milwaukee.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">Why don’t we drive half way and stay at my Grandma’s place in Minnesota? That way we won’t have to pay for a hotel</span>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">You sure she won’t mind if you bring a guest</span>?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">No, she’ll love it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My Grandfather passed away not too long ago and she likes the company. Plus my family from out of town is already there visiting</span>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That night we start a bonfire and eat s’mores with his Grandma, Sister, Aunt, Uncle and his little cousins. There were as many fireflies flitting around the backyard as there were stars twinkling above us, but it felt like there were more mosquitoes than stars in the milky way. Not even bug spray or the smoke from the grill could keep me from getting bitten approximately 231 times. I'm slightly allergic to mosquito bites, so even though I was sure I’d look like this when I joined Andre's family for breakfast in the next morning,<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ylAo4nJWkCJ28DX1D1uoUYlfQtR_Lacl45bUuP_ZDpe7Mlh7nCsF00fYaKp3s_wGu_ooYQ4D59L96k-JG2bu-l0gYTXkZ7eWx27jLyh8l45zFI1Yeu0Ue8vzFpn2QotLK8e9UbQBfG4/s1600/martin.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="272" data-original-width="480" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ylAo4nJWkCJ28DX1D1uoUYlfQtR_Lacl45bUuP_ZDpe7Mlh7nCsF00fYaKp3s_wGu_ooYQ4D59L96k-JG2bu-l0gYTXkZ7eWx27jLyh8l45zFI1Yeu0Ue8vzFpn2QotLK8e9UbQBfG4/s320/martin.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
the experience was still worth it.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Is that the North star</span>?” I ask, pointing to a bright spot in the sky.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Andre’s Uncle replied, “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">No, that’s the planet Venus. It’s visible on clear summer nights when you’re this far up north</span>.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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Venus y’all. The planet of <span style="color: #e06666;"><b>LOVE</b></span>. I took this as a positive sign.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR90LeVg2KNcQ_qnio8Uxh9-o0mUqrDiPM32auI1JAQj-Ypf5LPi5fnhkNaRusTaiwJAeCTjUo9AUJHxYuNKz-Sriki2VpN7WyK8oYr_4sD22eyI-OQyovZgyqbXk02KPL-y_RmLek4Es/s1600/20190124_211555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1414" data-original-width="910" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR90LeVg2KNcQ_qnio8Uxh9-o0mUqrDiPM32auI1JAQj-Ypf5LPi5fnhkNaRusTaiwJAeCTjUo9AUJHxYuNKz-Sriki2VpN7WyK8oYr_4sD22eyI-OQyovZgyqbXk02KPL-y_RmLek4Es/s400/20190124_211555.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
Early the next morning, we say our goodbyes and make our way to Fargo. Andre has another Uncle that lives there who offers to take us to one of his favorite dive bars after we finish working our event.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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So after work, I’m sitting in the bathroom trying to decide if I’m going to wear makeup or not when Andre knocks on the door.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">Are you ready to leave? My Uncle is downstairs waiting</span>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I quickly grab both my underwear and pants from around my ankles and simultaneously yank them up over my thighs. In the process I rip the elastic band of my Great Value granny panties. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I look down at them in angst. “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Ugh</span>.” They are literally hanging on by a thread. If I were to take off my pants they would practically disintegrate, but I don’t have time to change. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><b><span style="color: #e06666;">Fun fact</span></b>: I still have these underwear. Not in a weird Monica Lewinsky trial type of way, but in a Marie Kondo, they spark joy in me when I think about that time of my life type of way. Also, this may mean that I'm a hoarder.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Side bar</span></b>: Ever since I was a little girl wearing "days of the week underwear," I’ve hated the word panties. It seemed like a shameful word that you weren’t supposed to mention to others, even if they were really cute (<span style="color: #e06666;">the panties, not the person you were mentioning them to</span>). Plus boys didn’t have to wear panties and they could scratch their itchy crotches in public whenever they wanted, but I wasn’t allowed to. It was all very unfair to me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOmEM9cu4LL2aBG29pBxnE2lvx2iiA6Wi4olFYoxgh1VRwJB6cuPiEMHst1uHZGMx4fTsDYWpQUhgf2QrI-L2gPFxhGewkmy6q8yNoSNFFa17mj3lxz_JDs7tywuexsU0gQJz4v81JFU/s1600/cn16104569.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOmEM9cu4LL2aBG29pBxnE2lvx2iiA6Wi4olFYoxgh1VRwJB6cuPiEMHst1uHZGMx4fTsDYWpQUhgf2QrI-L2gPFxhGewkmy6q8yNoSNFFa17mj3lxz_JDs7tywuexsU0gQJz4v81JFU/s320/cn16104569.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">Days of the week undies</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As I’ve gotten older, my dislike of most things undergarment related has grown as well. I think what I really hate is that there’s a smorgasbord of intimate apparel for women, most of which are uncomfortable and used as a way to make women look appealing for men. There are boa constricting shape wear, aggravating thongs and uncomfortable g-strings. Nobody cares if you can see a dude’s underclothes when he bends over to tie his shoes, but women jump through a lot of hoops to prevent the world from seeing bra straps, panty lines, or our colorful patterned knickers through our black leggings at the gym. Being a woman is mad exhausting yo. <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">FACTS</span></b>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But forget about my disdain for women’s intimates for a moment so we can get back to the story.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Andre’s uncle drives us to the bar where he buys us a round of shots. He seems like a cool older dude. He is probably in his late 40’s, or early 50’s, with tattoos and a beard. Andre told me he’s the black sheep of the family: Does what he wants, has never been married, has a bunch a cool life stories to share.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #e06666;">Now for a short story about me</span></b>: I like to sleep and I've never really been a party girl. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes there’s nothing more fun than going out with your girls, dancing at the hip hop spots, and cruising to the crews like connect the dots. Sometimes you’ve got to live la vida loca.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However it's hard to be a party girl when you drink a few drinks and want to go to bed. I know my limits and they only include about 2 shots of anything strong.<br />
<br />
But on this fateful evening, I was so nervous that I kept the drinks coming in hopes of calming my nerves. Andre’s Uncle bought us 3 shots of tequila <span style="color: #e06666;"><i>each</i></span> and I had a pitcher of hard cider by myself.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="color: #e06666;">Did I mention that I'm not a drinker</span></i>?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
By the end of the night, I felt completely comfortable around Andre. Not comfortable enough to fart in front of him, but comfortable enough to ask him if I could run my fingers through his hair. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://media.giphy.com/media/13dxO6zOV1PzBC/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="282" data-original-width="500" height="180" src="https://media.giphy.com/media/13dxO6zOV1PzBC/giphy.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I ran my fingers through Andre’s prickly soft hair, and that’s when I made up my mind.<span style="color: #e06666;"><i> I</i></span><i><span style="color: #e06666;"> am going to kiss him</span></i>. <b><span style="color: red;"><i>Tonight</i></span></b>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm in a drunken daze as we leave the bar and I quietly chant “<span style="color: #e06666;">do not throw up, do not throw up</span>,” from the backseat of the car. However, I probably wasn’t chanting as quietly as I thought I was because from the front seat, Andre reaches back and rolls my window down. The warm summer night air blows in my face as his uncle drives us back to our hotel and I keep chanting my “<span style="color: #e06666;">Don’t you dare vomit in this man’s car</span>” mantra for what seems like an eternity.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We arrive at the Holiday Inn, say goodbye to Andre’s Uncle and then Andre gives me a piggyback ride through the hotel lobby, just like they do in Korean dramas. (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">My love of Korean Dramas is one of the facts about me I shared with Andre during 200 questions</span>)<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As Andre steadies me on my feet in the elevator, I’m wracking my drunk brain, figuring out a way to get him to kiss me. I immensely want to make Andre think it was his idea to kiss me, so that he makes the first move, without realizing I was the mastermind behind our first kiss. Then I remember a conversation his younger cousins and I had that morning over breakfast, before we left Minnesota.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Did you know that today is International Kissing Day</span>?” I slyly ask Andre.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">It's past midnight</span>,” Andre replies, “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">So technically it's not International Kissing Day anymore</span>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now to most people his comment would seem like a red light. Case closed. But in my hard cider state of mind I looked at his comment like a yellow light instead. Speed up and you just may make it through the intersection!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I counter with, “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Everyone knows it's not officially the next day until you go to sleep and wake up again</span>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Damn. I was surprised at myself for thinking on my feet like that. I think I missed my calling as a CIA Field operative.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nevertheless, Green light! Case opened for reexamination.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Andre helps me to the room as I zombie walk down the hallway, fumbling for the room key in my purse.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We reach the door and I spin around so we're facing each other.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When I like someone I get word vomit. I just have to let them know how I feel, by any means necessary, nervousness be damned.<br />
<br />
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><i>This is it, this is my chance</i></span>,” I think to myself. But there is also the possibility that I may have said that out loud.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Andre</span>,” I hiccup. “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Andre, I really want you to know that I really</span>…”</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then the real vomit comes up.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I open the door, rush into the bathroom and make it to the toilet just in time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The next morning I look over to find Andre sleeping on the queen bed closest to the bathroom.I quietly get out of my bed, pull some socks over my feet, grab my phone and gently close the hotel room door behind me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It’s 7am on a Sunday. I dial my bestfriend’s number as I sit down in the stairway. She works weekends at a veterinary hospital so I know she’ll be awake.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Tina answers the phone after a few rings, “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Whats up</span>?”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">I got the drawers.</span>”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*I want to dedicate this story to my friend Melisa Tomanek, who I mentioned earlier for helping me find jobs but more importantly for being an amazing friend. She passed away a few months ago from cancer and I'll never forget the kindness and love she showed me. I told her this story in person, and she was proud of me for going on tour, making money, and making out with a hot guy at the same time.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnI3vE3zrzWBCiIImH1ihJol2_jOdr-5PdQrDkC9NQRJu7PveGe-zNrcIjlFKFFbdwTXGcQaKgukIgrIiVFinhVqgMc_v77xRAP27MX-gpqqC2yuU-i-Pq9YEFJfHFngyN_gaf0XY1Xrk/s1600/Screenshot_20190124-230043_Instagram.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1056" data-original-width="868" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnI3vE3zrzWBCiIImH1ihJol2_jOdr-5PdQrDkC9NQRJu7PveGe-zNrcIjlFKFFbdwTXGcQaKgukIgrIiVFinhVqgMc_v77xRAP27MX-gpqqC2yuU-i-Pq9YEFJfHFngyN_gaf0XY1Xrk/s320/Screenshot_20190124-230043_Instagram.jpg" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Melisa and I at a Nicki Minaj Concert<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-83511660589073770072018-09-18T21:27:00.000-04:002018-09-18T22:34:01.983-04:00One Date, Two Dates. Our date? Their date?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was in high school I always lied to my mom about the
time my after school activities ended. Not because I was behind the gym listening
to pre-Michelle Destiny’s Child and kissing guys who wore blindingly white Air
Force Ones, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><i>I wasn’t that cool</i></span>. I lied because then I’d only have to wait for
her 10 minutes instead of 30. My
mom was always late picking me up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">And dropping me off</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember getting the itinerary for our senior class trip
to Disney World and the meeting time was 7 in the morning. I told her we had to
be there at 6:30 and I <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">still</span></i> missed the senior class picture in front of the
charter buses. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my adult life, where I only need others to drive me
around because I’m too drunk to do it myself, I’m still barely on time. I guess
tardiness is a hereditary trait my mother passed on to me, like our mutual love
of chicken egg foo young. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although I’m perpetually late, one of the few instances in
my life when I was on time led to me going on one of the best dates I’ve ever
had. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was working at a convention for a popular software manufacturer and on the last day of the convention, everything seamlessly fell into place.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8lfBMupH8Stq3ieohTQ9odf12jy_7nWzup0iYvjUsxZQxAMOc5Ob66KyAVeo_5R20CJQNR725iT3-6R-HISVFqdjVdM-gZHnSEo7ERZK-bGtL1cIPOUiH_oX_H0WueNo6kv9YmiepkRI/s1600/uri_mr1537320697059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="369" data-original-width="960" height="123" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8lfBMupH8Stq3ieohTQ9odf12jy_7nWzup0iYvjUsxZQxAMOc5Ob66KyAVeo_5R20CJQNR725iT3-6R-HISVFqdjVdM-gZHnSEo7ERZK-bGtL1cIPOUiH_oX_H0WueNo6kv9YmiepkRI/s320/uri_mr1537320697059.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I woke up before my alarm clock went off and had time to eat
breakfast. There was no traffic on Lakeshore Drive and I found free street
parking that was a close walk to McCormick Place. This may all sound like a
normal day to you, but for me, getting places in a timely fashion is rarely an
easy fete. I swear whenever I have an appointment an El train would derail, a
car would burst into flames on the highway or I would get to the bus stop only
to realize I didn’t have my wallet. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #f4cccc;">Or my phone</span>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ea9999;">Because it was in my other purse.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">With my house keys</span>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #cc0000;">And now I'm locked out</span>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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But today, I was on time. I arrive at our booth 40 minutes early and start helping my
coworkers, Monica and Stephanie set up game consoles when a guy approaches us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Sorry sir. We’re not open yet</span>.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Sir</span>?” he scrunches up his face deepening the faint crows
feet around his eyes. “<span style="color: #38761d;">I’m a keynote speaker, not an attendee. Just curious
about what you’re showing</span>.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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I notice he has an accent, but couldn’t quite place it.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While connecting an audio jack into the back of a TV Monica
answers him. “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">We have some of the unreleased Xbox titles and we let people play
them</span>. ”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">I love games. I don’t often play Xbox, but I love both computer
and board games</span>.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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I love board games too I thought to myself. My interested
was piqued. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">What’s your nationality</span>?”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">I’m Australian. From Melbourne</span>.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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He pronounced it “Mel-Bin”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Australian? What an interesting name</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Chuckling the Australian says, “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">My name is Steve</span>.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He said it exactly like Steve Irwin the late Crocodile Hunter
would have. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monica, Stephanie, Steve and I sat on the couches at our
booth and chatted about random things for the next few minutes. Steve was
positively charismatic. Eventually I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. It was
a text message from Stephanie.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It read: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47;">Stop flirting and come to work!!! ;) Our shift is
about to start! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked up from my phone. I hadn’t even noticed that
Stephanie and Monica were no longer sitting next to us. Steve and I
exchanged Twitter handles and said our goodbyes. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On my lunch break, I direct tweeted him and we agreed to
meet up at a booth that had 16 bit games. We played the original Donkey Kong and
walked around the convention collecting emoji pins from different booths and
attaching them to the lanyards that held our official Microsoft badges.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6UFUIorMGapJQQtqZ5wsD0zfwhKF3JByZ7E40LT8Xsha5wdtkKtlF26MqX0scvTGR06YsqG3-pxB-Uz6lkTnqSMU_12z_k0R-z1HM-myffYwI0k3e5V8pvH-KvyXhHNjKk5J9ynmbfA/s1600/20180918_212231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6UFUIorMGapJQQtqZ5wsD0zfwhKF3JByZ7E40LT8Xsha5wdtkKtlF26MqX0scvTGR06YsqG3-pxB-Uz6lkTnqSMU_12z_k0R-z1HM-myffYwI0k3e5V8pvH-KvyXhHNjKk5J9ynmbfA/s320/20180918_212231.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My emoji pins</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Back at my booth, we played FIFA for a bit and then Steve
asked, “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Are you going to the Microsoft after party tonight</span>?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As soon as Stephanie noticed Steve she peeked out from
behind a flat screen TV and mouthed,“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47;">Your babies will be so cute</span>!”<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA50wiYzAbHHIIl0TSx3Wg4tWv-43moXPpykgZ_wtEn6niPJn4FN4swFL4xUeo4HZwYI85VcId0L1WxBKGFjgxdkWcb-Zhq3XB20Gz3vcGHEpa6twWm6pRne-smxXkSitrsYv-sTsUb3M/s1600/undefined.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="239" data-original-width="540" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA50wiYzAbHHIIl0TSx3Wg4tWv-43moXPpykgZ_wtEn6niPJn4FN4swFL4xUeo4HZwYI85VcId0L1WxBKGFjgxdkWcb-Zhq3XB20Gz3vcGHEpa6twWm6pRne-smxXkSitrsYv-sTsUb3M/s320/undefined.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stephanie popping out</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Trying not to laugh at Stephanie I answered “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">I’m not sure.
No one gave us a formal invite</span>.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Well I'm sure they won’t turn you away. How could they</span>?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I went home, changed into a cute black dress as quick as I could and drove
back to McCormick Place in record time.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAEJ_hoSI9CmYEsv7AkVIotFSbL0N1CreufPZzrNLv29Wnp3QbQYfd8nVxjMbJXU1nR_u9DrXjyOGOsRofZ0kzBuAxapPujMLwBJXurzYGeO2edbRyJ8vSIzYtr_msIQLSi276qnP2atA/s1600/tenor+%25281%2529.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAEJ_hoSI9CmYEsv7AkVIotFSbL0N1CreufPZzrNLv29Wnp3QbQYfd8nVxjMbJXU1nR_u9DrXjyOGOsRofZ0kzBuAxapPujMLwBJXurzYGeO2edbRyJ8vSIzYtr_msIQLSi276qnP2atA/s1600/tenor+%25281%2529.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actual footage of me rushing to get back to the party</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Microsoft pulled out all the stops.</div>
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<br /></div>
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They transformed the East wing of McCormick Place to look
like downtown Chicago. There were food trucks lined up inside the convention
center and multiple interactive games for guests to play. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the sun sparkled over Lake Michigan and started to set behind
the Chicago skyline, Steve and I went outside on the balcony to enjoy the view.
We sat on a bench and played two truths and a lie. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Ok guess which one is the lie</span>,” I said enthusiastically.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ol>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">I’ve never been married, but I’ve been on a
honeymoon. </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">A man crossed a desert barefoot to prove his
love to me. </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">I think the best part of a Chick-Fil-A sandwich
is the way the pickle juice penetrates the bread, the chicken and your soul.</span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All the talk about food made me hungry, so Steve went to get
us some food truck snacks. My phone started to vibrate in my dress with
pockets. Monica was calling.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #674ea7;">Are you here?
Isn’t this set up is amazing</span>?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Yea I’m with Steve on the Balcony</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #674ea7;">I’ll leave you two alone then. Have fun! Tell me about it
later</span>!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Microsoft had built large sculptures that mimicked the
landmarks around Chicago. Steve hadn’t had a chance to explore because he was
working, so I acted as his personal tour guide. I explained the significance of
the landmarks and we took pictures at each one like tourists.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9HxVcTOZJ-YSxph2M5FXrKV9keg4EWWcsca7j5MAnk9AROxY9jCuAAZAh51suQNQpILcuwyIhMnI62xBLjyQJUYxDBkfI0YDQeJiyWMVVB4zWRBaq-RxSHkmj9L_ICLp2Ib-6eQNNpV8/s1600/IMG_20180918_184345_524.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="757" data-original-width="1024" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9HxVcTOZJ-YSxph2M5FXrKV9keg4EWWcsca7j5MAnk9AROxY9jCuAAZAh51suQNQpILcuwyIhMnI62xBLjyQJUYxDBkfI0YDQeJiyWMVVB4zWRBaq-RxSHkmj9L_ICLp2Ib-6eQNNpV8/s320/IMG_20180918_184345_524.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Friends and I at the Microsoft after party<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fall Out Boy performed that night too. I don’t have any of their albums, but I knew a some of their songs from playing Rock Band with my brother and younger cousins. When the lights went down and the smoke began to creep across the stage, Steve placed his hand on the small of my back and led me to the dance floor. I’m almost certain that the moment he touched me, I felt my left ovary release an egg into my fallopian tube.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7NiJ1bjxkg4W_LhLdRR8SqMzjYGn0nq-UETSIZn_h-92K5h6D5M6K39aifYB02I8RcMfLe0kyLaOAtneDTXKknC1WvYTta1bpt590kJ71HdP0CU-Ko9oc-9_Imqnh5jrLXN78oXCgvZ0/s1600/giphy+%25285%2529.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="575" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7NiJ1bjxkg4W_LhLdRR8SqMzjYGn0nq-UETSIZn_h-92K5h6D5M6K39aifYB02I8RcMfLe0kyLaOAtneDTXKknC1WvYTta1bpt590kJ71HdP0CU-Ko9oc-9_Imqnh5jrLXN78oXCgvZ0/s320/giphy+%25285%2529.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc;">Hey TK</span>!”<br />
<br />
Making his way through the crowd was one of the
guests I had played <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Gran Tourismo</span></i> with at my booth earlier.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Oh hi. Henrik right</span>?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was once told there is a correct way to introduce people.
You’re supposed to say this is so and so, and then mention an interesting fact
about them. This way, the people meeting each other will have something to
start a conversation about. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Henrik, this is Steve. He’s a Keynote speaker from
Microsoft and he used to play Aussie rules football.</span>” I turn to Steve.
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">This is Henrik, he’s here from Sweden and was just leaving</span>.”<br />
<br />
I smiled and said it nicely guys, I swear!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But Henrik would not leave my side. I was sandwiched between
the two like a reverse Oreo.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizbBshf3R5v-bxdwYx_nKJSxpFrZAlwuCp4jwKnbF5wBMKPZhCfQhrtUR2tOFow4KHD4vgfpFQCk9GAAAaGCOEReKJqnC-Yn16nQswJ1SRww1V8IcDMyLqJy94kd5n_I5NAA35eDZPFZ4/s1600/tumblr_mn629qYddI1r8s5bto1_400.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="286" data-original-width="400" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizbBshf3R5v-bxdwYx_nKJSxpFrZAlwuCp4jwKnbF5wBMKPZhCfQhrtUR2tOFow4KHD4vgfpFQCk9GAAAaGCOEReKJqnC-Yn16nQswJ1SRww1V8IcDMyLqJy94kd5n_I5NAA35eDZPFZ4/s320/tumblr_mn629qYddI1r8s5bto1_400.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
While listening to Fall Out Boy scream sing, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><i><a href="https://youtu.be/GNm5drtAQXs" target="_blank">This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race</a></i></span>, I telepathically tried to get Henrik to scram. My grandma always
told me I was a magical creature but apparently my telepathic super
powers had not come in yet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now I don’t remember much from high school, as it was a long time ago but I remember a few things. Like the time my friends and I played laser tag and I pistol whipped our friend Jaime. She was supposed to get stitches, but we didn't take her to the hospital. I remember we learned that World War I was started because Archduke Franz Ferdinand was
assassinated and I was pretty certain that Australia and Sweden were neutral
countries. And yet here I was, at the helm of the Microsoft Convention Cock
Block of the century.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing happened between Steve and I that night. I offered
to give him a ride to his hotel and during the ride we sang <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><a href="http://youtu.be/XCumTLv7hJM" target="_blank">Chop Suey</a></span></i>, another
Rock Band favorite of mine, at the top of our lungs. He hugged me from the
passenger seat and then I dropped him off at his boutique hotel on Michigan
Avenue.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I got home I direct tweeted Steve.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Had fun. Thanks for tonight</span>.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He tweeted back, “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">We didn’t take a picture together, probably
should have</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">No worries, I won’t forget tonight</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Steve and I kept in touch through email for weeks after
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stephanie thought it would
be a cute story to tell our grandkids one day. That we fell in the love the day
we met, spent the entire day together and kept in touch through letters, like Marilyn Monroe and John F.
Kennedy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Ever thine, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Ever mine, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Ever ours. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Signed, <i>Microsoft guy </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Honestly I’m not sure if we went on a date because Steve
didn’t ask me <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><i>to</i></span> the party, He asked me if I was going. He also didn’t kiss me
at the end of the night, although he seemed like he wanted to. He <i><span style="color: #e06666;">did</span></i> bring me
food truck ice cream and touched my back though… So clearly he wanted to marry
me, no? Isn’t that what the lower back graze means? I was so confused.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHA9c3M4Ra2QiLY1D5ptiH6UTz40kyks19yLgaw0P_g1SCES07fnc5qm8ESn5CNNGnbMAIQfb1HQbqYS2J1AE7dIxPRdNxLxkGhEbMwrpXJR_y2JcBYWnbMgB4bS91_M1K92NjOyCMmMA/s1600/uri_mh1537310950907.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="393" data-original-width="640" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHA9c3M4Ra2QiLY1D5ptiH6UTz40kyks19yLgaw0P_g1SCES07fnc5qm8ESn5CNNGnbMAIQfb1HQbqYS2J1AE7dIxPRdNxLxkGhEbMwrpXJR_y2JcBYWnbMgB4bS91_M1K92NjOyCMmMA/s320/uri_mh1537310950907.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
The emails became less frequent and eventually stopped. I
didn’t forget about Steve, but life goes on. Soon after, I had an epic cross
country work trip with hot coworker (craaaaazzzzyyyyy story y’all) and I was
focused on that for a bit. But about a year later, I happened to be in Seattle,
home of Microsoft, and I reached out to Steve. He was excited to hear from me and wanted to meet up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">How about we go to a Lego contest? We can see what others
have built and maybe even build our own Lego structure. Then we can go get
dinner and drinks and afterward we can meet my friends for game night</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was still confused about our Microsoft outing, but I
wasn’t at all perplexed about this meet up. Look, I don’t have a PhD (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Player
Haters Degree</span>) but this sounded like a date to me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I arrived at our meet up spot, I saw Steve crossing the
street. He was just as cute as I remembered from a year ago. As soon as he saw
me he gave me one of those genuinely happy smiles that shows all your teeth and
engulfed me in a warm hug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Sorry
I’m late. I'm not sure how much of the Lego contest we’ll get to see after my
friend gets here</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLrCpDfrtp7MCAe3CgYmqfR1wlZAiXNmugDI_F-do4vu9ZQudlkMUMumcbEJ1uVrjRK1B94HQOVfl9D8yHhZXBoOKehk9GXL6db-By8dhLHcbJf7nks16NTLWN766J2aS7mQpCFXpFT1c/s1600/giphy+%25288%2529.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="480" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLrCpDfrtp7MCAe3CgYmqfR1wlZAiXNmugDI_F-do4vu9ZQudlkMUMumcbEJ1uVrjRK1B94HQOVfl9D8yHhZXBoOKehk9GXL6db-By8dhLHcbJf7nks16NTLWN766J2aS7mQpCFXpFT1c/s320/giphy+%25288%2529.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">When who gets where now</span>?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Here silly. I was at a church thing and my friend heard what we
were doing and wanted to come along</span>.”<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe9wHO1XBWFqfsN30rbRx-KoFWFYofvcllvLOvUcXHTTKT6NylbGdgF8I3YuJWKaPdnuZMr4CeVWT7UiLfF8vkJjEJuu2tAuedPbSKqdHArMz7dCd3p8Iy4HdnL__L3MdJf2RxdCkIVJg/s1600/980x.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="217" data-original-width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe9wHO1XBWFqfsN30rbRx-KoFWFYofvcllvLOvUcXHTTKT6NylbGdgF8I3YuJWKaPdnuZMr4CeVWT7UiLfF8vkJjEJuu2tAuedPbSKqdHArMz7dCd3p8Iy4HdnL__L3MdJf2RxdCkIVJg/s1600/980x.gif" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think this was the Universe’s way of paying me back for
going on <a href="http://www.prettynoire.com/2018/04/two-dates-and-churro.html?m=1" target="_blank">Mary’s date in Mexico City</a>. Karma is real y’all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">Hey Steve</span>!” A tall Asian guy jogs toward us with a smile on
his face. He was dressed nicely, like he was going on a date.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">This is my friend Johnson</span>.”<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3wC1bDXL41n940qfkoNL-BFQMjREUuEE2uUiADi8v4w6kUjlXdyweQDzwE8FX8bxvpftH3EDFzc3LihszlMJVGffA3eVLn97-MfyYgRTqfcVQF1cehtzNzpxlm5ut1pfAVPhp4sUpNuQ/s1600/giphy+%25283%2529.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="480" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3wC1bDXL41n940qfkoNL-BFQMjREUuEE2uUiADi8v4w6kUjlXdyweQDzwE8FX8bxvpftH3EDFzc3LihszlMJVGffA3eVLn97-MfyYgRTqfcVQF1cehtzNzpxlm5ut1pfAVPhp4sUpNuQ/s320/giphy+%25283%2529.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He didn’t even introduce us the right way. If I was able to
read minds I could have at least been able to tell if Steve was trying to tell
Johnson to scram. My magical powers had failed me again. This time I was sandwiched between the two like a Mexican
Polvoron shortbread cookie.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhqCJD3Hy6z-gJizVkGNyTQk6tTLz2pjyO1_oAHhmlzHychS_mO0bPUAOR_dl0-q95yEQGHj38Gn_2b4Ui-q__kz0J2LFl-5ng0trCcZwbRKcjFgKSqK7vMhE_Cf7L0NUwIVrb-ZX_To/s1600/polvoron.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="120" data-original-width="81" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhqCJD3Hy6z-gJizVkGNyTQk6tTLz2pjyO1_oAHhmlzHychS_mO0bPUAOR_dl0-q95yEQGHj38Gn_2b4Ui-q__kz0J2LFl-5ng0trCcZwbRKcjFgKSqK7vMhE_Cf7L0NUwIVrb-ZX_To/s200/polvoron.jpeg" width="135" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brown, Yellow & Pink<br />
Polvorones </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We miss the Lego contest, so instead we walk around downtown Seattle before heading to dinner. The guys sit down and I excuse myself to the bathroom
and call my guy friend Rafael.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Rafi, I am so annoyed. I wore heels tonight! Ok not heels, I wore
wedges, but close enough</span>!"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06;">What's going on</span>?"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEwvXq5jZQxlbu06lkMWqalZzgoemN5fSPid4wpyE-r4Y4wa4gfahfGRMc8HjhfygLsWor5TFZZaukOFM9PBEuU336XJ6qV_ShR3FjdkgaoFPmjHn-XIJEsR9uvCIQm3YdZAeyGaeG1d8/s1600/giphy+%25284%2529.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="480" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEwvXq5jZQxlbu06lkMWqalZzgoemN5fSPid4wpyE-r4Y4wa4gfahfGRMc8HjhfygLsWor5TFZZaukOFM9PBEuU336XJ6qV_ShR3FjdkgaoFPmjHn-XIJEsR9uvCIQm3YdZAeyGaeG1d8/s320/giphy+%25284%2529.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">This guy brought an entire dude on our date</span>!"<br />
<br />
For
the record, I think it’s kinda funny when people use a measurement to describe
something that you can only have a whole portion of. It’s not like Steve could
have brought 3 quarters of a dude on our date.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06;">Sorry to hear that babe. Just have a good time and eat
well. Order something expensive. Tell me how it goes</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I got back to the table, there was a really pretty
woman sitting next to Johnson. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYbT_VsQ8IQ4gn4PKF5g_NyOG2J0UHp9-eA2267A5dAi_6F-8YmF06x1TC880aUwi6BwW7UZpnMn5L7eaVzHsd9N31yuoAKCA1m_ryPYi0QfDLFtKNBd7j1ufPmF6pZoyBDOxFTcE4lWE/s1600/tenor+%25283%2529.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="278" data-original-width="498" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYbT_VsQ8IQ4gn4PKF5g_NyOG2J0UHp9-eA2267A5dAi_6F-8YmF06x1TC880aUwi6BwW7UZpnMn5L7eaVzHsd9N31yuoAKCA1m_ryPYi0QfDLFtKNBd7j1ufPmF6pZoyBDOxFTcE4lWE/s320/tenor+%25283%2529.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What is going on? Is this a date after all? Or is this their date? Are we on
a double date?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNlzcfKlDSNnEF4vsDBQK86sg5kef64mPy70Ckl8ovigL7GlvhFLwcloXoAa_UHfRKHPjLtQFCnzoU7vYpwoV-BewoN_zWKk0ff9nPSEUYBD9SUhGoQHSYy02REUH5WMRTgx1x7_2VZ8c/s1600/bcf.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="680" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNlzcfKlDSNnEF4vsDBQK86sg5kef64mPy70Ckl8ovigL7GlvhFLwcloXoAa_UHfRKHPjLtQFCnzoU7vYpwoV-BewoN_zWKk0ff9nPSEUYBD9SUhGoQHSYy02REUH5WMRTgx1x7_2VZ8c/s320/bcf.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
The conversation flowed easily that evening and to be
honest, we had a really good time. Johnson and Anne were friendly and funny. The
four of us played a board game, ate amazing food and Steve paid for everything.
It would have been a great time even if he hadn’t paid for everything, but you
know, cherries on top of the double date sundae.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the end of the night, Johnson drove us to the parking
deck where my rental car was parked. Steve asked Johnson to stay behind so
that he could walk me to my car. We got to my car and awkwardly stood in front of each other. The parking deck was empty and you could hear cars whizzing by on the street.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Would you like to come
with me to church tomorrow</span>?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Umm…</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDMvtv_4jvYZ9B_8XQSkjwG3vGEzjWlg6f7Z2MneyWVOjNuBYyP0Z7jFI89r6G29tIow5MYslSHegxJTm8gS_hzbr-JDape4dzs8VEZ2o5nSxwOSmTyFswZfeh4TdBTptSD38mlrb5jCQ/s1600/flat%252C750x1000%252C075%252Ct.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDMvtv_4jvYZ9B_8XQSkjwG3vGEzjWlg6f7Z2MneyWVOjNuBYyP0Z7jFI89r6G29tIow5MYslSHegxJTm8gS_hzbr-JDape4dzs8VEZ2o5nSxwOSmTyFswZfeh4TdBTptSD38mlrb5jCQ/s320/flat%252C750x1000%252C075%252Ct.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">My friend Tasha is flying in from Chicago tomorrow morning and I have
to pick her up from the airport</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Well we’re having brunch after Church. You’re both invited to
that too. Who knows, maybe you’ll meet a cute guy there.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIQbOX7wrIz6SKJpGjKtd3Gwe-1UkHcMldlXb5tuTjI1DBmpiqqpWYGVeElb-xspgKLyllDG7HZwM5w4olgMPdfuV-9PsCCkLoUZBghOudq4yUQVAPPyP6RmLt2VMa-dwhzrE2HoAeoeY/s1600/8aAe.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="265" data-original-width="480" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIQbOX7wrIz6SKJpGjKtd3Gwe-1UkHcMldlXb5tuTjI1DBmpiqqpWYGVeElb-xspgKLyllDG7HZwM5w4olgMPdfuV-9PsCCkLoUZBghOudq4yUQVAPPyP6RmLt2VMa-dwhzrE2HoAeoeY/s320/8aAe.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that was that.<br />
<br />
Actually no, that wasn't the end of my relationship with Steve. We continued to text each other for a few more months. In my defense, I was over my feelings for him, but I can't lie, he was a good conversationalist. Aquarians usually are.<br />
<br />
After many late night phone conversations, I realized Steve wasn't the one for me. But he beat me to the punch.<br />
<br />
Steve told me he
didn’t think God had called him to be my husband. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">He literally said that</span>. In this instance, He is interchangeable with God and Steve.<br />
<br />
I've heard of people saying, "It's not you. It's me, but I have never heard someone say, "<span style="color: #e06666;">It's not you, its GOD. </span>The Lord doesn't want us to be together."<br />
<br />
What in the nondenominational hell? Who says that to someone? I mean honesty is the best policy, but damn. Does Christian Mingle advise people to say this?<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_SdDNM5d9w5Hg2c6HCzw9Ri7OCS5FZl69II_vY0kUfuI0t7ZIemWfNZ6tOB8UesRPebwlJQA0AGVQJ2o1Xb-YmcC3pRzMme5E3nmer_Xojo30XKf5e5-WVg1ooGyDSSDnQKihDxOtpY/s1600/giphy+%25286%2529.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="500" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_SdDNM5d9w5Hg2c6HCzw9Ri7OCS5FZl69II_vY0kUfuI0t7ZIemWfNZ6tOB8UesRPebwlJQA0AGVQJ2o1Xb-YmcC3pRzMme5E3nmer_Xojo30XKf5e5-WVg1ooGyDSSDnQKihDxOtpY/s320/giphy+%25286%2529.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">So after that, it really was the end. Maybe my magical power isn't telepathy. Maybe its dodging relationship bullets.</span></span>Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-34661322604429775892018-06-06T03:22:00.004-04:002018-06-07T09:22:22.314-04:00If You're Happy And You Know It<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I remember exactly where I was standing when I realized I didn’t want to live anymore. It was January of 2017 and I was working an event for Facebook, at an upscale hotel in Park City, Utah during the Sundance Film Festival. Festival attendees came to the event to preview short films on Oculus headsets and it was my job to walk them through the experience. I was in the middle of giving a demonstration to Tristan Wilds (Also known as Mack Wilds). He smelled like things I can't afford to buy and had teeth as white as pieces of Orbitz gum. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnhneGo2yZ75sVhIdq6vDRbj51ZCIErTjF7hjG9It37RoEybxAHwGAKd5BNamTnbn-lnRm4USNdGvIifjvK3LmijZxRqlmMJxFThSpYVh2WN17j9DrIt51FBBy4EFb8eVykw5Zo5hAqZg/s1600/Tristan_Wilds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="923" data-original-width="618" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnhneGo2yZ75sVhIdq6vDRbj51ZCIErTjF7hjG9It37RoEybxAHwGAKd5BNamTnbn-lnRm4USNdGvIifjvK3LmijZxRqlmMJxFThSpYVh2WN17j9DrIt51FBBy4EFb8eVykw5Zo5hAqZg/s320/Tristan_Wilds.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Tristan "Mack" Wilds</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">To be more accurate, I didn’t exactly want to die; I just didn’t want to feel pain any longer. I lost track of time while Tristan was watching his short film, thinking about what it would be like to no longer be apart of this world. I was tired of feeling heartbroken, worthless, and like a burden to people close to me because of my immense sadness.</span><br />
<br style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #073763; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">You okay</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">?” he asked in a surprisingly deep voice.</span><br />
<br style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The film had ended and Tristan had taken off his headset without me realizing it.</span><br />
<br style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“Oh yea I’m fine. Sorry, just spaced out for a second</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">.”</span><br />
<br style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #073763; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">You must have done a lot of these today.” </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">He looked genuinely concerned</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #073763; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">. “Get a drink after work, go to one of the parties. Have some fun</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">!”</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Thanks</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">,” I smiled as best I could.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It had been a while, but I was still sad over my break up with JC. I had also just found out that the guy I had been talking to for the past few months was married. Earlier that week a frenemy of mine told me some news about my ex that I had dated for 8 years. I didn’t think hearing about him would have effected me the way it did, but alas…</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I excused myself from the event for a few minutes and retreated to the bathroom. I closed the stall door before sliding down the tiled wall, onto the floor in tears. I sat there crying for about 5 minutes. Then I washed my face, took a selfie and posted it to Instagram before going back out to finish my shift.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I tried to act normal, but honestly I never thought I would feel okay again. I didn’t even remember what it felt like to be okay.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7pQ9p0v2b8Mn0usNhGM0A60vplLsgrpaNIzHPEBATawJKSK5EMGtpOIcG7B41srTzdHa7fDeXiJcXk42Vo6c9DK4uYufjjPwz2HCC8Hu6TG5cmGvpwAoaKHc-rfZ9yReaCxLAkmOQz2I/s1600/16300180_10104010803529489_1800412299837652058_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1279" data-original-width="1279" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7pQ9p0v2b8Mn0usNhGM0A60vplLsgrpaNIzHPEBATawJKSK5EMGtpOIcG7B41srTzdHa7fDeXiJcXk42Vo6c9DK4uYufjjPwz2HCC8Hu6TG5cmGvpwAoaKHc-rfZ9yReaCxLAkmOQz2I/s200/16300180_10104010803529489_1800412299837652058_o.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">My post crying bathroom selfie</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Something I’ve learned in the last few years, is that healing is not linear. You’ll be doing great one day, and another day you’ll see something that reminds you of your pain and it will knock the wind out of you. Almost like getting hit by a huge wave and being thrown off your surfboard. I’ve never been surfing because things that can eat me live in the ocean, but I assume that’s what happens when a big wave takes you out.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">There were times when my grief literally made me crumple to the floor in pain or caused me to silently shake in tears on the couch. I actually remember not being able to get off the couch, I hadn’t taken a shower in days and I didn’t dare leave the house. My parents were really worried. My Stepdad cautiously asked me if my ex had ever hit me. My Mom offered to take me shopping and cook my favorite foods. They didn’t know what to do, and it hurt me even more to watch them, see me hurting.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">But like a subsiding storm in the middle of the ocean, the waves of those painful times will become fewer and farther in between. The things that hurt me months ago, cause me to pause for mere seconds now. Eventually, the waves will become small ripples and I won’t think of them at all.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">For me 2015 was like the eye of the storm. I didn’t realize how bad everything was in my life because I was in the middle of the chaos. 2016 is when all hell broke loose, and then I spent most of 2017 trying to reevaluate and rebuild my life. 2018 has been a great experience thus far.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">An entire year had passed since I sat crying on the bathroom floor of a luxury hotel while celebrities drank expensive cocktails and watched films two floors above me. I went skiing for the first time and realized that I had fallen in love. Not with skiing, that was horrifically terrifying, but with life again (</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #cc0000; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">and maybe a guy too, but that’s a story for another day</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">).</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">In February I got to work at the Eagle’s Superbowl after party. My job was not glamorous. I wasn’t a journalist, photographer, or fluffer, but instead I bussed tables. The party was self serve on fancy paper plates and all the drinks at the bar were free, so honestly I didn’t have to do much. A lot of the players and other guests didn’t feel like trekking over to the bar, so they’d ask me to do it for them, and give me huge tips.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Older gentleman with an Eagle's Jersey on: "</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #274e13; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Could you bring us 4 beers</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">?”</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Me: “</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Of course.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">” Runs to get 4 beers and brings them back. Guy hands me a $100 bill.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTO82OEo9qdCduQju17ueBscuCk173af1i_b1ZBFyAdhwiGNdmhPakLjM7ZS1dO47lOY7XSsw9nzj8mPfG5PhbFY62fwyZ8-BKcSSaVndLMl2CwhkkNXmln7M4srEqtEdxrO1Ws2-k7K4/s1600/misspiggy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="631" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTO82OEo9qdCduQju17ueBscuCk173af1i_b1ZBFyAdhwiGNdmhPakLjM7ZS1dO47lOY7XSsw9nzj8mPfG5PhbFY62fwyZ8-BKcSSaVndLMl2CwhkkNXmln7M4srEqtEdxrO1Ws2-k7K4/s320/misspiggy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Me: </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #e06666;">You know these drinks are free right</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">?”</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Because I don't care about sports like that I didn't know the identity of the older gentleman. Later on my coworker told me he was a co-owner of the team.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Older man in Eagle's Jersey: “</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #274e13; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Yeah, they're free, but it’s a celebration, Enjoy the money</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">!”</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">*</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Stuffs money in bra and walks away</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">*</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The party was set up like a football field. The endzones had tables and plush white couches. One side line had food, desserts and a candy station while the other side line was an open bar. In the middle, where the 50 yard line would be, was a dance floor and a stage. I got to watch Diplo DJ a set and Cardi B perform merely 3 feet in front of me.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I felt like I was back in college, but with men who had money, muscles and fashion sense. I watched an insanely giddy Zach Ertz passionately make out with his wife. They looked so happy together that you couldn't help but be happy for them. I danced with Malcolm Jenkins who had the dopest jewelry of anyone in the room. He wore an impeccably tailored maroon colored suit, with black patent leather loafers and I'm fairly certain that his cuff links alone probably cost more than my car. I participated in a soul train line with Bryan Braman and his friends. Everyone was in a good mood. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Y_MGClf4VXD4PLHVtxWFo7C2XE4RTm6wBzNAVsc6h88LMrm01_xvyER6CRjerLTfTk-LBSXXvRVYHLPXFWLUIPffN77M0m6LVM5fa9wEBXf6nrlOqEQo0VD_yv_SnD16MxAcK6m0nvk/s1600/Malcolm-Jenkins-Week-4-TPC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1185" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Y_MGClf4VXD4PLHVtxWFo7C2XE4RTm6wBzNAVsc6h88LMrm01_xvyER6CRjerLTfTk-LBSXXvRVYHLPXFWLUIPffN77M0m6LVM5fa9wEBXf6nrlOqEQo0VD_yv_SnD16MxAcK6m0nvk/s320/Malcolm-Jenkins-Week-4-TPC.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Malcolm Jenkins </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It was crowded so I accidentally kept bumping into this really tall guy with big ole sexy arms. At one point he playfully grabbed me by the shoulders and said,</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #45818e; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Hey this is the 3rd time you’ve bumped into me</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">.”</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Sorry, its crowded in here. And you have a big butt,</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">” I added as an after thought.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">He laughed and then turned around and poked his butt out. "</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #45818e; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Yea I guess it’s my fault then. I do a lot of squats</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i>This is the type of man I deserve to procreate with</i></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> I thought to myself. An athletic, juicy booty, Superbowl champion.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We kinda flirted throughout the night. He was super sweet and gentlemanly too but he never asked for my number. Before he left for the night with his friend Bryan, he made sure he had my attention and then smiled and waved goodbye to me.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJYVrsOEgvPlYwKk0C8IKOQhdLnu0Vsogesh_Ap5RptEJm0K5eIqXGmhbyd5KQLacTKgR1VqgHNC1Ss4Ivam6kL8MbfGDLECf-3uuxGdqmO3to-x8cS14mVqAQDkTM_NfziunQVZOQbGo/s1600/Screenshot_20180606-040044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="1079" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJYVrsOEgvPlYwKk0C8IKOQhdLnu0Vsogesh_Ap5RptEJm0K5eIqXGmhbyd5KQLacTKgR1VqgHNC1Ss4Ivam6kL8MbfGDLECf-3uuxGdqmO3to-x8cS14mVqAQDkTM_NfziunQVZOQbGo/s200/Screenshot_20180606-040044.jpg" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bryan Braman</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">If Cinderella had taken place in 2018, a time when more women are learning to shoot their shot, then this is what would have happened next:</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I looked for that man everywhere on the internets y'all. I looked through the entire Eagles Roster of players but the photos weren't that great. I eventually found him on Instagram, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">BECAUSE OF THE SHOES HE HAD ON </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">in one of his Instagram posts.They were the same ones he wore at the party. I’m not trying to put his business out in these streets, but if you’re interested in who he is, he ended up proposing to his long-term girlfriend the day after the Super Bowl. So that would explain why he didn’t ask for my number. Don’t cry for me guys. Its okay, because now I realize that guys are a dime a dozen. Even though they're not all NFL players, It’s literally raining men’s out here in these streets</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYZyZwr4D5SwgUsXMXoOxUfc5KK4tUxDMV4sRgkQOgGSJhUTdiO-fEPYguqONQA6RWGJucgDPBmAs8QmQ-oR6js1JeFro2B4vHgXzkhbjvZn2creqssD4LL3UO1ePeG2cBfeAp4asXBY/s1600/Screenshot_20180606-012749.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1005" data-original-width="1080" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYZyZwr4D5SwgUsXMXoOxUfc5KK4tUxDMV4sRgkQOgGSJhUTdiO-fEPYguqONQA6RWGJucgDPBmAs8QmQ-oR6js1JeFro2B4vHgXzkhbjvZn2creqssD4LL3UO1ePeG2cBfeAp4asXBY/s320/Screenshot_20180606-012749.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">At the end of the party, the servers were gifted with a ton of free Eagles Superbowl memorabilia. I got coozies, keychains, Eagles t-shirts, a 10lb bag of Eagles colored M&M’s with the Philadelphia Eagles logo on them, shot glasses and more.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It was a fun night that I’ll always remember, especially because one of the most attractive men I had ever talked to flirted with me, but I had no use for this stuff. I decided to keep a few things for myself and send the rest to my ex because the Eagles is his favorite team. I thought about not sending it at first, because it had been 2 years since I broke up with him and I didn’t want him to think I wanted to rekindle anything between us. My best friend said I should include a short note so he didn’t get the wrong idea. We settled on...</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Hey I worked at the Superbowl and they gave me this free stuff. I knew you’d like it. Take Care</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">”</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Meanwhile, I’m living my best life: Going on girl trips to Montreal, discovering my soul mate and being rescued by ski patrol off the side of mountain ranges. One night I’m at a bar in Brooklyn with an old friend/co-worker. We're sipping gluten free beverages and he and his wife tell me about a yoga retreat to Belize. I’m in the middle of telling them about my epic trip to New Zealand where I hitch-hiked with a perfect stranger, whose native tongue was not English. I excuse myself to the bathroom, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">hard cider runs right through me</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">, and notice a text from a number I’ve never seen before.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It was the ex’s current girlfriend</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaevSIFQrydtwIzvm-HqFlSJTkEIMDfAVVSEDwiVqvrNw93iHQGUV20-NP5xwW0QHSrvDtZ1j5_lhIVWp0Nzl9OKFN5efHreBpPSxP6a9oP66y38m0hsV0u3KWleRznoXfRyxEPTFKIok/s1600/bigsean.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="219" data-original-width="500" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaevSIFQrydtwIzvm-HqFlSJTkEIMDfAVVSEDwiVqvrNw93iHQGUV20-NP5xwW0QHSrvDtZ1j5_lhIVWp0Nzl9OKFN5efHreBpPSxP6a9oP66y38m0hsV0u3KWleRznoXfRyxEPTFKIok/s320/bigsean.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I use the word text lightly, as what she sent me was more like the rough draft of her Memoir, entitled </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">A Road map of my Insecurities and Other Short Stories</span></i></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">First I’d like to say that I realize that there are ladies that would be annoyed if their boyfriend’s ex, sent them something in the mail and perhaps I should have asked if it were okay to send him the limited edition Superbowl Memorabilia of a team that probably won't win again for 50 years. I could understand if this ex was constantly being disrespectful to your relationship or wanted to get back with your boyfriend. If this is not the case, I think you should discuss this issue with your boyfriend. If it bothers you that someone (</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">who doesn't want him/he doesn't want either</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">) </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">sent him something, you should also really ask yourself why.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Because I’m not going to be messy and include screen shots, her message basically said "</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #cc0000; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">don’t text, call, email, initiate contact through social media, send gifts or presents to my boyfriend because we love each other and are going to be together forever</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">". I'm sure it said a lot of other things but I only got through the prologue. If she is out there reading this, I’m coming to her as a woman, and I want her to sincerely know that I didn’t read the entire message. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I did however, cycle through a few reactions.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEVKXN5WugyF__VXkMfRnuUyTXIIe8yrplaflT9VzAMzwOmHLnc6wp591a8sBIAnMHpLr2zupnT-8XPCjhvasOG8enEjAcNPRHuFo_jMWXim5X9xngviXBHrimEyiXuNr_eSmxZfkx_EI/s1600/mathlady.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="680" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEVKXN5WugyF__VXkMfRnuUyTXIIe8yrplaflT9VzAMzwOmHLnc6wp591a8sBIAnMHpLr2zupnT-8XPCjhvasOG8enEjAcNPRHuFo_jMWXim5X9xngviXBHrimEyiXuNr_eSmxZfkx_EI/s320/mathlady.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVvetMiXax_6uI5tAzf2inl2VZuNQVrxONMYhTG2BsMJsKtIduev4micKlJzCRVpdNTj_mYEG9cxyf0i9NmJrnUYEdPyQxhx_TwCajuMCkN50KiYUtjM6mD4ok3r4UTRcTG0it1e9uG2Q/s1600/obama.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="221" data-original-width="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVvetMiXax_6uI5tAzf2inl2VZuNQVrxONMYhTG2BsMJsKtIduev4micKlJzCRVpdNTj_mYEG9cxyf0i9NmJrnUYEdPyQxhx_TwCajuMCkN50KiYUtjM6mD4ok3r4UTRcTG0it1e9uG2Q/s1600/obama.gif" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHHXojAACdhqJ1ZDXupeELAXGt1M5PN4WsN1MtU4cI6Xtl2_hMg6VaE2DoVefozZliC2csX64Sdw8dqQxJd6C8uTm5AXoNHFZYHfPgisFdSzoKlhAuvn9H-rYmAzGS76ZMOKCwzMA2AHc/s1600/wale.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="218" data-original-width="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHHXojAACdhqJ1ZDXupeELAXGt1M5PN4WsN1MtU4cI6Xtl2_hMg6VaE2DoVefozZliC2csX64Sdw8dqQxJd6C8uTm5AXoNHFZYHfPgisFdSzoKlhAuvn9H-rYmAzGS76ZMOKCwzMA2AHc/s1600/wale.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Okay she is crazy...</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">As I sat on the toilet I thought to myself, “</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Well this is the least thankful, 'Thank You' note I’ve ever received</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">.”</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBumBPpoPELWr5nCa0yWg-xcXFfPRgRTTiurW1D8ZRLoF-o-_pXQXKp0ly9F-mNqoXjp-GiF8RwN7dr7nzGGLR9N-FLspjIHXiMb9wxoU6piMwS7n_wyEbjS8Vd5CLboAw1NzwokTtwzE/s1600/djkhaled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="337" data-original-width="600" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBumBPpoPELWr5nCa0yWg-xcXFfPRgRTTiurW1D8ZRLoF-o-_pXQXKp0ly9F-mNqoXjp-GiF8RwN7dr7nzGGLR9N-FLspjIHXiMb9wxoU6piMwS7n_wyEbjS8Vd5CLboAw1NzwokTtwzE/s320/djkhaled.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Lemme tell ya’ll the difference 10 years can make. 2008 TK would have <strike>been petty and defensive as fuck</strike> let this girl have it.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL9OI7XqqIG8BRbRnQI8tQiTxw2foBDokF3PCByupzIAQm2Dx6_6_t1rF4m86_ZXJb6_sHZPypywVgFS5XDVjYKkXTEFgf9BzVatLch0Wei0_hLwNGqDHyj3HM7KfsGFXyM3k41k0lExE/s1600/FB_IMG_1527978082460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="325" data-original-width="480" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL9OI7XqqIG8BRbRnQI8tQiTxw2foBDokF3PCByupzIAQm2Dx6_6_t1rF4m86_ZXJb6_sHZPypywVgFS5XDVjYKkXTEFgf9BzVatLch0Wei0_hLwNGqDHyj3HM7KfsGFXyM3k41k0lExE/s320/FB_IMG_1527978082460.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Ten year's ago I was in my early 20's so I was still a bit wild. My friends at the time literally called themselves Gangsta Ass Bitches and homegirl would have caught a backhand like Serena Williams (</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">ironically my Gangsta Ass Bitch friends and I played tennis at least twice a week and were very good, but I'm referring to physical violence</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">). I also would have given her reason’s why I didn’t want that man and pointed out that I had put him back on the shelf with the other emotionally immature & multiple personality having Gemini (read: evil) men for her to choose from<b>.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRWdk_7cubiExjBz_jpJjN74TIt89X-2Q3iDYVfUOwnOyeNhgKNdcEmkt8_EpGJPOnDTyjXDL_v4tpyGk2zju4kh13Lmo5DNFjXi6havFSqkOArB8fGxeAtiFGK2g058hyphenhyphene6ETJoJNnkw/s1600/gem.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="621" data-original-width="630" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRWdk_7cubiExjBz_jpJjN74TIt89X-2Q3iDYVfUOwnOyeNhgKNdcEmkt8_EpGJPOnDTyjXDL_v4tpyGk2zju4kh13Lmo5DNFjXi6havFSqkOArB8fGxeAtiFGK2g058hyphenhyphene6ETJoJNnkw/s320/gem.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #e06666;">On my list, I would have included</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">:</span></b><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: #e06666;">1</span></b><span style="color: #222222;">. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Like DJ Khaled, he won’t go down on you.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><b>2</b></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">. He will also expect you to do the emotional labor of fixing all his problems while showing little to no appreciation or acknowledgement for your hard work, examples include but are not limited to:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">a.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> Cooking him dinner after you’ve worked a 70hr week and he had the day off</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #cc0000; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> b.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> Canceling plans with friends, or entire work trips to do things with/for him instead</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #cc0000; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">c.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> Locating a carton of blueberries in the refrigerator after you’ve told him they were on the top shelf behind the almond milk and next to the block of cheddar cheese upwards of 3 times and then having to go retrieve said blueberries your cot damn self</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrZgRDbCOFij5w2Loyl7Hlel3ZdowtPWRGyDGmzkEPE6fHnq11j_PHyYwgwnWqxn6leBZZqKL0P_W9S_Ej6m7lY3kylHExolEgYjzhlsGD6uloSvv-__rexyjGOySv5QnDW5er1vca3Y8/s1600/Screenshot_20180606-025920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1070" data-original-width="1072" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrZgRDbCOFij5w2Loyl7Hlel3ZdowtPWRGyDGmzkEPE6fHnq11j_PHyYwgwnWqxn6leBZZqKL0P_W9S_Ej6m7lY3kylHExolEgYjzhlsGD6uloSvv-__rexyjGOySv5QnDW5er1vca3Y8/s320/Screenshot_20180606-025920.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b>The old TK would have followed up by chastising her for sending me the most ungrateful Thank You note I had ever received and reminding her of the reasons she should definitely be thanking me.</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: #e06666;">3</span></b><span style="color: #222222;">. The only reason you are together is because I broke up with him and decided to let that </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8_Gaw-868D28iddDAjbfVZuatoMmx7Unsx0PK3UJmHa0BReox-TthLSuqsPahivMDPpgM12232nh4YSw2uiEeDUWFcjAMka5-q6dm1T_6DH-O1qoIULkqpKpXgdH5l6v04UDC7gtB6s/s1600/mango.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="195" data-original-width="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8_Gaw-868D28iddDAjbfVZuatoMmx7Unsx0PK3UJmHa0BReox-TthLSuqsPahivMDPpgM12232nh4YSw2uiEeDUWFcjAMka5-q6dm1T_6DH-O1qoIULkqpKpXgdH5l6v04UDC7gtB6s/s1600/mango.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: #e06666;">4</span></b><span style="color: #222222;">. Bish, I sent a 10lb bag of M&M’s, why you complaining? You mad because I'm killing you with kindness?</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b>I also would have warned her to be careful...</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: #e06666;">5</span></b><span style="color: #222222;">. In 4 or 5 years, when he takes off his dating invisibility cloak and starts to unveil the dementor that he really is, your relationship may have you feeling like a prisoner of Azkaban</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32VkWVaND1xBRDZDMiZz2erMXGKit0r-rcnse02EBW2Hq79rbpX1ijfoT57l-ryk2kqNDfhkTldxm2V6P4K1NkbAHxrh09yRFPDleBod2PR0uE3rSZx-6cwUnNnc1_yfDBdNpgz8_s-E/s1600/dementor.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="213" data-original-width="500" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32VkWVaND1xBRDZDMiZz2erMXGKit0r-rcnse02EBW2Hq79rbpX1ijfoT57l-ryk2kqNDfhkTldxm2V6P4K1NkbAHxrh09yRFPDleBod2PR0uE3rSZx-6cwUnNnc1_yfDBdNpgz8_s-E/s320/dementor.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #222222;">Without even meeting her in person, I saw my past insecure and hurting self in her annoyingly wordy text message. There were times when I felt like I had to overcompensate or basically scream that</span><span style="color: #e06666;"><b> I LOVED HIM</b></span><span style="color: #222222;"> from the rooftops to prove my worth and loyalty to him. Like that time his <a href="http://www.prettynoire.com/2016/07/you-better-put-some-respek-on-my-name_13.html" target="_blank">Mom told us she wasn't coming to our apartment</a> and he blamed me for it. This long ass text message filled with all the reasons they are going to make it as a couple, felt very familiar to me. It's easy for me to <strike>respect their wishes</strike> never contact him again because I'm happy with how much I've grown since then and I refuse to do kind things for people who don't deserve them. I felt how Harriet Tubman must have felt when she encountered slaves she had to kill, “</span><span style="color: #e06666;"><i>If only this woman realized she was a slave, I could have saved her too</i></span><span style="color: #222222;">.”</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoacp7ZXAu-yn6Zh6sJj0nSPfR-wwRKHcwkAO6mT-uYhx0c8WvrhAGn0WxsXkEaigghQe164TXO5rZ1x_0eYvOVo9mib9hhPEQiyEcUBD3wMrwtiTOiY0Lfq4fpHNcw_padWvAXyKoUDw/s1600/Screenshot_20180606-092126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="972" data-original-width="1077" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoacp7ZXAu-yn6Zh6sJj0nSPfR-wwRKHcwkAO6mT-uYhx0c8WvrhAGn0WxsXkEaigghQe164TXO5rZ1x_0eYvOVo9mib9hhPEQiyEcUBD3wMrwtiTOiY0Lfq4fpHNcw_padWvAXyKoUDw/s320/Screenshot_20180606-092126.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">2018 TK understands that people are complicated. Hurt people hurt people and insecurities cause you to act out. When you’ve worked on yourself (</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">*cough* therapy and introspection</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">) and you realize the psychology behind why people do the things they do, you can’t even be mad at them.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLWzVkbQ3G3RanimS5lYfj1_h0BcQ8jie9v3YK2l3q_Wjb9AvwuPkbp1Y5aDi8fL8jVqeK9dYO1fwhcLe6TcY6MernE946t47jrBHNXhJxvHu5BNr4grYl_v-5I_liPBzTw92ZAOyizWg/s1600/iyanla.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLWzVkbQ3G3RanimS5lYfj1_h0BcQ8jie9v3YK2l3q_Wjb9AvwuPkbp1Y5aDi8fL8jVqeK9dYO1fwhcLe6TcY6MernE946t47jrBHNXhJxvHu5BNr4grYl_v-5I_liPBzTw92ZAOyizWg/s320/iyanla.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">So instead of the actions listed above, 2018 TK told her to have a good life and not to text me again. To which she replied,</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #cc0000; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Oh I’m having a good life, stop bothering us</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">.”</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">As I emerged from the bathroom to finish having a good night with my friends, I thought to myself, "</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Sounds like you're having a good life sis. Now if you’re happy and you know it clap your hands</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">."</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmg9ZAl0uPhBpY6phyphenhyphen8KOu0QVJj7Zc4_hm25bpZM9sUoi7Z4l8hBvixkV3NI4s3zvkfXQ2AWsEfT_955Wb89_3im27KXd-22mbHjGN42PjieNM6iyqjw2X_iEde9aik_MAFCU1nXmWeD4/s1600/illwait.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="223" data-original-width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmg9ZAl0uPhBpY6phyphenhyphen8KOu0QVJj7Zc4_hm25bpZM9sUoi7Z4l8hBvixkV3NI4s3zvkfXQ2AWsEfT_955Wb89_3im27KXd-22mbHjGN42PjieNM6iyqjw2X_iEde9aik_MAFCU1nXmWeD4/s1600/illwait.gif" /></a></div>
<br />
<br style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;" />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Just kidding. I'm not waiting because I don't care. He is not my man, and not my problem anymore. Emotionally intelligent people do things for others without expecting anything in return, but a small part of the 2008 TK that still resides in my psyche wanted to send her my paypal link for wasting my time on a Friday night. </span></div>
Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-13869361121863281762018-04-17T01:13:00.000-04:002018-04-17T01:47:43.231-04:00Two Dates and a Churro<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The last time I was in Seoul I was supposed to go on a date
with a cute Korean guy named Sam. Sam was Korean born but studied Engineering
at UC Berkley and spoke perfect English. He was tall and handsome and reminded
me of Daniel Henney from Criminal Minds.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEiDlqJi8UK_6Rbou-Jyy_lQ4xuzlzJlHOkWm1LFjF4i2nVIG8ZfWoQL1y9iEED9CKVV2ZH5YU474NTvCRUxFOCFQav323v5Par-7x8gHMGzYoIqe8tdBhZUI-mymp4zyxmeLud4cnu30/s1600/danielhenneyofficial-720x720.webp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="720" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEiDlqJi8UK_6Rbou-Jyy_lQ4xuzlzJlHOkWm1LFjF4i2nVIG8ZfWoQL1y9iEED9CKVV2ZH5YU474NTvCRUxFOCFQav323v5Par-7x8gHMGzYoIqe8tdBhZUI-mymp4zyxmeLud4cnu30/s200/danielhenneyofficial-720x720.webp" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daniel Henney</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> I had been at a shrine meditating,
making delicate paper cranes as a lesson in patience & participating in a
tea ceremony all day. On the way home to change my clothes, I fell asleep on
the train and missed my stop. When I woke up I was in an entirely different
town, over an hour away. We tried to reschedule, but the timing was never right
and I ended up leaving South Korea before we got a chance to hang out. Even
though we never went on our date, we stayed friends on Facebook.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I recently found out that Sam got engaged to a woman who
looks like she could be my sister. She is the Great Value version of me; Not as tall, and booty not as big. But good for them, discounts
are great. Enjoy your Apple Dapples til death do you part.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh8098vYHhffAEjmcw8LEJczBuQaK4QVy7RAm5J9ZfAQYrkXLJKEbZcky_AcUv5smjP-h9r4zuBXMrXRafzQke3iqjlJM8rQaBQLrJ87SK2NrqZ7qH3jcYC-TWu-fh4cSgP4CnZQjj-6s/s1600/9.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1195" data-original-width="1600" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh8098vYHhffAEjmcw8LEJczBuQaK4QVy7RAm5J9ZfAQYrkXLJKEbZcky_AcUv5smjP-h9r4zuBXMrXRafzQke3iqjlJM8rQaBQLrJ87SK2NrqZ7qH3jcYC-TWu-fh4cSgP4CnZQjj-6s/s320/9.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I may have missed my date with Sam, but everything happens for a reason. If the universe wanted us to go on that date,
it would have made it happen. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I guess I believe in being in the right place at the right
time and it seemed as though the universe was aligning things in my favor on my Mexico trip. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">On my third morning there, I packed my bags and checked out
of my room. Aaron and I took an Uber to pick up James at his hostel and then
the three of us went to the airport to rent a car and start our day trip to
Puebla. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6eHBb6jEWkWQ8tmNTEGvy6FiNN-Ea502aImKUsA4zlfdg1vVoxbJDWBCUGI_qxHWNRrEDfXbmLINCuVRuX0QgrQm8BlzPMSyDpsJkDScVduSlL5oCQha4KKPmrfpXUcTmBeRuu1v16Ko/s1600/moments_dca1bec6-d8a8-4041-bb90-13456cc00945_orig_res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1531" data-original-width="1225" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6eHBb6jEWkWQ8tmNTEGvy6FiNN-Ea502aImKUsA4zlfdg1vVoxbJDWBCUGI_qxHWNRrEDfXbmLINCuVRuX0QgrQm8BlzPMSyDpsJkDScVduSlL5oCQha4KKPmrfpXUcTmBeRuu1v16Ko/s320/moments_dca1bec6-d8a8-4041-bb90-13456cc00945_orig_res.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A photo I took in Puebla</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Puebla is a small town, a little over an hour outside of
Mexico City and it's also the birth place of molé sauce. We had an amazing lunch and then browsed
the local shops. James helped me pick out a handmade Huipil, a simple white
cotton dress, embroidered with red, yellow and pink thread around the neck and
sleeves and then we walked through the town square together. While Aaron was
deciding on which hand painted sugar skulls to purchase, James pulled me to the
side. </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9HALD-JDjbnxXJzZtditpbmK9hcKT1Im0ZTDfzQ-2hj-8GlVxidFEbjc8fwcjsm7KTzBTb_KjcKOQ0W9qBytwirqbYRtGnLe_GIwDp2u4MjsvT4E5LOOPJEGduvHes8e-1ZusnMf_qTA/s1600/ninared_1024x1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9HALD-JDjbnxXJzZtditpbmK9hcKT1Im0ZTDfzQ-2hj-8GlVxidFEbjc8fwcjsm7KTzBTb_KjcKOQ0W9qBytwirqbYRtGnLe_GIwDp2u4MjsvT4E5LOOPJEGduvHes8e-1ZusnMf_qTA/s320/ninared_1024x1024.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Huipil dress</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">“<span style="color: #666666;">You know that dinner I’m going to tonight?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I played dumb but I knew exactly what dinner he was talking
about. He was referring to his date with the mystery woman that he, Aaron and
Huey had met a few nights before. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">“<span style="color: #e06666;">I vaguely remember you and Aaron talking about it last
night</span>”. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">James looked over his shoulder to make sure Aaron couldn’t
hear us. “I think I can get another reservation, but I can only get one. I’d
really like it if you’d come.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Grf0-V8zCI_kJGd7ZjwNgi_FwangmEW4O4ZH1Uetz-OnuU1DS1o9fH-FnT1qcz0XKuM9z9Q1bYatURWl_LXnnvYdbciOef1brVUTaduSMGnV05y50pvcWE-He_wuz7VstpmsN-nWOwQ/s1600/Carlton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Grf0-V8zCI_kJGd7ZjwNgi_FwangmEW4O4ZH1Uetz-OnuU1DS1o9fH-FnT1qcz0XKuM9z9Q1bYatURWl_LXnnvYdbciOef1brVUTaduSMGnV05y50pvcWE-He_wuz7VstpmsN-nWOwQ/s320/Carlton.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">“<span style="color: #666666;">It’s about a $150 per person</span>,” he continued, "<span style="color: #666666;">but it’s at
one of the most prestigious restaurants in the world. It’s gonna be worth it</span>.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">At first I was hesitant because of the price. But then I
reasoned that I only had 2 more days left in Mexico and had not spent a lot of
money thus far. Up to this point, my hostel had been around $9 a night, and I
was spending less than $20 a day on meals and transportation combined. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJHhADrkujYfSsEFP_lDedo2p3yNfQoG24bdnmOKZfWFdNtD72XMMXVQyEhMib71xT5IJeSPKbmkOkqjyeCk0FGcCHoHVevDecSpmvPbi9DBKVzQwislknCvbxBtjBqnq9pYQgKO1z3PA/s1600/tenor+%25283%2529.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="498" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJHhADrkujYfSsEFP_lDedo2p3yNfQoG24bdnmOKZfWFdNtD72XMMXVQyEhMib71xT5IJeSPKbmkOkqjyeCk0FGcCHoHVevDecSpmvPbi9DBKVzQwislknCvbxBtjBqnq9pYQgKO1z3PA/s400/tenor+%25283%2529.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">“<span style="color: #e06666;">I’d love to go</span>.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">As we drove back to Mexico City the scenery switched from
green farmland to hilly and tropical. Stacked high in the hills, you could see
the colorful houses from the highway. The sky was the prettiest shade of light
blue and the hot sun beamed into the car as it peaked out behind the clouds. I
unwrapped my shawl from my shoulders and let the sun tan my skin through the
windows.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFa8LoiEutvkBe9HIF7Ttqv3cY3PjBfKwfu7cDtDM8FDGKsS7hnvvZVEf9sv7wiFadTey7R_WlcT_SkdG-7wHNykg9MR1Anb7V4z5a4szI7CSJm-__gNljmP-0fy2Ky3cuKLLeWdKjprQ/s1600/3B54BF8100000578-4029410-image-m-42_1481647247686.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="644" data-original-width="962" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFa8LoiEutvkBe9HIF7Ttqv3cY3PjBfKwfu7cDtDM8FDGKsS7hnvvZVEf9sv7wiFadTey7R_WlcT_SkdG-7wHNykg9MR1Anb7V4z5a4szI7CSJm-__gNljmP-0fy2Ky3cuKLLeWdKjprQ/s320/3B54BF8100000578-4029410-image-m-42_1481647247686.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mexico City from the highway</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The three of us took turns being Aux cord DJs. Aaron, out of
respect for being a Toronto native, played Drake. I sang along to Sia, and
James put on some Michael Bublé. Hearing him sing “<i><span style="color: #660000;">I just haven’t met you yet</span></i>” slightly
off key, as we sped into the city limits, was almost the best part of my day. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">On our way to drop off the rental car, we stopped at a traffic
light where a young boy on the corner was selling bottled water. James motioned
for the boy, who couldn’t have been over 10 years old, to come over. He reached
into his pocket and gave him a handful of pesos. When the boy tried to give him
change and the bottled water, James told him, “No, esto es para ti.” This is
for you. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><i>I quietly ovulated in the passenger seat</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Seeing the gap toothed smile on the young boy’s dark brown
face was definitely the best part of my day. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">We parted ways with Aaron at the airport and ordered an Uber
to head to dinner. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">During the ride, James answered text messages on his phone.
Without looking up he asked, “<span style="color: #666666;">Have you seen Chef’s Table on Netflix</span>?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">“<span style="color: #e06666;">It’s on my list of things to see,</span>” I replied as we moved through
traffic. I watched vendors shutting down their elote carts for the evening,
just as I had on my first night in town. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">“<span style="color: #e06666;">That’s how I heard of Pujol. It’s ranked the 17th best
restaurant in the world. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re in
for a treat!</span>” James said excitedly. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibjqCKRT2hgfz23XljQlaB1HYX6njaetzPxYCKGpQHZKUprggwabTveUSjYoY2zBWQMgxuZGu4jAdJQ99VDpdmkFM3AkT_l5XnY9rmocR9WtGRyAyGYu1uY6YeQ1g06eSzRkQQ9Zsyg9c/s1600/Restaurante-Pujol-Enrique-Olvera-Selvv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="665" data-original-width="998" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibjqCKRT2hgfz23XljQlaB1HYX6njaetzPxYCKGpQHZKUprggwabTveUSjYoY2zBWQMgxuZGu4jAdJQ99VDpdmkFM3AkT_l5XnY9rmocR9WtGRyAyGYu1uY6YeQ1g06eSzRkQQ9Zsyg9c/s320/Restaurante-Pujol-Enrique-Olvera-Selvv.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pujol</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">By the time we arrived, the sun had gone down, but the
temperature outside had not yet relented. We entered a dark building, first
through a heavy glass door and then through an even heavier brass door.
A man in a very nice suit then led us to our table as the room buzzed
with soft chatter and smartly dressed people ate their dinner.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Quietly following the host to our table, I became acutely
aware of my appearance.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I don’t know what it is about traveling in a car all day,
but it makes me sweaty. Even if I’m just sitting in one spot, rapping to Drake
songs, I end up sticky. Luckily I didn’t smell like I had worked in a field all
day, but I definitely felt like it. My face was glistening, my hair was not as
smooth as it had been when we left for Puebla that morning and my dress was
wrinkled from sitting in the car.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Thank God the lights were low and candles were placed
strategically throughout the restaurant. Maybe nobody would notice how
disheveled I was. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">But as luck would have it, waiting patiently at our table
was one of the most attractive women in the restaurant. She was dressed in a
dark sapphire blue dress with a plunging neckline that served as a beautiful
contrast to her sun kissed complexion. Silver drop earrings daintily hung from
her ears, peaking out from behind her thick shiny hair, occasionally sparkling
in the candlelight. She looked like she used expensive conditioner, routinely
got her ends trimmed and didn’t need to own a vibrator.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">James hugged the beautiful woman and then sat down to my
left, leaving me to sit directly across from her. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">“<span style="color: #666666;">Mary this is my friend TK</span>.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">“<span style="color: #e06666;">Thanks for letting me join you tonight</span>.” I smiled.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Mary looked unimpressed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI6XHPaKYhJ9r_kmloim1Fjc4jXC00yG7pBO8rKoIn2nYYWMSOrTlmJsRxZHdUryZD6poVPRYxKqI10iCmPQ9kic6y3HmRIxSsopXl4fvqfXp5AHlKmCzP0K4VVy8TCIS3J6p-I15M7hw/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI6XHPaKYhJ9r_kmloim1Fjc4jXC00yG7pBO8rKoIn2nYYWMSOrTlmJsRxZHdUryZD6poVPRYxKqI10iCmPQ9kic6y3HmRIxSsopXl4fvqfXp5AHlKmCzP0K4VVy8TCIS3J6p-I15M7hw/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">I distinctly got the feeling she
didn’t want me there but she quickly snapped out of it and put on a
pleasant smile.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW5BiSFs-YqZuAoy7X4kU-IgtRxJVBJjwwCczCucX3JEeeMx2tfOLPRHK6QYD7IYigr0oKtySFRFnSeJA3iXjLocVoHNiBuAMDsnBPIDNc7YLSZXJTrQdUOD05cx9byBMRJw8YdVCsI1w/s1600/tumblr_m0am4wlxcA1qak5sd.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="500" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW5BiSFs-YqZuAoy7X4kU-IgtRxJVBJjwwCczCucX3JEeeMx2tfOLPRHK6QYD7IYigr0oKtySFRFnSeJA3iXjLocVoHNiBuAMDsnBPIDNc7YLSZXJTrQdUOD05cx9byBMRJw8YdVCsI1w/s320/tumblr_m0am4wlxcA1qak5sd.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">“<span style="color: #674ea7;">Thanks for coming. Should we order</span>?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">With my hand, I tried to smooth down my edges and pull my
shawl over my car-tanned shoulders. I must have looked like I grew up in a
trailer park eating twinkies and drinking whole milk with strawberry syrup for
breakfast. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Imagine going to dinner with Keegan Michael Key and Lucy Liu
and feeling like Celie from <span style="color: #351c75;"><i>The Color Purple</i></span>. I use Lucy Liu as a reference,
because unfortunately we don’t have enough Asian representation in the media,
but Mary is actually Filipino and Lucy Liu is Han Chinese. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">They don’t even
favor one another, but my point is that both women are stunning and I felt
anything but glamorous in that moment.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Truth be told, I don’t think Mary felt so great in that
moment either, but I had a feeling it wasn’t for the same reason.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Both Mary and James ordered a drink and we placed our orders from the menu. The waiter brings a beautiful yellow cocktail to the table and sits
it down in front of James.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">“<span style="color: #666666;">Wow, this is really great. Would you like to taste it</span>?” James
hands me the glass. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I sip the drink slowly before handing it back to him. It
was lemony but not too sweet. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Mary looks from me to James. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN7PyyG0Fmmf3A1kEYjOPzWaIJhrhBh2s36L16DSK-z2cBc18XWCa5hMqwfX81FUW82p3zbSn2xcFGzzV6OQSBZj6d_VbKFtygaKuwJjN5uw2FdhWQI10ai7pG9N55U9FQ3JjPPsjnHGs/s1600/giphy+%25281%2529.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="282" data-original-width="500" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN7PyyG0Fmmf3A1kEYjOPzWaIJhrhBh2s36L16DSK-z2cBc18XWCa5hMqwfX81FUW82p3zbSn2xcFGzzV6OQSBZj6d_VbKFtygaKuwJjN5uw2FdhWQI10ai7pG9N55U9FQ3JjPPsjnHGs/s400/giphy+%25281%2529.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">“</span><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Umm, can I try it too</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">“<span style="color: #666666;">Of course</span>.” James quickly hands her the drink.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Lord, this was getting awkward. I'm just sitting there like, </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZsHOIYXARPkHtQBAyT8URwRoNev2NoSJUiACqMhrqqWcojB-Dkp9WH-2vhtJhHJfBGLbeOAo8ILqfEewo8SNiGeY0VhG1WnnclGLWyE0MvTT0HOAwWZ7by22yT_N73cWRNLuStl7O_Uk/s1600/giphy+%25282%2529.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="284" data-original-width="500" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZsHOIYXARPkHtQBAyT8URwRoNev2NoSJUiACqMhrqqWcojB-Dkp9WH-2vhtJhHJfBGLbeOAo8ILqfEewo8SNiGeY0VhG1WnnclGLWyE0MvTT0HOAwWZ7by22yT_N73cWRNLuStl7O_Uk/s400/giphy+%25282%2529.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Next up was our 6 course meal. You were allowed to choose
one item from each Roman numeral. We decided to each pick something different
so that we could all try as many things as possible.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTWMpRuXyLNHCFX6UwiDzghqi8BNNiqYCmoCRxAoVXc2w3zvIrXbWEsamAF0VIRUK2-g4jLvUtDs_htyRfcJro7fUEghiWEgLggmrKbDhptdJ_rW-AyXVkWx_jw1SeVGx4A2UrOVC7KXc/s1600/2018-04-12-20-25-43-100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTWMpRuXyLNHCFX6UwiDzghqi8BNNiqYCmoCRxAoVXc2w3zvIrXbWEsamAF0VIRUK2-g4jLvUtDs_htyRfcJro7fUEghiWEgLggmrKbDhptdJ_rW-AyXVkWx_jw1SeVGx4A2UrOVC7KXc/s320/2018-04-12-20-25-43-100.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Menu</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">For the first course I ordered chicharron because I had tried
it in Peru and it was lovely. Mary ordered the chicken skin with escamole and
James ordered the chicatana. When the plates arrived, we split the dishes
between us.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I looked at the food presented before us and everything
seemed small and foreign. Well everything except for the hollowed out gourd in
the center of the table, that had white smoke rising from it.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGbnQrpVc43ztLtQlBZPNDSNEI-34Zw9KdmuTEUmgvBRh12DTEdnjT51gwJkD_LJ3wScWmGBB6kRRv8tboG8vMapxfGzWGokP7yHTBPHFcL4eA1qaJEk8ZU26Tt7NNMDCCdIY751PYwl8/s1600/download+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="167" data-original-width="223" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGbnQrpVc43ztLtQlBZPNDSNEI-34Zw9KdmuTEUmgvBRh12DTEdnjT51gwJkD_LJ3wScWmGBB6kRRv8tboG8vMapxfGzWGokP7yHTBPHFcL4eA1qaJEk8ZU26Tt7NNMDCCdIY751PYwl8/s320/download+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The waiter explained what the dishes were. The gourd contained ants that were smoked right out of the ground and straight into the gourd where they
were seasoned and further steamed to tenderness. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4gxtA-wOXBtt2SmvRyeKThVzkxAUgCAO5uSV8rkgaARr1S2NefINHFcE1dcF4TmzvJi2T3SKiLGUNSxg4NdgHLxEHPa3BJQqrbBxHdEeg2Z9IgVVHm4nJBKm3udc8innZToZgRHOYarE/s1600/IMG_20180417_003839_191.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4gxtA-wOXBtt2SmvRyeKThVzkxAUgCAO5uSV8rkgaARr1S2NefINHFcE1dcF4TmzvJi2T3SKiLGUNSxg4NdgHLxEHPa3BJQqrbBxHdEeg2Z9IgVVHm4nJBKm3udc8innZToZgRHOYarE/s320/IMG_20180417_003839_191.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chicatana smoked ants in a gourd</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The escamoles were edible ant
larvae, harvested from the roots of the Agave plant. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAKLEG8tzMtFAEI9_dC4jylApWsYw62Mz-wQxi2uhAFVFJygIhjLEzXZtxjffyytgIWakjKa_aVsoM2pcEKKW4Br61ioMCjHGDtmLaZz9k_MJqcXsmWTP_rfhSPVp2nhnIurpsSMOPjaI/s1600/escamoles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="354" data-original-width="471" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAKLEG8tzMtFAEI9_dC4jylApWsYw62Mz-wQxi2uhAFVFJygIhjLEzXZtxjffyytgIWakjKa_aVsoM2pcEKKW4Br61ioMCjHGDtmLaZz9k_MJqcXsmWTP_rfhSPVp2nhnIurpsSMOPjaI/s320/escamoles.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Esacamole</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-align: center;">Ya'll that is not a typo. James AND Mary had both ordered ANTS. T</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-align: center;">alk about farm to table. First it was brain tacos
and now this! In my mind I was like, “</span><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-align: center;">You can have him sis. You guys can cruise
the world, and eat at Netflix restaurants in fancy dresses. I’m going to get $2
mystery meat street empanadas after this</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-align: center;">.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENVqUfG4UZN1JUq_ZK0sNsdKV4YsTjWFR-e0_i-LNNoUwX1kporyL8GQVz1vueWBreEAzffsM3GpXABW-HhM_Qc97lmtTQZdNxF3hyphenhyphen8o7QcZeR9scKE2DtaScWxda4J7wV7YFK310Vuo/s1600/tenor+%25282%2529.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="220" data-original-width="220" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENVqUfG4UZN1JUq_ZK0sNsdKV4YsTjWFR-e0_i-LNNoUwX1kporyL8GQVz1vueWBreEAzffsM3GpXABW-HhM_Qc97lmtTQZdNxF3hyphenhyphen8o7QcZeR9scKE2DtaScWxda4J7wV7YFK310Vuo/s320/tenor+%25282%2529.gif" width="320" /></a><span style="clear: left; display: inline; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="clear: left; display: inline; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="clear: left; display: inline; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </span>I was <span style="color: #cc0000;">THISCLOSE </span>to calling it quits after the waiter's explanation, but I had already paid my money for the evening. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can’t say that it got much better from there guys. At
least not for me. Our waiter brought some forest green tortillas with the next
course.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR61Gc7D-DcsgfcGkKI3MIBTAGfAj0p45UvWMqBOuy-oA7y7mSJXos7BxVxnaqN0dfa64tvuY1-DHldCOgwJcOHWeCdDhelaW83ptD3YncIHwvaI6O4tLqG9Rt1C9k4wS3WnRlzD1dxl8/s1600/uri_mr1523939744637.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR61Gc7D-DcsgfcGkKI3MIBTAGfAj0p45UvWMqBOuy-oA7y7mSJXos7BxVxnaqN0dfa64tvuY1-DHldCOgwJcOHWeCdDhelaW83ptD3YncIHwvaI6O4tLqG9Rt1C9k4wS3WnRlzD1dxl8/s320/uri_mr1523939744637.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I tore off a little piece and started to chew. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Then I just sat there for a moment trying to figure out what I was tasting.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-align: center;">“</span><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-align: center;">This tastes like Neosporin</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-align: center;">.”</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLiZCJs0O39yba1vFCx8r4sokEOXDJdv0vT6MFfbRvbVQdXiL-LWQzvbo-m2tw49hgQ7dfy5UdMfTNIXVOnvV8nZTecoy4ruT1dC76EDW9HRPLpTgm7dLfV5Fi8TwmYWk2Au5yZM3CYK4/s1600/p-the-color-purple-whoopi-goldberg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLiZCJs0O39yba1vFCx8r4sokEOXDJdv0vT6MFfbRvbVQdXiL-LWQzvbo-m2tw49hgQ7dfy5UdMfTNIXVOnvV8nZTecoy4ruT1dC76EDW9HRPLpTgm7dLfV5Fi8TwmYWk2Au5yZM3CYK4/s400/p-the-color-purple-whoopi-goldberg.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Mary tried so hard not to laugh out loud that she nearly
snorted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<span style="color: #674ea7;">What did you say</span>?”</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I cleared my throat. “<span style="color: #e06666;">These tortillas have a… medicinal
quality to them</span>.”</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">She giggled, but after that comment, she seemed to open up
to me a little more.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I felt bad because I was thousands of miles away from home,
at the 17<sup>th</sup> best restaurant in the world, with two amazingly sexy
dinner dates and all I wanted was a slice of pizza.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">But I hung in there and tried
those small portioned, weird ass fancy foods. I was proud of myself for trying
something new.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The final course, our dessert, came to the table and it
wasn’t awful. It was a long circular churro, some Mexican hot chocolate and mint ice
cream that looked like sea foam.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvV-tnaNBKKL1CVUHCVvCtVCwijfW5F4lzmR2PcfUAprC97N4VnWXBfNJXJHhiYHZTuyLGIP1CfavsrmjEdLFM7GNXCAoW0IV8UlpqseNZ97FsDbL7do69V8vFAYb1I0zC_SSwQ55xrZE/s1600/churro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="550" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvV-tnaNBKKL1CVUHCVvCtVCwijfW5F4lzmR2PcfUAprC97N4VnWXBfNJXJHhiYHZTuyLGIP1CfavsrmjEdLFM7GNXCAoW0IV8UlpqseNZ97FsDbL7do69V8vFAYb1I0zC_SSwQ55xrZE/s320/churro.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A warm cinnamony churro</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I watched Mary slide her spoon into the foamy concotion. When the waiter brought over a bottle of champagne with a card.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijkftYIfwWFMwpHuF5MDK71FwYHyduKKOeOjKsXeQO59G-SpqvfBI7E__aD4P29LcIxFl7vaixZCI38NcEIKzE2HZzw6PyOPfUG6yJJbeGlrY1QIcWWrIhtFVRbWmh96qW5CrIAyBrdwY/s1600/IMG_20180417_003703_607.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijkftYIfwWFMwpHuF5MDK71FwYHyduKKOeOjKsXeQO59G-SpqvfBI7E__aD4P29LcIxFl7vaixZCI38NcEIKzE2HZzw6PyOPfUG6yJJbeGlrY1QIcWWrIhtFVRbWmh96qW5CrIAyBrdwY/s320/IMG_20180417_003703_607.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Foamy mint ice cream with chocolate flakes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Mary was surprised and quickly read the card to herself before paraphrasing and disclosing it's contents to us. Apparently some guy she knew in town was smitten with her, but I got the idea that she wasn't into him. Must be nice, getting bottles in international area codes while you're on a date with a hot guy you just met and his dusty travel buddy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I could tell that Mary and James dined like this a lot and even though I felt very out of place I was okay with how the evening was going. I realize this was an experience I'd never forget, and I was thankful for it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The three of us ended up going to very nice hotel bar where James knew the bartender. We met up with Aaron, Jimmy and Huey who had just come from a luchadores (Mexican wrestling) match. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I asked James to pick a drink for me, since he's the bartending expert, but it ended up tasting like mouthwash. I suppose that was a good way to get the last bit of Neosporin taste out of my mouth though.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyIfupGtZsZKnAJt66sb_Vx67aNbfP1-RjaoPwogVedEKSAWPYM8ue-91A6GAP1qATfJ9CBfHWGHqO_FOx4Sc2mOsG7ldw3FpqANmT2hXY_YBenSDFdyG31eVIaYIDzLtzZVxtujHwQ0M/s1600/moments_BD72B19C-F687-4262-9159-8567C87EBD87_orig_res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyIfupGtZsZKnAJt66sb_Vx67aNbfP1-RjaoPwogVedEKSAWPYM8ue-91A6GAP1qATfJ9CBfHWGHqO_FOx4Sc2mOsG7ldw3FpqANmT2hXY_YBenSDFdyG31eVIaYIDzLtzZVxtujHwQ0M/s320/moments_BD72B19C-F687-4262-9159-8567C87EBD87_orig_res.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whisky & a side of crickets </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">The 5 of us spent the night laughing & drinking until 3 in the morning. Mary had loosened up considerably and was actually a very sweet and funny person. I guess I can't really blame her for how she acted when we first arrived to Pujol. I'd be pissed if a guy brought someone on our date too. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">It was Mary and Jimmy's last night in town so we did a round of shots for them before everyone dispersed for the night.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqYX-x_uJFQA3S9DbZMQCGQfx-uoMRpYGyYDTSn_cMVqlqljsEH6L0xwse6uPpInDI3Mx1ky30cfQsnvPgoZ_1vTpZgBHuBE7ltfZOXPLS305UZxgn8XVtQ033o7NCj1KpYiFqjlT-6Po/s1600/moments_1c5dbbe5-9ecc-4cd0-b673-c96181993f10_orig_res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1074" data-original-width="1562" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqYX-x_uJFQA3S9DbZMQCGQfx-uoMRpYGyYDTSn_cMVqlqljsEH6L0xwse6uPpInDI3Mx1ky30cfQsnvPgoZ_1vTpZgBHuBE7ltfZOXPLS305UZxgn8XVtQ033o7NCj1KpYiFqjlT-6Po/s640/moments_1c5dbbe5-9ecc-4cd0-b673-c96181993f10_orig_res.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left to right, in order of importance (lol just kidding): Huy, James, Jimmy, Aaron, Mary, and I</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;">I only had one more night left in Mexico and I was excited to see what it would bring.</span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-19326958960968657892018-02-26T01:03:00.002-05:002018-02-26T10:44:33.751-05:00Comiendo My Way Through Mexico<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
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Once upon a time, my boyfriend and I returned home from
Honolulu and watched an episode of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Best Thing I’ve Ever Ate</i> </span>where they showed these amazing little choux
pastries from a bakery called <a href="http://www.beardpapa.com/" target="_blank">Beard Papa</a>. The only one in the US at the time
was in Waikiki, and it was right down the street from the hotel we stayed in. I
was <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">big mad</span> that I had missed out on those little sweet balls of perfection. Later
that summer they opened a location in Manhattan and while we were on his annual
family trip to New York, I was determined to get some. I begged my boyfriend to rent bikes with me in Central Park for the day and he thought we were going to take a leisurely bike ride.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><b>WRONG</b></span></div>
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You ever see <a href="https://vimeo.com/71265261" target="_blank">Robin Thicke's</a> first music video, before he cut his hair, started doing white lines and cheating on his wife? Before fame changed him? That was us. Riding 45 blocks, Robin Thicke style though rush hour traffic in the sweltering August heat to get puff pastries. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><strike>Cocaine</strike> Sugar is a hell of a drug</span>.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Almost missing out on the perfect pastry is what made me
start planning more detailed itineraries before venturing on international
trips. But true to form, I didn’t even book a place to stay until I touched
down in Mexico City. Luckily I picked a hostel with people that were:</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">1. Not killers</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">2. Well traveled </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">3. Had
already planned itineraries and didn’t mind if I tagged along with them</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Also, it was the only hostel that had rooms available.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-size: large;">Day 1 – Mexico City</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOxPafuFX9Lqrj8q7DoLvzYI2IYVnmiKg45vt42VuaqNDHT2q0BDmy8mY9QNsGidM3f2BuEF92QRD0xV7KIx7zDxCLlAmUv_S3udzY6EzhyphenhyphenUcuIkFI3316Ae0Vr5ingQK8bPHOtEnNZo/s1600/moments_9ed6b1b0-0fb5-44b1-99c8-ea298b22e62b_orig_res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOxPafuFX9Lqrj8q7DoLvzYI2IYVnmiKg45vt42VuaqNDHT2q0BDmy8mY9QNsGidM3f2BuEF92QRD0xV7KIx7zDxCLlAmUv_S3udzY6EzhyphenhyphenUcuIkFI3316Ae0Vr5ingQK8bPHOtEnNZo/s640/moments_9ed6b1b0-0fb5-44b1-99c8-ea298b22e62b_orig_res.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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That morning I came out the bathroom after brushing my teeth
to find Huey sitting on one of the plush velvet couches in the common area.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">I’m so hungry</span>.” He looked at me with a Save-the-children-for-a-dollar-a-day-face.
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">Want to get breakfast</span>?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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I checked my phone and James hadn’t texted me to go to the
ATM yet, so I agreed. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I’ve studied Spanish since middle school, and even minored
in Spanish Language and Literature in college, so I wasn’t too worried about
communicating in Mexico. I’m not fluent by any means, but I can understand most
of what is said to me if people speak slowly and I can reply in Spanglish in
most cases. It was at breakfast where I found out that Huey, despite living in
Texas, aka Northern Mexico, was not as gifted with the Spanish language. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_0iQBRwWI0ZemFzsoN3T5KAvMOtJgtnaaiF06iJH9ChsAsShKrYl6F4mqVoU-06AEpDRgni-twA-ttUKQzvVq0jdPDcW2IUFlKVVeNFmthy9pevz223JnrEFU1TcAol6QoDTF59uOFQ4/s1600/moments_1bf0f55f-9d49-43d2-b7d0-69c9b6a979d1_orig_res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_0iQBRwWI0ZemFzsoN3T5KAvMOtJgtnaaiF06iJH9ChsAsShKrYl6F4mqVoU-06AEpDRgni-twA-ttUKQzvVq0jdPDcW2IUFlKVVeNFmthy9pevz223JnrEFU1TcAol6QoDTF59uOFQ4/s320/moments_1bf0f55f-9d49-43d2-b7d0-69c9b6a979d1_orig_res.jpg" width="179" /></a></div>
We saw a bunch of people dressed in business clothes, probably on their way to work, going into a small eatery, so we decided to
follow them. Locals will almost always lead you to good food. Huey looked at
the menu on the wall and mulled over what he was going to order. The line was
growing exponentially behind us and people were becoming impatient. As I was scrolling
through Instagram Huey tapped me on the shoulder and asked,</div>
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<br />
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">How do you say, ‘I want the same</span>?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Just say, lo mismo</span>.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked up from my phone and placed my order, three carne en adobo tacos and an orange fizzy drink, when I noticed the lady behind the
counter loading a bunch of tortillas onto a cafeteria tray covered with wax
paper. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Did you mean to get that much food</span>?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">I told the lady to give me what the man in front of us got.
How much food did I order</span>?"</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked over Huey’s shoulder. “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">I’m pretty sure that man
ordered tacos for his entire family. I think he ordered like 19 tacos</span>,” I
laughed.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtgnxnMxc2q48E5vxS7UzXRw38l5lstGVXYNCc79awT7oC68qU3tfpYdWxXbtPCqpombCFhA6bq7f3FBXMxTTF5o-KwZy5f_H_w9djL4tuvO93s-_KHoFuT9b58QkgH7eBTpig4H38fM/s1600/moments_6570ba77-f7f1-4cb1-9b6f-9bf2680930f2_orig_res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtgnxnMxc2q48E5vxS7UzXRw38l5lstGVXYNCc79awT7oC68qU3tfpYdWxXbtPCqpombCFhA6bq7f3FBXMxTTF5o-KwZy5f_H_w9djL4tuvO93s-_KHoFuT9b58QkgH7eBTpig4H38fM/s320/moments_6570ba77-f7f1-4cb1-9b6f-9bf2680930f2_orig_res.jpg" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Muchos Tacos</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After we ate the 22 glorious tacos, with a side of bright
green salsa and guacomole that was made right in front of our eyes, we headed
back to the hostel.</div>
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<br /></div>
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When we got there, James was waiting out front and introduced
us to Jimmy and Benji from Australia. The five of us headed to La Lagunilla, a
famous flea market in the area. The market is massive and has sections that sell
clothing, furniture and food. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_4Pmn73hiGt9aARQXq3b-FW14-128BWA6wQXLRavWH3_0O50oVGIpUCmx9lAvrwjt_XP42tjOibsXkoYMlwyCvEXCH1oxxHzgTNv-r6L6LvSuM5kUX6yQP3u_HK9AJi8QibxXvpW9XUE/s1600/moments_a17196c5-53c8-4e41-8a16-0a09eb47cc6e_orig_res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_4Pmn73hiGt9aARQXq3b-FW14-128BWA6wQXLRavWH3_0O50oVGIpUCmx9lAvrwjt_XP42tjOibsXkoYMlwyCvEXCH1oxxHzgTNv-r6L6LvSuM5kUX6yQP3u_HK9AJi8QibxXvpW9XUE/s320/moments_a17196c5-53c8-4e41-8a16-0a09eb47cc6e_orig_res.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jimmy & I drinking Jugo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
James picked up some multi-colored papel picado. He
explained how the generations of men in his family come together to make
tamales once a year, and he was going to take these home to Denver to decorate
for the occasion. He haggled with some Mexican ladies over spices and Jimmy and
I ordered some freshly squeezed orange juice from a stand before we sat down to
a lunch of grilled chicken huaraches.<br />
<br />
The vendors make everything
in front of you, kind of like they do at hibachi style Japanese
restaurants in the United States. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone is busy buying their daily groceries and
house wares, and in the middle of the chaos you sit down and get to know each
other over sizzling hot food, with the aroma of adobo circling around you.
Despite the fast pace of the flea market, it felt like we were eating a family
dinner at our own little oasis. </div>
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</div>
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After lunch we took a subway train to the trajineras. Trajineras are like the Mexican equivalent of gondolas in Venice, Italy but with some exciting differences. First you pick your boat and tell them how long you want to be on the river. We decided on a 2 hour trip. Next you cruise the canals and people watch while a Mariachi band serenades your family and friends. There are even concession trajineras, were you can order authentic Mexican dishes and drinks right from their boat to yours. </div>
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq_0Me3-l2TYp_kzBc4Sj2I5-iW1A_48EOb2F1xsB1GN55wEoaa4SDQS9hxuQFIa2djWaKAL_JrDOfNc_wdyEN96QqC1RY55zZPqL7pkvv7Ra9ilFGs41OrpyO1Id1OeZ-SavU2VoEwKw/s1600/2018-02-26-00-05-46-646.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1332" data-original-width="897" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq_0Me3-l2TYp_kzBc4Sj2I5-iW1A_48EOb2F1xsB1GN55wEoaa4SDQS9hxuQFIa2djWaKAL_JrDOfNc_wdyEN96QqC1RY55zZPqL7pkvv7Ra9ilFGs41OrpyO1Id1OeZ-SavU2VoEwKw/s320/2018-02-26-00-05-46-646.jpg" width="214" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3lqrwPgYTWchh0rAAyCU2FQs7wnbNg1TSIRoFGvOOvecWJPWWg8FbnamvGQ6n_Vccx-CJKnSIEM2PAPIUSXTFWVIxiEF0ERdelrNe07mQNSm5gE9VMPHc5_8T2Uz-TBpRPoMu5r9s_vA/s1600/moments_968e7ea1-0f69-47d0-87a9-9e0354cc89b4_orig_res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1531" data-original-width="1225" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3lqrwPgYTWchh0rAAyCU2FQs7wnbNg1TSIRoFGvOOvecWJPWWg8FbnamvGQ6n_Vccx-CJKnSIEM2PAPIUSXTFWVIxiEF0ERdelrNe07mQNSm5gE9VMPHc5_8T2Uz-TBpRPoMu5r9s_vA/s320/moments_968e7ea1-0f69-47d0-87a9-9e0354cc89b4_orig_res.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s a great way to get to know each other too. Our crew of
5 international strangers became better acquainted. We shared tales of the
greatest places we had traveled.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">I heard of this town close to Mexico City that has a big
Day of the Dead festival and the entire town participates,</span>” James said excitedly. “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">They have a parade and everyone dresses up and goes to mass
at the church. They decorate the graves of their ancestors in the church
graveyard and they make special food for everyone to try</span>.”<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFmc4WIo4RTj1G0uAzj6SXWvvLTUO9pqGUdzc4rXxPTWmbrv8heHm1P7XW8oqGflDzSouwYMGZoMCD1W5IwkQ80IEBCOs-wPhFk-DPSk_up5QD5M_JIrh168d3UdEaLvAjEtmuL8OZaJ0/s1600/moments_62E5CCE5-00C3-43E0-B6B6-18B9D752DECD_orig_res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFmc4WIo4RTj1G0uAzj6SXWvvLTUO9pqGUdzc4rXxPTWmbrv8heHm1P7XW8oqGflDzSouwYMGZoMCD1W5IwkQ80IEBCOs-wPhFk-DPSk_up5QD5M_JIrh168d3UdEaLvAjEtmuL8OZaJ0/s320/moments_62E5CCE5-00C3-43E0-B6B6-18B9D752DECD_orig_res.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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Seeing the light in James eyes as he described the town’s
traditions made me want to take the journey with him. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">I’ll go wherever you go. I mean, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">*<b>cough cough</b>*</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"> Sounds
cool. I’m down.</span>”</div>
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Huey looked at me like…<br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
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“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Maybe I’ll get my face painted too</span>,” I added nonchalantly.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1BmGVrM0deaXT4Tt2qndiftosiGvd-omufsYbeyxrQGN6pkzD76dv3EMz-CU1l_mMO3uFDjlT4N-oWmOGOeL6zrMDkpUHOgrxlMuFjzpvM7q_CaERux7Rb7YW773HCFow2Em1iBPra7w/s1600/2018-02-26-00-46-55-392.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1BmGVrM0deaXT4Tt2qndiftosiGvd-omufsYbeyxrQGN6pkzD76dv3EMz-CU1l_mMO3uFDjlT4N-oWmOGOeL6zrMDkpUHOgrxlMuFjzpvM7q_CaERux7Rb7YW773HCFow2Em1iBPra7w/s640/2018-02-26-00-46-55-392.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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After the trajineras, James took us to a bar that served
alcoholic drinks made with marigolds, the traditional flower used to decorate alters
and graves during Dia de los Muertos. We were sitting on the side of the road after
getting our flower drinks, and we heard a large pop, like a car backfiring,
followed by a bunch of yelling.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Apparently a car had stopped working and was stuck in the
middle of the road. James jogged over to the light blue punch buggy, spoke to
the driver in Spanish and then started pushing the car from behind to help the
driver get out of the street. As I watched James be so altruistic my ovaries
swelled. The Australians went over to help too. Huey, who had just ordered a snack from a street vendor, stood up and watched them push the car for a bit
before sitting back down. I’m pretty sure I saw the exact moment he changed his
mind about helping. He looked over at me, rolled his eyes and took a bite of his food.</div>
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When we got back to our hostel. James, Huey and the
Australians went out to a local club. I decided to spend the night in because I
was physically exhausted from catching trains and being out in the sun all day.
Plus I was mentally exhausted from remembering how to conjugate verbs in
Spanish.<br />
<br />
I sat on the velvet couches while listening to the same 50
songs I’ve had on my phone for the last 3 years and ended up making friends
with a wonderful black woman from Michigan. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Two black people in 2 days!</span> Lori invited
me to go to the pyramids with her the next day.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000; font-size: large;">Day 2 - Teotihuacan</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUuVWNtowjFdOlJQGxcU6XKI8MR39RMCF54CRph5ws10-kl9SueYpsLzyVyBwUCReGME61ecgtwEYyAldT6sbdIf3b2-HCEUex_FGGwtFYwBXoblSRrqVjfFEoRSkjSlhlrgQlgtyAIXQ/s1600/moments_b3e0158f-40b9-430e-a3c3-a7d44c0365e7_orig_res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUuVWNtowjFdOlJQGxcU6XKI8MR39RMCF54CRph5ws10-kl9SueYpsLzyVyBwUCReGME61ecgtwEYyAldT6sbdIf3b2-HCEUex_FGGwtFYwBXoblSRrqVjfFEoRSkjSlhlrgQlgtyAIXQ/s640/moments_b3e0158f-40b9-430e-a3c3-a7d44c0365e7_orig_res.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next morning, I invited James to accompany Lori and I to
the pyramids but he had already made other plans. He promised to message me when
he was finished exploring so we could do something that evening.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Have you seen Huey? Maybe he wants to come with us</span>?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">Huey woke up early and went to visit the Frida Kahlo
Museum. I think he’s meeting up with a girl we met last night too.</span>"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Ok Huey. I see you!</i></div>
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<br /></div>
Lori had just finished serving in the Peace Corps and had a
few days of vacation before she returned back to Michigan to finish her
doctoral degree. Lucky for me, she was fluent in Spanish and I didn’t have to
mentally exhaust myself over verb tenses for the day. I ordered an uber
and in perfect Spanish, she gave exact directions to the driver. The uber was
only about $14 for a 45 minute ride to the pyramids. We walked around the historical site in the hot sun and climbed what felt like 11 million stairs to the top of the biggest pyramid.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Okay we tried to climb it and failed. We made it half way and then climbed a smaller pyramid and took pics for Instagram. We haggled with vendors on the grounds and I bought a woven blanket and some silver bracelets for my little cousin back home. Then we bought some paletas from an ice cream cart and took a coach bus back to Mexico City.<br />
<br />
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">I’m going to meet some Peace Corps friends for dinner. What are you doing later</span>?”<br />
<br />
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">First thing first, I’m going to take a nap. But after that I’ll probably meet up with James. Maybe we’ll grab dinner</span>?”<br />
<br />
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">He’s really cute. You like him don’t you</span>?” Lori smiled at
me like you smile at your friend when you know they have a crush on someone.</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_y62AZEDTAZ2Q7ToKBdttb-CS45b97UOKMokIo0R0DqSy1V4agxLx8fkJSu2zlwNFMFFFmpCShbfrZjsx-8YFVN2sligVl8ebZeTXmhPrr3kIbIMcudFxkVVJk9clSEVcMjaEkKJ9F_k/s1600/giphy+%25282%2529.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="326" data-original-width="355" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_y62AZEDTAZ2Q7ToKBdttb-CS45b97UOKMokIo0R0DqSy1V4agxLx8fkJSu2zlwNFMFFFmpCShbfrZjsx-8YFVN2sligVl8ebZeTXmhPrr3kIbIMcudFxkVVJk9clSEVcMjaEkKJ9F_k/s320/giphy+%25282%2529.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thought about it for a second. “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">It honestly didn’t cross
my mind until you said something just now. Thanks a lot Lori</span>,” I frowned. “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Now
I’ll probably have a crush on him and daydream about what our children are
going to look like</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Sorry not sorry. At least they’ll be cute bilingual bebes</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Xiochimilco</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">What</span>?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Xiochimilco…it’s the name of the train stop we got off at, to
get on the trajineras. We’ll name our first daughter that. And our son will be
James the 3<sup>rd</sup></span>."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lori laughed and shook her head. “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Be safe tonight, but have
fun</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We hugged goodbye. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I plugged in my phone next to my bed and texted James. He quickly
replied with the address to a café near Zocalo Square. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">I have a portable charger. Just bring your phone cord and
you can charge your phone here with me</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ladies and Gentlemen: Welcome to <u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">millennial romance</span></u>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not a coffee drinker so I didn’t know what to get. James
ordered an affogato (a shot of espresso with a scoop of vanilla ice cream in it) for me and we shared his scone. We talked about our
families and what we did for a living. James managed of one of the busiest bars
in Denver, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><a href="https://www.terminalbardenver.com/" target="_blank">Terminal Bar</a></span> at Union Station.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">The next time I come to Denver, I’ll stop by your bar</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">You’ll have a place to stay too. You’re always welcome. Speaking of places to stay, I’m checking out of the hostel tonight because they
don’t have any beds left. Are you staying there your entire time in Mexico</span>?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">I actually need to book my last 2 nights</span>,” I remembered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">Well come and stay with me at my new hostel. It's not far from here,
has free breakfast, and it got really great reviews on Trip Advisor</span>."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Chris Brown’s<i> Kiss Kiss</i> started playing in my head...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">He want
that lovie-dovey. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">That kiss kiss, kiss kiss. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">In his mind, he fantisize </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">‘bout
getting with meeeeeee.</span></i>” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He asked me to change hostels for him. Maybe Lori was
on to something.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">I’ll walk you back to the hostel</span>," James offered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the courtyard next to the café there was a band playing hip
hop with live instruments and a teenager breakdancing to the music. A huge
group of people crowded around him, cheering and clapping as he danced. James,
who is maybe 6’2 stood behind me, in a protective manner as we watched with the
rest of the crowd. Standing there, so close together, I felt, happy and
slightly light headed. Maybe I had a crush on James after all. Of course it
could have been the caffeine and sugar from the affogato too. I’m not a coffee
drinker.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After the crowd started to thin out, we continued to the
hostel. A guy that apparently knew James noticed us and sprinted over. Because
of his height and glasses, he sort of reminded me of Harry Potter.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Hey are you guys hungry? I was just about to go find
something to eat</span>.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The way to my heart is food and one of the sweetest things
a guy has ever said to me is, ‘Are you hungry?'<br />
<br />
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Nice to meet you</span>,” I introduced
myself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Nice to meet you, TK. I’m Aaron</span>."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
James had seen a taco bar on Anthony Bourdain’s show <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No Reservations</i> that was close to our
hostel so we looked up the address on Google and headed in that direction. As we were walking, Aaron asked what we
had planned for tomorrow. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Aren’t you going out with that girl we met last night</span>?” He
asked James.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">Yea we have plans to attend a special dinner. Its at a top
rated restaurant that I’ve read about</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">She was hot. Is she single</span>?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">I don’t know. I didn’t ask her</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt a little less light headed after Aaron mentioned
James’ date with the mystery woman. Or maybe the caffeine and sugar were
starting to wear off. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The taco bar was literally a hole in the wall with lights
hanging from the ceiling and big silver pots of marinated meat bubbling in
front of us. It smelled heavenly. We couldn’t translate all the menu items so
we tried using the Google translate app where you hold up the camera on your phone to foreign words, and it translates them into English.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzTJTprKk74JJxm2Dbibi9bk_BlztBSZl5H2eFSnbWbyJ5Y-gN_FSh0RmWqgzBFkKOt1jY0gHgkbmwYlvSX2kA3CfljiFH7S4V8p_dq_5dfEKXb60nW5MC-vIDLb8-H34yoMwq17hTgoY/s1600/moments_7f53c40e-ddfe-4be7-ae90-f6100e1f6ba9_orig_res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzTJTprKk74JJxm2Dbibi9bk_BlztBSZl5H2eFSnbWbyJ5Y-gN_FSh0RmWqgzBFkKOt1jY0gHgkbmwYlvSX2kA3CfljiFH7S4V8p_dq_5dfEKXb60nW5MC-vIDLb8-H34yoMwq17hTgoY/s640/moments_7f53c40e-ddfe-4be7-ae90-f6100e1f6ba9_orig_res.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
I highlighted a word. "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Nah fam, this can't be right. I think my app is broken</span>."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aaron used his phone to scan the word. "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">It says brains</span>."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Fresh BRAIN TACO?! Yea I’m good on that</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
James cracked a sideways smile. “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">How about we make a deal? I
try it first, and then you try it too</span>.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was hard to say no to this man. He was so adorable.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq-XOSgrsugSv_dNW5y-_xAGAU6zOKD0jkYEm_TRsw_5TwDfn2dLSBwoXrdUhRRlxdqZwoiXigLUPlc6cexXdT3_30v3BSKltg1Cyc6NY2PTZWbhTtue-8O3oX8Ol_ivk2OXCD0r4G8OE/s1600/moments_43c4c3a0-3f18-4973-aefc-86f79ac2ca50_orig_res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq-XOSgrsugSv_dNW5y-_xAGAU6zOKD0jkYEm_TRsw_5TwDfn2dLSBwoXrdUhRRlxdqZwoiXigLUPlc6cexXdT3_30v3BSKltg1Cyc6NY2PTZWbhTtue-8O3oX8Ol_ivk2OXCD0r4G8OE/s400/moments_43c4c3a0-3f18-4973-aefc-86f79ac2ca50_orig_res.jpg" width="223" /></div>
Aaron interjected, “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Maybe if they fry the brain,
it won’t be so bad</span>.”<br />
<br />
And so that night, I was like <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Nicki Minaj</span> on the track <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Monster</i>: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">Eating brains, except without
the gold teeth and fangs</span>. I guess that would make James, Jay Z and Aaron would be Kanye West. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Truthfully, it wasn’t bad. In addition to the brains, we tried cheek tacos and tongue tacos too. Everything was chopped up and seasoned so well that you couldn’t
even tell that it was body parts you weren’t used to eating. I decided that I could survive the zombie apocalypse as long as I had a good stash of seasonings.<br />
<br />
It was almost 1AM so we finished our inexpensive but satisfying meal and headed back to the hostel for the night. James caught a taxi to his new hostel and we made plans to meet up early the next morning and take a day trip to the town of Puebla together. It was only day 2 of my trip and I was becoming an experienced itinerary crasher.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-58900330284687582832018-01-07T22:19:00.001-05:002018-01-07T23:26:40.735-05:00Made In Mexico<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Apparently my friend’s fiancé thinks I’m a ho.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I once found a really great flight deal to Rio de Janeiro and
asked a friend if she wanted to join me. She took a few days to respond and
then told me she couldn’t make it. A few months later she confessed that her
fiancé didn’t want her to go. He was worried that if we traveled together, I
would convince her to sleep with random men. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now there’s no denying that Rio is full of good-looking guys
with cute accents and tight soccer bodies. And yes, some of them
are just waiting to catch you when you trip on your beach sarong and impregnate
you on the sands of Copacabana as a live samba band plays in the background.
But this is why stereotypes can be dangerous: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Plenty of them don’t even play
soccer</span>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Honestly, I was truly shocked that her <span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">fiancé</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"> </span>would think I’d get her into trouble and racked my brain to figure out why. I urge my friends to
take solo trips and at the very least to eat their steaks medium, but I have never
encouraged them to cheat. If I could get people to have affairs, that weren't already planning on doing so, I'd have a lot more money in the bank than I currently do. Coercing someone into having an affair against their will has got to be a marketable service to opponents of people running for public office or those who have signed air tight prenupts.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">The most deviant thing I’ve done lately is eat in
bed, and it wasn’t even off of someone’s naked body</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been on vacations, I’ve been on work-cations, but I have never gone on a trip with the sole purpose of hocationing. Of course between you and I, I would definitely do some deviant things to Jason
Momoa if he politely requested me to. If he dressed as Khal Drogo in a loin
cloth, with body paint smeared across his chest, he wouldn’t even have to ask. However, to the dismay of dudes who occasionally slide into my Instagram DMs, I am
in fact, not a ho. Or at least not as much of a ho as they’d like me to be,
since being a ho is subjective. As Kendrick Lamar so eloquently stated,
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">There’s levels to this</span>”. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLNr337LnsK4egJEo3YwVjDv1JMkh93szp3ZB9zBfrLlNZKFjYNKVsH9TINspklQf3AF4CFaDYDvJ32or_84mKiL0-AsBxwxpj3xDTzqecnxlPaqIZ6Vi6aLOwAF3E4w-v2DOUopiHbw/s1600/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLNr337LnsK4egJEo3YwVjDv1JMkh93szp3ZB9zBfrLlNZKFjYNKVsH9TINspklQf3AF4CFaDYDvJ32or_84mKiL0-AsBxwxpj3xDTzqecnxlPaqIZ6Vi6aLOwAF3E4w-v2DOUopiHbw/s1600/giphy.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How Kahl Drogo convinces me to do just about anything </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Looking back, I do remember telling my engaged friends about
one crazy drunk night I had <a href="http://www.prettynoire.com/2012/12/the-adventures-of-super-slut-and-friends.html" target="_blank">after the Chicago Auto Show</a>. I suppose after telling that story, I became somewhat of a travel liability. But wild boozy nights are not really my thing. Besides, after JC stopped talking to me, I told myself I wouldn’t date anyone for a while. Mexico City had other plans for me though.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I arrived at the airport, I was so excited to be in
Mexico that I almost didn’t feel tired after traveling for 12 hours. I was
still floating on a cloud from my sweet goodbye with Hot Passenger and slightly
buzzed from our shots of tequila. When I got into my Uber and headed towards
the hostel, I gulped in my surroundings like a large glass of water. From a
stoplight I watched an older man closing down his elote cart for the evening
and I started to anticipate all the amazing food I was going to try over the
next 4 days.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We drove past Zocalo Square and it was nearly dead except
for dozens of candlelit trajineras and a few party goers on their way home from
clubs. Windows of weathered stone buildings were darkened, the cobble
stone streets were littered with confetti and papel picado zigzagged from light post to light
post.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">It was the first night of Dia de los Muertos. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEyIuAhy2FADtH3RoctqVfgiCnAw3SWx8KLxYqc41CFMMRVSO49nG-rPplmRMdsh76Aj_v2KZpJw5MZAiFYE5NazzBLRakJgyng0Hh7r-UiSqB4VXbwdWrC49_U8Z2d4ceqhz6L8f0QEI/s1600/papelpicado.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="375" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEyIuAhy2FADtH3RoctqVfgiCnAw3SWx8KLxYqc41CFMMRVSO49nG-rPplmRMdsh76Aj_v2KZpJw5MZAiFYE5NazzBLRakJgyng0Hh7r-UiSqB4VXbwdWrC49_U8Z2d4ceqhz6L8f0QEI/s320/papelpicado.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Papel Picado, paper banners hanging<br />
from building to building</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvgqQRV7_GIECy4DGPqWDScWeL-VhvcueAU_ZyM3bzzPZfPSgKuBdMy5WEAys3Ba0VGgnf2ZBX4DbuW7ZiMIc5bXMwJdcbfSWcgphQAlF9iXY3vlIdH-11qKF_4nfjUphUUJ9Q1zBJb78/s1600/ofrenda-zocalo-dia-de-muertos-4_Territorio-Informativo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvgqQRV7_GIECy4DGPqWDScWeL-VhvcueAU_ZyM3bzzPZfPSgKuBdMy5WEAys3Ba0VGgnf2ZBX4DbuW7ZiMIc5bXMwJdcbfSWcgphQAlF9iXY3vlIdH-11qKF_4nfjUphUUJ9Q1zBJb78/s320/ofrenda-zocalo-dia-de-muertos-4_Territorio-Informativo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
Trajineras are like party/eating boats that hold a lot of people.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most of the restaurants in the Zocalo district were closed for the night but there was a pizza place near the hostel with a convenient store attached. In my rusty Spanish, I ordered a cheese pizza and then walked around the convenience store while I waited for it to be ready. In the snack aisle next to the Takis and pulparindo, I met some guys with their faces painted like sugar skulls.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Wow your makeup is so amazing. Where did you get it done?</span>”<br />
<br />
The guy with red and white paint around his eyes told me, “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">Y</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">ou
can get your face painted almost everywhere since it’s the start of the
holiday.</span>” He sounded like he was from France.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06;">Sí</span>”, his tall friend added, “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06;">A woman in the hostel lobby
was charging only 200 pesos. I think that’s about 10 American dollars. You’re
American right? You sound American</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Whenever I travel to a new country, most people don’t guess
that I’m from the US right away. Many assume that I’m a dark skinned Afro-Latina
from anywhere in between Panama and Brazil. Once, some nuns in Rome even asked
me if I was from Sri Lanka. To their defense, I had a fresh Dominican blow out
that made my silky hair blow in the wind like Beyonce with a fan pointed in her
direction. When people from other countries think of (North) Americans, they
think of white people. They don’t think of Black women with natural hair and American accents. They don’t think of me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">I am from the United States</span>,” I smiled. “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Is it okay if I
take your photo</span>?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">As long as you take one with us</span>!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOPiD0j-zYVIZrkjS5vtgs2GMF899VW8hV5817T9mEBhHMCb6epMqz1ofLU0Vp3JhAQ8Co4TQx8maPBGQgl_6RZ49SF2KOXFYi1L5GOttIjNqn5IUbobTED2WSMsJ9iKztBbWDiqyHjMc/s1600/IMG_20180101_103150_689.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1199" data-original-width="1199" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOPiD0j-zYVIZrkjS5vtgs2GMF899VW8hV5817T9mEBhHMCb6epMqz1ofLU0Vp3JhAQ8Co4TQx8maPBGQgl_6RZ49SF2KOXFYi1L5GOttIjNqn5IUbobTED2WSMsJ9iKztBbWDiqyHjMc/s320/IMG_20180101_103150_689.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The nice gentleman I met at the c-store that night </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">You are staying at our hostel, no? We saw your afro in the
lobby when you came in.</span>” He patted the air around his hair with his hands.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Black people subconsciously do this thing where we count the
number of other black people we see when we’re out in public. We’re even more
likely to do this if we’re in a foreign place, or a place where we’re sure
there aren’t going to be a lot of us to begin with. I hadn’t seen any other
black people that night and I guess they hadn’t either.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We took our food back to the hostel and the face painted gentlemen
shared their Tecate with me. They introduced me to some beautiful French women
who were language teachers, a fashionable Japanese girl named Sariko and a quiet
Vietnamese American guy named Huey. After the Tecate had run through me, I went to the bathroom
and when I came back, there was a Black guy sitting on the couch next to Sariko.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="color: #e06666;">So there are two of us in this town now </i>I thought to
myself<i style="color: #e06666;">. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He looked stressed out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Are you ok? Do you want a slice of pizza?</span>” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>When did I turn into my mother?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;">Thanks but I can’t think about food right now. I have $20 on me, my debit
card doesn’t work here and I lost my credit card.</span>” He put his cell
phone on the coffee table separating us. “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">I’m James</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt James’ pain. I have lost debit cards in approximately
65% of the countries I’ve visited. A slightly higher percentage of my shoes
have been lost in foreign countries as well.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Dang that sucks. The same thing happened to me when I went
to Brazil last year. If you have Venmo or Paypal, you can just wire me cash and
I’ll take it out of the ATM for you</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;">Seriously? It wouldn't be a hassle</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">?</span>"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Not at all. I don’t have foreign ATM fees. I'd be happy to do it.</span>"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;">Thank you.</span>"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
James looked so relieved that it made my heart melt a little. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have to admit, it felt really good to help out a fellow traveler. I have lost my debit card in Budapest, misplaced my shoes at a temple in Bangkok and had my journal stolen in Singapore. I know what it's like to be across the world and lose something valuable. But thanks to some kind people, I also know what its like to have perfect strangers help me out of a sticky situation. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
James and I traded phone numbers and made plans to go to the ATM first thing in the morning. Our little group of world travelers spent the rest of the night, lounging on comfy suede couches, looking at each other's passport stamps, and sharing things we wanted to see in the city.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZffM4_IUjChDUD5CcMpaJQCFcb66Ew10nlfMhUFVl1tpDANl8mPPJKa3SQVJrLi3cEMdH1jFgwEGgoj4vwrq9d5Uf2Aew7wKzXtI32TdYVXOOH4Z7Z9qRrY2GZk6OVba48O3kQqCcx1w/s1600/IMG_20180101_104000_411.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="911" data-original-width="1402" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZffM4_IUjChDUD5CcMpaJQCFcb66Ew10nlfMhUFVl1tpDANl8mPPJKa3SQVJrLi3cEMdH1jFgwEGgoj4vwrq9d5Uf2Aew7wKzXtI32TdYVXOOH4Z7Z9qRrY2GZk6OVba48O3kQqCcx1w/s320/IMG_20180101_104000_411.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mexican Beer, Snacks & Passport Stamps</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Do you speak Spanish</span>?" I asked James<br />
<br />
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Yea, even though my parents are Mexican, I taught myself Spanish by moving to Chilé for a while</span>."<br />
<br />
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Oh, I thought you were Black</span>."<br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">And then there was one</span></i><br />
<br />
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">I get that alot</span>."<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzbj-8WGEZ9BEzaTqYuxmUDV50dGDPOyj2eguW2iYZMMR1gOXYdAB1Yk1a4dlSwFDnhyphenhyphenl4vK9zx4eu0E9LM6IPXV3S3RD8ZdLAnBX7t8Vybl6gPb-EnWAzidhx_SsuFf7Ndjo1DjNyyJk/s1600/moments_E816E60E-EB8C-4DA9-9213-5F9A4A8471F2_orig_res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzbj-8WGEZ9BEzaTqYuxmUDV50dGDPOyj2eguW2iYZMMR1gOXYdAB1Yk1a4dlSwFDnhyphenhyphenl4vK9zx4eu0E9LM6IPXV3S3RD8ZdLAnBX7t8Vybl6gPb-EnWAzidhx_SsuFf7Ndjo1DjNyyJk/s320/moments_E816E60E-EB8C-4DA9-9213-5F9A4A8471F2_orig_res.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The common area of the hostel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One by one people said their <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">buenas noches</span> and started
to go to bed. It was nearly 2 in the morning when just James, Huey and I were
left sitting in the common room.<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">I’m exhausted from traveling guys. I’m going to bed</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">You sure you don’t want to go get a drink</span>?” James
suggested. “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Now that I’ve got my money situation figured out I could definitely
eat too</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Huey put his hand on his stomach. “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">I’m always down to eat</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">I’m still full from pizza, but you guys go on with out me. I’ll
see you in the morning</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the next 4 days we were nearly inseparable </div>
<!--EndFragment-->Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-15443254115824814152017-12-21T23:13:00.000-05:002017-12-22T10:14:58.289-05:00Ghost of Christmas Past<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The best kiss I’ve ever had was in the empty parking lot of
a Japanese restaurant. I was back home in Charlotte for Christmas and this was
the third night in a row I had met up with JC, an old acquaintance from high
school. You may remember JC from my post “<a href="http://www.prettynoire.com/2017/02/welcome-to-my-african-american-home.html" target="_blank">Welcome to My African American Home</a>.<br />
<br />
The first night we met up I was nervous. Not because I had a
crush on JC, but because I thought we wouldn’t have anything to talk about. Of
course this fear was ridiculous because</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">1. Who is a social butterfly?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj4unfdM9wXmHw3tguJelTVkmnRPbBV6DIHr5OX18-jUBJZLZx6kkgCOEcWVHChhz7QqmvkGgl-zWt1iW3oRYg68pAfnB-oiz1m1vjl5h0juV4MT33ykFrB-JYITy88m1-MHVRYazvKr8/s1600/20171221_121731.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1046" data-original-width="856" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj4unfdM9wXmHw3tguJelTVkmnRPbBV6DIHr5OX18-jUBJZLZx6kkgCOEcWVHChhz7QqmvkGgl-zWt1iW3oRYg68pAfnB-oiz1m1vjl5h0juV4MT33ykFrB-JYITy88m1-MHVRYazvKr8/s320/20171221_121731.jpg" width="261" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #e06666;">2. We had also been texting and occasionally talking on
the phone for hours at a time over the past 2 years.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That night was unseasonably warm for December, even in North
Carolina. It was so warm that I was able to wear a short black dress with knee
high boots and no stockings. After dinner, I sat in my car with the driver’s
side door open, bare legs facing JC in the parking lot. We talked a little more
about nothing in particular, like people do when they don’t want the night to
end. Suddenly the floodlight illuminating the parking lot went out and surrounded
us in darkness.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">I guess that’s our cue to go home</span>,” JC said, opening his
arms, inviting a hug. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I scooted to the edge of the leather seat, adjusting my
dress so I didn’t show off my goodies. Goodies meaning granny panties, which I
am not ashamed to say I wear. They are comfortable, affordable and last longer
than the overpriced lace held together by post-it note glue that’s for sale at
Victoria’s Secret.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
JC moved towards me and enveloped me in a huge bear hug. I
immediately thought to myself, <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">When I back away from this hug, I’m going to
kiss him on the cheek.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But he beat me to it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Right before we pulled apart, JC turned his head toward mine
and softly kissed me. He stopped and lingered at my lips for a moment,
literally causing me to lose my breath.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">I hope that wasn’t inappropriate</span>,” he apologized. “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">I don’t
know when I’ll see you again</span>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My flight back to Chicago was in the morning. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">It wasn’t inappropriate,</span>” I said lowering my gaze to the
asphalt beneath his wheelchair. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">And sorry if it was bad, I’m also out of practice.</span>” He
laughed nervously. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His hand rested on the metal rim of his chair, and I noticed
the moonlight shining off of it. Without making eye contact I said, “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">You could
kiss me again. You know, for practice.</span>” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At this moment, JC slowly reached out his hand and cupped my
chin. He brought my face up to his, leaned in and parted my lips with his own.
I think this is what old people mean when they say, “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">I felt my love come down.</span>”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
I promise ya’ll it was like I had bit into a York peppermint
pattie and was instantly transported into a shampoo commercial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he kissed me, a light breeze wafted
the scent of Herbal Essences in a cloud around us. In my head I started yelling
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">YES, YES YES!</span>”<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib5xFsc2tDN6DzC6REVSV8si7pRXH8IkWScNdrbknUKokQdpsNqB8k0VMHz3jpdP2DdgSEGCpNXVG5jJ632pKJUS4KwGoAaZBqZtpAmn-qIXFaFdp_-O0-85MD1opUwT87RMIxJ1LKCJo/s1600/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib5xFsc2tDN6DzC6REVSV8si7pRXH8IkWScNdrbknUKokQdpsNqB8k0VMHz3jpdP2DdgSEGCpNXVG5jJ632pKJUS4KwGoAaZBqZtpAmn-qIXFaFdp_-O0-85MD1opUwT87RMIxJ1LKCJo/s1600/giphy.gif" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It was soooooo nice to be kissed. And even more so by
someone I actually liked. Who also happened to smell like reasonably priced
hair conditioner!</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-nDrRIjyKHQd4uQXF3cPQla1H8w9t1ODxMxybKOoLr8tg545gpWK2_29oItNzlM5F5shlpJYeerzmOgFNsCpUsjyQyVHzCm_10Je5nn6VzoMXnkIro1zVCfPutDfMTCHIUNk3W2p8Fbk/s1600/tenor+%25281%2529.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="321" data-original-width="498" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-nDrRIjyKHQd4uQXF3cPQla1H8w9t1ODxMxybKOoLr8tg545gpWK2_29oItNzlM5F5shlpJYeerzmOgFNsCpUsjyQyVHzCm_10Je5nn6VzoMXnkIro1zVCfPutDfMTCHIUNk3W2p8Fbk/s320/tenor+%25281%2529.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanks Santa!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I was so excited that of course I told all my friends about it.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE9CfbPGkFknlVBc6RCLOeEVYvt0foo0v4Ii7-EpG5YKHtoQ9bWWjeC1KGhyzXfU_q0CLyG28by3e0vYzW13ZRvtER_hl4rhqiEXN6N186kklmPwFmCHJF6TmOTMBak-iZkcD_bzz7Nm8/s1600/Screenshot_20171218-211010.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="1193" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE9CfbPGkFknlVBc6RCLOeEVYvt0foo0v4Ii7-EpG5YKHtoQ9bWWjeC1KGhyzXfU_q0CLyG28by3e0vYzW13ZRvtER_hl4rhqiEXN6N186kklmPwFmCHJF6TmOTMBak-iZkcD_bzz7Nm8/s400/Screenshot_20171218-211010.jpg" width="361" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;">But 8 Months later, in a different parking lot from where we shared our first kiss, I sat alone in my car. My tears splashed onto my Texas toast, making it a soggy mess, while I chanted positive affirmations to myself.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-size: large;">“If he liked
it, then he would of put a ring on it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-size: large;">Don’t be mad. Hopefully, you can grow from it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-size: large;">You’re a single lady. You’re a single lady."</span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To this day, I can no longer eat at the Zaxby’s on Highway
74 because that’s where I went after my heart was broken. The memory is too
much for me to even use the bathroom there. That night I held back my tears
long enough to order a #5 with Zax sauce at the drive-thru window and then I
parked in the back of the restaurant to eat my woes.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfGv7CIt0UMhtGmHWRT3oRdNXLHypLD54YMlY_pdjVg-iFE3TAl79YixMZ1LxZovKOEBEQx5P6N-ifw0cLTmY9DGp9o4BvhxOQ272vyvDGZcN1vL3vfgQ8LDR3kR3LIrWD8oymJ8wW0mg/s1600/200w.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfGv7CIt0UMhtGmHWRT3oRdNXLHypLD54YMlY_pdjVg-iFE3TAl79YixMZ1LxZovKOEBEQx5P6N-ifw0cLTmY9DGp9o4BvhxOQ272vyvDGZcN1vL3vfgQ8LDR3kR3LIrWD8oymJ8wW0mg/s320/200w.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d like to say I ended up at Zaxby’s because chicken
fingers give me clarity, but it was mostly because I was crying so hard that my
eyes started stinging and I couldn’t see the road clearly. I also didn’t want
to die in a fiery car crash on the same day our friendship forever changed. To add insult to injury, JC told me he would no longer be my
plus one at my best friend’s wedding that same weekend.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was the last night JC and I spoke to each
other. He stopped answering my phone calls and he stopped replying to my text messages. After years of
friendship and months of dating, typical of an Aquarius, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">he ghosted me</span>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "times";">Speaking of ghosts,
earlier in the relationship, JC and I had planned a trip to </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px;">México</span> City to
experience <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #545454; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Día d</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">e</span> Muertos. The Mexican Day of the Dead celebration is when
families and friends come together to remember their loved ones who have
passed. There are elaborate parades and church services, tombs are decorated
with colorful flowers and special foods. Ofrendas or alters are arranged with
offerings and photos of ancestors.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7h5myFwl0u20vGt_6KosNTHv0SS5jlUbaOdb3nxqRuo06z7uu4E0vZZkiWO1h7-I85kXV2absraNqzUAmUkeiVMTypXz7hf-MENK1tcBgY5Dq8o2Rnvtja-0P9uCOMxXtR03eJWreAc/s1600/moments_2860c8ef-5660-460f-aa92-01d2e01d6be9_orig_res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7h5myFwl0u20vGt_6KosNTHv0SS5jlUbaOdb3nxqRuo06z7uu4E0vZZkiWO1h7-I85kXV2absraNqzUAmUkeiVMTypXz7hf-MENK1tcBgY5Dq8o2Rnvtja-0P9uCOMxXtR03eJWreAc/s320/moments_2860c8ef-5660-460f-aa92-01d2e01d6be9_orig_res.jpg" width="179" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdaDHpHT3nQHZB0lFKQsFj4nLwDYa-Bhfkq1pEFZkkeVuI310TiwFzejMlRCHUg3XBa0dGS6nTbXdDJ7fHUlfbb_TmjCCbjjczW30Lc1IqgmaH_VhaJVaB3-_1NPszC43YR5E73GXvnNM/s1600/moments_88B989AE-B5AF-409F-97CF-476C1FAFB1F0_orig_res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdaDHpHT3nQHZB0lFKQsFj4nLwDYa-Bhfkq1pEFZkkeVuI310TiwFzejMlRCHUg3XBa0dGS6nTbXdDJ7fHUlfbb_TmjCCbjjczW30Lc1IqgmaH_VhaJVaB3-_1NPszC43YR5E73GXvnNM/s320/moments_88B989AE-B5AF-409F-97CF-476C1FAFB1F0_orig_res.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times";">I was so excited to see it
first hand, but I was extremely anxious about the outbound flight to </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px;">México</span><span style="font-family: "times";"> too.
I hadn’t heard anything from JC since the night I was left crying outside of
his hockey practice, 3 months prior. When I got to the airport I didn’t see
him. He wasn’t at the gate and he wasn’t on the plane.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "times";">I didn't know how to feel about him not being there. Should I be mad or should I be relieved? Part of me hoped
for reconciliation. To sit next to each other on the plane and talk about any
and everything like we used to do as friends. Maybe even get caught up in that
Herbal Essences cloud again, heavily kissing under our jackets and banned from flying Delta Airlines after a viral Twitter scandal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span">But even with slight sadness about my travel partner/ex
boyfriend abandoning me, my trip to </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px;">México</span><span class="Apple-style-span"> started off on a high note when I
got bumped to first class. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After I settled into my seat, the flight attendant brought
me a mimosa and asked if I thought the passenger sitting across the aisle from me
was cute. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Good evening, I’m Vonda. I picked you two to come to first
class to balance out the plane.</span>” Then Vonda lowered her voice, leaned down and
whispered to me, “<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">I also thought you two would make beautiful babies</span>.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7T4F5EDccQhKxQpwAhaaRFbz7JnoUhmDUU0Ld2zg3n6Fu-tRXNcsJSEFJqJ-1uSl5Kfly5LmwFj3NL2I0K8Czq0COiqh5GlYKWulxzr_xa0HdpoPahWXdRb3ItEJLHqbCoSRLqQc4Zg4/s1600/tenor.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="224" data-original-width="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7T4F5EDccQhKxQpwAhaaRFbz7JnoUhmDUU0Ld2zg3n6Fu-tRXNcsJSEFJqJ-1uSl5Kfly5LmwFj3NL2I0K8Czq0COiqh5GlYKWulxzr_xa0HdpoPahWXdRb3ItEJLHqbCoSRLqQc4Zg4/s1600/tenor.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I almost choked on my mimosa</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">I didn’t see a wedding ring on his finger honey. You should
talk to him.</span>” She raised her eyebrows at me before walking away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To a different person, Vonda’s words may have been seen as
unprofessional or too forward, but to me, they were right up my alley. In fact, fowardness was one of the things that made me like JC. On our first date, he said I could have his children.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes you miss out on what’s in front of you because
you’re too busy thinking about what’s behind you. So after Vonda went to
service another passenger, I made a big show of taking off my jacket so that I
could check out my first class neighbor without being too obvious. I peaked over
and saw his face. I can not believe I didn’t notice this guy sooner.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWTak9ZhMQtdlDERFLy8sCn0eR32EjqETGLc3Ebo0xbGWj1JsxRto5e-S2gbhUlyB_taDy5zJJ4ryVDyHHysoVuAF41HgYT03AxfSSSn1uCr22QtrsoeMIRjWjUyFxjy_qBVsXqkixOk4/s1600/tumblr_inline_nbnjd1aVGT1s6jcb9.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="237" data-original-width="500" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWTak9ZhMQtdlDERFLy8sCn0eR32EjqETGLc3Ebo0xbGWj1JsxRto5e-S2gbhUlyB_taDy5zJJ4ryVDyHHysoVuAF41HgYT03AxfSSSn1uCr22QtrsoeMIRjWjUyFxjy_qBVsXqkixOk4/s320/tumblr_inline_nbnjd1aVGT1s6jcb9.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Hot Passenger (as he will now be called) looked like what
happens when God takes his time to expertly craft an individual instead of just
throwing together a torso and random body parts like most of the men I normally
see walking around. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When Vonda came back with our meals, she stood in the middle
of the aisle, between our seats and struck up a conversation with the both of
us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">How old are you two and what do you both do for a living?
Are you traveling for work or traveling for vacation?</span>”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know if she had a bet with the other flight
attendants but she was trying really hard to make a love connection. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At one point she brought us complimentary shots of tequila,
because <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Ayyyyyeee, Viva </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">México</span></span>! Not gonna lie, I’m kinda surprised she didn’t
give me a lime and some salt to lick off of Hot Passenger’s expertly crafted
torso.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSiYFzjjb91Mt97sxytq3-Fn35B2PSTK9GfqzUqQch_iwh4ziemIjMyG45c9w0r0DG8dMfPFy1pM0e3X6eFcOETPzH9rYOqth3K21q2BhDzo9sBuSitTLZZDC3og04_j72ZTSF3rIHquM/s1600/tumblr_okumqvnsuE1rrugpso1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="500" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSiYFzjjb91Mt97sxytq3-Fn35B2PSTK9GfqzUqQch_iwh4ziemIjMyG45c9w0r0DG8dMfPFy1pM0e3X6eFcOETPzH9rYOqth3K21q2BhDzo9sBuSitTLZZDC3og04_j72ZTSF3rIHquM/s320/tumblr_okumqvnsuE1rrugpso1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'm almost positive that if I had asked Vonda if Hot Passenger
and I could join the mile high club, that she would have found a
way to arrange it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we landed at Benito Juarez International Airport and
deplaned, Hot Passenger grinned at me and helped me with my carry on luggage. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">I’m going to visit family in Monterrey for a few days. How long
are you in </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">México</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;"> City?</span>” he asked, handing me my bag.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span"> I couldn’t help but notice the
visible veins on his muscular forearms. They were like a road map to mi </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">corazón</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span">.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">4 nights and 3 days,</span>” I said while trying not to get lost like Nemo in his dark brown eyes. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQe2uKEOtom3Tn3XKWN6usqxDrvpXpFC2i1trfGobIMBfsT8nGRRdCSGVd6Yr7hb3wrreoLL7hY9Pgt16PmmG1D2gPvWWFg4ZCz56SaFtWaUQUucXjvNu8MQAld7zaWkxrQMGaWZ4Obww/s1600/giphy+%25281%2529.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="500" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQe2uKEOtom3Tn3XKWN6usqxDrvpXpFC2i1trfGobIMBfsT8nGRRdCSGVd6Yr7hb3wrreoLL7hY9Pgt16PmmG1D2gPvWWFg4ZCz56SaFtWaUQUucXjvNu8MQAld7zaWkxrQMGaWZ4Obww/s320/giphy+%25281%2529.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He looked up at the flight connections board. “<span style="color: #0b5394;">My connecting
flight is boarding. Ay dios <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">mío</span></span>, I have to go.</span>”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Oh. Ok. It was nice meeting you.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hot Passenger grabbed my hand and kissed it. Then he flipped
it over and pressed his business card into my palm in one seamless move. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Damn they suave like
that out here? Orale? I better be careful before I end up pregnant in some Mexican
man’s kitchen, hand-pressing tortillas with his mom and sisters</span>. </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">Nos vemos, que te vaya bien morencita!</span>” he yelled as he ran
towards his gate. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I waved goodbye and stuffed his business card into my back pocket. Dragging my bags behind me, I stepped outside into the humid night air and ordered an uber to my Hostel.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was going to be a fun trip. </div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-64928809582902490672017-10-07T12:15:00.004-04:002017-10-09T09:08:13.256-04:00My Ex Boyfriend and the Chamber of Secrets<div dir="ltr">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times";">There is a bangin' sandwhich shop in my old neighborhood near Northwestern University called <a href="https://soulwich.net/" target="_blank">Soulwich</a>. This one time I didn't have that much cash on me, so I lied to the restaurant owner about being a college student to get the discount meal. Whenever I would come in, either him or his wife would always ask me how my classes were going. If friends came with me, the owners wanted to know what their majors were too. It took a lot of thinking on my feet and nudging in the ribs to keep up those discounted meal lies. I eventually told the owner I graduated, but then he wanted to know where I was working. To this day I still feel bad about it because if I had just told him I was low on cash the first day, I'm sure he would have let me pay him back on the next visit. So below is a story about why honesty is the best policy...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times";"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times";">I decided I wanted to live in Chicago after watching the movie, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><i>What Women Want</i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times";">. I planned a trip to the city for my 21st birthday, had my first (legal) alcoholic beverage at Navy Pier, and then saved up the funds to move by the time I was 24. About a year later my boyfriend who was still living in North Carolina joined me. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;"><u style="font-weight: bold;">Girlfriend Achievement Level 10 Unlocked!</u></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "times";"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "times";">The plan was for him to
stay with me until he got a job and his own place, mostly because
his parents didn’t want us living together without being married. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;"><b>Spoiler alert, he never got his own place</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">I had lived alone for a
few years already, so living with a boyfriend was a new frontier. I liked inviting friends over to sit at the lakefront, having someone to kill spiders and turn off the lights after I had already crawled into bed. Our living situation
was pretty great until his family wanted to come visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sheepishly confessed to me that he
hadn’t told his parents we were still living together. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">During the time they were
going to be visiting I had to go out of town for work and felt like this was
the perfect time for him to come clean. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">Unbeknownst to me, he didn’t think
it was the perfect time</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">While I was gone, I get a call from my best friend. The BF had begged to borrow her
apartment like an episode of TLC’s Wife Swap! He offered to thoroughly clean
her apartment and buy her beer in exchange for living at her place while his
family was in town. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">“And you just told him yes?” </span>I asked in disbelief.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjReQF4BVkXTTJGgFfAFFg_pLm6f60TVlMJSIrfmvwZPnbtFiFz7OXego2MvlmvV5qSGcyVMxsz2RiMy1ucrShL5R_pXkeKk9K7s2XeqLAx-DCtP5yI9LxaFwG4NLig3IWRzruv7Z9Bo7c/s1600/tashbeer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="403" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjReQF4BVkXTTJGgFfAFFg_pLm6f60TVlMJSIrfmvwZPnbtFiFz7OXego2MvlmvV5qSGcyVMxsz2RiMy1ucrShL5R_pXkeKk9K7s2XeqLAx-DCtP5yI9LxaFwG4NLig3IWRzruv7Z9Bo7c/s320/tashbeer.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Basically</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">A lot of apartments in
Chicago require you to schedule a time to use the service elevator so that
you don’t hold up the regular elevator from tenants. So the BF hired a guy from
Craigslist to transport his queen sized bed and whatever other belongings
wouldn’t fit into his car up the stairs and into my best friend’s high-rise studio
apartment for a week. He was doing the most, but his family was none the wiser when
they came to stay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">Over the next few years,
his family would forward magazine subscriptions of Eastbay, send birthday
cards, and Christmas gifts to my best friends apartment in his name. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">In my mind it was only a slight
inconvenince that he’d ask me to go pick up his new driver’s license from my
bestie’s place. I was headed over there to eat loaded baked potatoes and binge
watch Korean dramas anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">I didn’t spend a lot of
time with his family, because his mom didn’t like me, but the few times we were
in the same vicinity, I never felt like it was my place to tell them the truth.
It really tugged at my insides though because I felt like I was being hidden.
Plus all of my friends and family knew the truth and it pissed them off. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">“Does he think you're not good enough for his parents and that’s why he won’t tell them?”</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">“If he can cultivate that
type of lie and keep it going for years, what else is he capable of?”</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000; font-size: large;">“He could have a wife and
kids on the South side of a Chicago that you don’t know about.”</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">Honestly I wasn’t worried
about him cheating on me. It would be very easy to stalk and kill him if I
wanted to. I’m an excellent snooper, and he’s a creature of habit. He wakes up
around the same time everyday, works out every Monday and Tuesday morning but only in the evening on Friday, and he farts at approximately
11:45pm every night before turning off Battleground 3 on the Xbox.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he was creeping, let alone had a whole
other family on the Southside of Chicago, I would know about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">Fast forward 4 years
later… I’m 28, he is 32 and we are living in a new 2 bedroom apartment, not far
from the old one. He still hasn’t told his family we are living together, and
they are coming to visit <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">next</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">day</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">With his cell phone in my
left hand and my right hand on my hip, I force him to call them the night before they are scheduled to fly out. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">“You can not let your family
get off that plane at O’hare airport, without telling the truth.” </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">He dials their number,
closes our bedroom door and doesn’t let me hear their conversation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">And trust me, I tried
listening at the door but in our apartment you can hear the slightest creak of
the hardwood floors. Even ghosts can’t creep up on you, so I retreat to the
couch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">When he emerges from the
room, I pause Real Housewives of Atlanta on the tv and ask,<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"> “How did it go?”</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">“They were not happy about
it, but they were glad I told them the truth.” </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">The next day I can tell a
huge weight has been lifted off his chest. He actually added butter AND jelly
to his English muffin and let me watch <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Scandal</span> from DVR instead of hogging the
tv and watching <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">The Rundown</span> on ESPN. I’m so happy we’ve had this emotional
break through. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;"><u><b>Girlfriend Achievement Level 25 Unlocked</b></u></span>! Things could only get
better from here! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;"><b>But things only went
down hill from here</b></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">The BF picks up the parentals from the airport and they do some touristy ish like
take pictures at “the bean” and eat deep-dish pizza together. For the record,
real Chicagoans only <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsxRuaMCikHE5ckfhuAKaZguoYQGMWpvqjF1TA7SMtHQaPe445iFtY8g51t_pFVz_CSn8KGcZfMUXqTHhZ8BkNlbuNZ41oT40panaGuhMKxSGxw5iAs94GhdrkR5KcdAGLQTJztrDh14Q/s1600/bean.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="223" data-original-width="336" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsxRuaMCikHE5ckfhuAKaZguoYQGMWpvqjF1TA7SMtHQaPe445iFtY8g51t_pFVz_CSn8KGcZfMUXqTHhZ8BkNlbuNZ41oT40panaGuhMKxSGxw5iAs94GhdrkR5KcdAGLQTJztrDh14Q/s320/bean.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Bean, or "Cloud Gate"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
eat deep dish when their out of town family and friends
come to visit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">I meet up with him and his
fam after work and the plan is to go back to our apartment so they can check
out where we live.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;"><b>But things did not
go according to plan</b></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">The BF and his dad go to
the bathroom, leaving his mother and I<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>sitting together in front of Panera Bread on Michigan Avenue. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">*Sidebar, people that go to new cities and eat at chain restaurants... </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">Ya’ll are trash.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">As I’ve explained to you
guys in the past, the BF’s mother has never been warm and fuzzy towards me, but I thought I'd try to
make the best out of this situation by starting up a friendly conversation with
her. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;"><u style="font-weight: bold;">Girlfriend Achievement Level 50 Unlocked!</u></span>!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">“I’m so happy that you
guys are coming to see the apartment” </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;">“We’re not coming” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">I thought I must be
mistaken. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">“Excuse me? <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid90_jmsF3v7qqQj6eMFexYGojLeSk7gleVNzsGcai9aK9Z9VExGGVkN-XYv49taUIPLV9QcerLzRtjmMPjJICvGlwlz82lzRhufbGtOZqBqhQBn7k34AevV0IkZisVQVesaEV_El4o4E/s1600/blink.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="229" data-original-width="195" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid90_jmsF3v7qqQj6eMFexYGojLeSk7gleVNzsGcai9aK9Z9VExGGVkN-XYv49taUIPLV9QcerLzRtjmMPjJICvGlwlz82lzRhufbGtOZqBqhQBn7k34AevV0IkZisVQVesaEV_El4o4E/s200/blink.gif" width="170" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What did you say?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;">“You heard me. We are not going to THE apartment”</span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">Maybe it was in my head, but I swear his mom snarled at me, like a saber tooth tiger ready to tear apart its prey after an intense hunt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">“Why not?”</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;">“We don’t support you living together. So my husband and I decided that we’re not going.”</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times";">I notice a vein in her neck twitch. I keep my composure the best I can, not making any sudden moves and talk slowly, as not to aggravate my predator any further.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">“It was really hard for
the BF to tell you the truth, especially after all this time. I know it would
really mean a lot to him if you came to the apartment”</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000; font-family: "times";"><u style="font-weight: bold;">Girlfriend Achievement Level 100 Unlocked!</u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">Then she loses the last
bit of chill she had left.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;">“I don’t know how you were
raised, but my son was not raised to live in sin...”</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">I realize the couple at
the table next to us has stopped talking and is looking over at us in
eavesdropping delight. I’m almost certain this convo is being live tweeted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">She continues through
clenched teeth, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;">“He never wanted to live with you. He wanted to get his own
place and he should have. Its just wrong and I won’t discuss it further with
you.”</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;">Although I'm aggravated, I remember the couple sitting next to us and don't want to become a twitter meme. I still remain as respectful as I possibly can.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">"I never forced him to stay with me. I always encouraged him to tell you the truth, and even suggested he move out if it made him uncomfortable to live together without being married."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;">She was acting as though I held her son hostage for 5 years, making him rub my feet and pay the rent against his will. He came to live with ME! Its not like I cocked a gun at his head anytime he mentioned moving out.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">At this moment the BF and
his dad come back from the bathroom. You can feel the tension in the air like
an ice cold seat at the Bears stadium in January. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">“What are you guys talking
about”</span> the BF's dad asks<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">The BF looks worried. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;">“Oh nothing," </span></span>his mother says. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130;">"Are you guys
ready to leave?”</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl8B0_78lW4UdEK7bDY37AyinKbcOgKVsdTyp0GPqp7bDuDJ4FXJu4d2HoUTbDrN9UCLmgKmQjToBMqPZ4l4DHJm8QcPRC6h2rjCSzY5FjrqXvaB-72pn6lMo7ZdQ7xd0sf1exElJp6Vc/s1600/spongebobicon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="100" data-original-width="100" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl8B0_78lW4UdEK7bDY37AyinKbcOgKVsdTyp0GPqp7bDuDJ4FXJu4d2HoUTbDrN9UCLmgKmQjToBMqPZ4l4DHJm8QcPRC6h2rjCSzY5FjrqXvaB-72pn6lMo7ZdQ7xd0sf1exElJp6Vc/s200/spongebobicon.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "times";"><o:p>By this time the sun has gone down and it's a warm summer night. As we </o:p></span>start walking away from Panera Bread down Michigan Avenue, my sandal's strap is digging into my foot. I'm walking next to the BF's Dad while him and his mom walk in front of us. I suggest we take a cab to where ever they want to go next.<br />
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The BF's mother whips her head around and says, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47;">"Why don't YOU take a cab home and we'll keep walking."</span></div>
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The BF is stunned into silence, standing there with a look of shock on his face. The BF's Dad however, apologizes for my hurting foot, raises his hand and hails a cab. We all go back to their hotel to drop them off and after the BF says his goodbyes for the evening (I stayed in the cab), we make our way back home to our apartment.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">“I’m so sorry they
wouldn’t come see the apartment. I know you really wanted them to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And after all this time, you’re finally
honest with them and they don’t even support you. I’m so, so sorry.” </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;"><u style="font-weight: bold;">Girlfriend Achievement Level 1000 Unlocked!</u></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;"><b><u>!</u></b></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">I can tell the BF is
trying to keep his composure too. Like he is fighting back tears, trying to
remain masculine and strong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">As we make a left turn onto
Lakeshore Drive, he quietly says, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">“My mom told me what you said when I left
their hotel. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for you [making me
tell them we live together]. Why’d you have to bring any of this up?</span>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;"><b><u>Girlfriend, GAME OVER!</u></b></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0g_dnb-MhuH8wwTI0YU5ijSciox8laL5KFVxs_xNu18HENcPoHLneSACDdv-caNE6ZVZ_ev2p95kkl32_zbUFkFqsP8-31gpdHstZgrpOTGMYbSPuNt1Bd7bcTzEs96TJPkX081Z0RE/s1600/baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="424" data-original-width="639" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0g_dnb-MhuH8wwTI0YU5ijSciox8laL5KFVxs_xNu18HENcPoHLneSACDdv-caNE6ZVZ_ev2p95kkl32_zbUFkFqsP8-31gpdHstZgrpOTGMYbSPuNt1Bd7bcTzEs96TJPkX081Z0RE/s200/baby.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "times";">Today I turn 33 and I share this story because
I want my friends and any lovely strangers reading this to do what makes them happy and have no apologies. W</span>hat we not gon do is pretend to be someone we aren't. When do you get to be the real you? When your parents die? When you reach a certain age or pay grade?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">*<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Whispers I'm not not a virgin*</span></span> There I did it. I'm free. I’m not making fun of the Ex BF in this story for his actions. After all
he was a young man of 33 when this happened, who am I to judge? Jay-Z didn’t get
it together til he was in his 40’s. We live and we learn and it takes some of us
longer than others to get there.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">I have never been the type of person to lie about who I am or what I want. Ever
since I was a child, if I’m tired I’m going to sleep. If I don’t like you, I’m not going to pretend that we’re friends. Its just never appealed to me to be anything other than who I am.
It's exhausting to have to keep up the facade. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">I'm living my life for me and my numerology said this year gonna be lit. I’m ready</span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-6314424765959762692017-04-06T19:29:00.000-04:002017-04-09T14:50:05.673-04:00Arabian Knights<div dir="ltr">
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If <a href="https://ioneglobalgrind.files.wordpress.com/2016/06/14669842747097-e1469142867985.jpg?quality=100&strip=all&w=1024&h=901" target="_blank">French Montana</a> was walking down the street in Marrakesh I would pay him no attention. Not because he's unattractive but because he would blend in. Most of the men we've interacted with in Morroco, remind me of a tall, short, skinny, pudgy or middle aged version of him. </div>
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Additionally, the men in Morroco have been very kind and helpful, but consistently aggressive. Whether they're trying to negotiate business deals or pour mint tea; They have no chill. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pouring tea with flair </td></tr>
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For the entire 8 days we toured this captivating country the men basically spit Drake lyrics at us... </div>
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<i style="color: #e06666; text-align: left;">Y</i><i style="color: #e06666;">ou too fine to be laying down in bed alone </i></div>
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<i style="color: #e06666;">I can teach you how to speak my language</i> </div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;"><i>Rosetta Stone</i> </span> </div>
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Coming from the United States, where whiteness is "rightness", I must say that it feels extremely nice to be lauded for your beauty as a black person.</div>
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Even the manager of one of the hotels we stayed at said we'd easily fetch a one hundred camel dowry. This compliment seems pretty impressive when you don't have anything to compare that unit of measurement to. Are 100 camels better than say, 100 instagram likes? 100 free Uber rides? 101 Dalmatians? For me though, the most impressive part of our trip was our 3 day excursion into the desert.<br />
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On the first day we wove our way through the Atlas Mountains and our driver was wildin'. He was dressed like Bruno Mars in a fitted navy blue suit and fedora, but facially he could still pass for French Montana's older brother. He kept passing cars on the two lane mountain roads while speeding around hairpin turns. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Atlas Mountains</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: center;">I wanted to say, "</span><span style="color: #e06666; text-align: center;">Excuse me, Mr. Bruno Montana? Sir, we are on the side of a mutha fucking mountain</span><span style="text-align: center;">," but instead I just put my seat belt on, closed my eyes and prayed for our safe deliverance. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ait Ben-Haddou </td></tr>
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We do a guided tour of Ait Ben-Haddou, where Lawrence of Arabia & Game of Thrones were filmed, have a group dinner & spend the night in a hotel. The second day we walk through a Berber village. The villagers farm figs and grapes and show us how they dye camel and sheep fur with cumin, saffron and indigo to weave handwoven carpets. They also except plastic money (their words not mine) and ship FedEx if you're interested.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mKYx9duTyRh14DabOwV3xF2wKC2WJh7TJYjttX3KoyMgJ5KrB5_8ztQefuNfEE4b-ImpRzjNDdlO9CI-zFt9j079Ihor9cfJ6C-z92BGtanr29N8zRh7RtzUXXWs3_NAt6BOX61wZyo/s1600/2017-04-09-13-42-19-799.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mKYx9duTyRh14DabOwV3xF2wKC2WJh7TJYjttX3KoyMgJ5KrB5_8ztQefuNfEE4b-ImpRzjNDdlO9CI-zFt9j079Ihor9cfJ6C-z92BGtanr29N8zRh7RtzUXXWs3_NAt6BOX61wZyo/s320/2017-04-09-13-42-19-799.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching carpet weaving</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That afternoon our tour group arrives at the Sahara Desert. We file into a building at the edge of massive sand dunes and a man dressed in a traditional Berber tunic brings out Morrocan tea for everyone. I ask the tea guy, Karim*, some vital questions.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQEdaMSrxOoX_7pzgvNoYI8TkJgLY_KebH6iIWuCYOUqyQ8Osuo7F-L0rxpSA2zFBj5O6L2UphyphenhyphenhqVi_gDMtd4tHcP2BqHl24UXlePk8x5Vz2ZTmM8wbh-eideKJKLaPzlEXpn9ZDjtL0/s1600/SmartSelectImage_2017-04-09-12-27-05.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQEdaMSrxOoX_7pzgvNoYI8TkJgLY_KebH6iIWuCYOUqyQ8Osuo7F-L0rxpSA2zFBj5O6L2UphyphenhyphenhqVi_gDMtd4tHcP2BqHl24UXlePk8x5Vz2ZTmM8wbh-eideKJKLaPzlEXpn9ZDjtL0/s320/SmartSelectImage_2017-04-09-12-27-05.png" width="317" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view of the Sahara Desert from the camp</td></tr>
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</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Whats for dinner? </span>(At this point I'm really craving a juicy 5 guys cheeseburger, as I had been eating shish kabobs & tajines for the last 4 days. Karim said it was going to be <a href="https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tajine" target="_blank">Chicken Tajine</a> and bread)</div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Where are we gonna pee?</span> (He informs us that the camp has an outhouse with a squat toilet and no running water)</div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Do ya'll have wifi in the desert?</span> (There would be no wifi and no water either so he tells us to bring our own bottled water)</div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">We were going to be roughing it.</span></div>
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As we're preparing to get on our camels Karim brings my paperwork over and asks if I have whatsapp.</div>
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Outer me was like, "<span style="color: #e06666;">Oh he probably just wants to practice English</span>."</div>
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<br /></div>
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Inner me was like<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO_hCHmzgdK5kYP7lXFpGLAEiCQEDUrrvNoegyp5bhcmFnxhsV75tF5e_0MLbys5nHQ9GWxV_lvTC0GoiHWnpQ_rb-GmKmVyTSIQ7HwbeqMGDlTrEckTOndEmpNqLFllDawI0IHnr-OXY/s1600/conceit+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO_hCHmzgdK5kYP7lXFpGLAEiCQEDUrrvNoegyp5bhcmFnxhsV75tF5e_0MLbys5nHQ9GWxV_lvTC0GoiHWnpQ_rb-GmKmVyTSIQ7HwbeqMGDlTrEckTOndEmpNqLFllDawI0IHnr-OXY/s320/conceit+%25281%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I'm pretty naive though so I give him my whatsapp anyway, hop on my camel and keep it moving with the rest of the group.</div>
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Now I don't want to tell you how to live your life, but if you have never ridden a camel for an hour and a half through the desert, it is not a necessary life goal to achieve.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfciiTqe71GzQ-Ny5gnmD2htBReSI2JzpwG9KQ8rl2-IE3My3xqdSHOLszAsk_zcZIDO-qzhrgQFXU0wc5xKZwhN0a1oWYU5u3XPW_V-0l4fC8DImZI3pewZA1vX6dKeSGSKsNCHi-k6Q/s1600/2017-04-01-21-12-10-093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfciiTqe71GzQ-Ny5gnmD2htBReSI2JzpwG9KQ8rl2-IE3My3xqdSHOLszAsk_zcZIDO-qzhrgQFXU0wc5xKZwhN0a1oWYU5u3XPW_V-0l4fC8DImZI3pewZA1vX6dKeSGSKsNCHi-k6Q/s320/2017-04-01-21-12-10-093.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right before I lost my scarf</td></tr>
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<br />
Riding a camel hurts ya'll. Your neck, your back, your poonani and your crack. The entire ride I felt like a Republican with unlocked car doors at a stoplight next to a car full of minorities: Uncomfortable. <br />
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I couldn't help but wonder, how did Jafar find the Cave of Wonders? If I had gotten separated from the group & lost in the desert, there was a good chance I would literally become a line from <strike>the Bible</strike> a Beyoncé song; <span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #e06666;">From ashes to ashes, dust to this chick</span></span>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_uJ3BZ86-tdORnpXwqRRAld6bWFRHHy0p3ZVEjnNlTRmHaxFHiQOHTM9UzEiPnWzbSz1txuytlNGFt_uVIl20xOD5oXe-yNsN9LF2tQtYmuBHPL1nhpDlKj4naqQVMWrIo36UH1cG3rU/s1600/20170331_180033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_uJ3BZ86-tdORnpXwqRRAld6bWFRHHy0p3ZVEjnNlTRmHaxFHiQOHTM9UzEiPnWzbSz1txuytlNGFt_uVIl20xOD5oXe-yNsN9LF2tQtYmuBHPL1nhpDlKj4naqQVMWrIo36UH1cG3rU/s320/20170331_180033.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7v7uux_hZ6BBDyfLXlWvTp6-IKsG2kpCFTGfo2OZqGkJRZnS667cwCl-D3ZRidiwKSJE5svsg18FqUpmPy60A34p0u_XcyORMTo-Gxp4x5xBklk6EOb4f9PHCYI6sxABAtzbNmCrbnRg/s1600/2017-04-02-20-50-25-144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7v7uux_hZ6BBDyfLXlWvTp6-IKsG2kpCFTGfo2OZqGkJRZnS667cwCl-D3ZRidiwKSJE5svsg18FqUpmPy60A34p0u_XcyORMTo-Gxp4x5xBklk6EOb4f9PHCYI6sxABAtzbNmCrbnRg/s200/2017-04-02-20-50-25-144.jpg" width="112" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguIVulFv4aSBd3b8lXdrg839piWXgDg_-fX-TInn4GVyDsfvtM_8PUwQHaTqMiGtqkguERV1l-40br7k4Sb9oyvDpratVfFEOQlCckYmc-JLxDKr9DZ41x7Pql61BR7sA8-_QaBmxYZkU/s1600/2017-04-08-10-14-42-656.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguIVulFv4aSBd3b8lXdrg839piWXgDg_-fX-TInn4GVyDsfvtM_8PUwQHaTqMiGtqkguERV1l-40br7k4Sb9oyvDpratVfFEOQlCckYmc-JLxDKr9DZ41x7Pql61BR7sA8-_QaBmxYZkU/s200/2017-04-08-10-14-42-656.jpg" width="126" /></a></div>
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After snapping multiple selfies and losing my scarf in middle of the desert from atop my camel, we finally stop to watch the sunset.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6N-u8vKMkmIg9ZQU7EBw0KS2oIb6dIHNwmPu5qzaOltLzScgQP8UPzaatn0L9RbksMYdNFBXDpqvTJM_uPKBxFCuADJ4lpXEEN4W06clVuWgwcFgDmFVXaO4dwtnoVaZw8N487sAb6g8/s1600/20170331_182047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6N-u8vKMkmIg9ZQU7EBw0KS2oIb6dIHNwmPu5qzaOltLzScgQP8UPzaatn0L9RbksMYdNFBXDpqvTJM_uPKBxFCuADJ4lpXEEN4W06clVuWgwcFgDmFVXaO4dwtnoVaZw8N487sAb6g8/s320/20170331_182047.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The view was stunning. We could see the border of Algeria to the east, over the peaks of the untouched sand dunes.</div>
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The only working out I've done lately has been working out my issues, so I'm catching my breath after trudging through the sand when I get a phone call from a 212 number.</div>
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I don't answer it because Verizon charges $2.99/minute for international phone calls. Instead, I grit my teeth & pay 50 cents to reply by text.</div>
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Then I realize it's not a 212 number from New York, but that 212 is the country code for Morocco.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #e06666;">It's Karim, the tea guy.</span></div>
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We get to the camp, sit down to dinner and Karim shows up in full Berber regalia. In addition to his bright blue tunic, intricately woven with golden fibers, he is donning a turban the size of a Thanksgiving turkey serving platter. Its made with 2 brightly colored scarves instead of just one like the other desert guides. Either he is kind of a big deal or he is seriously peacocking.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0tjxJDPcIpUvw9CINwEGVHgj7mb-2K1skfVDM8Xd7ZoeVZsRYJ_QfAsiCbEiko4MsZ45wAShvaFSMcL7s8_jrxH2zuQ_wrLuTEZiYYeWHpTWOGjXkEGjm2BbDWR91TsSBgiViNNHTtzU/s1600/IMG-20170402-WA0002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0tjxJDPcIpUvw9CINwEGVHgj7mb-2K1skfVDM8Xd7ZoeVZsRYJ_QfAsiCbEiko4MsZ45wAShvaFSMcL7s8_jrxH2zuQ_wrLuTEZiYYeWHpTWOGjXkEGjm2BbDWR91TsSBgiViNNHTtzU/s320/IMG-20170402-WA0002.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Karim not pictured </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After dinner the desert guides build a bonfire, and start playing and singing traditional Morrocan music. When Karim isn't whispering about me to his coworker, who looks like French Montana's first cousin, he stares at me while he plays the cymbals like I'm the last sip of water in the desert.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlx1C3DWhCHH0EKQzEeU7Q1laH2Adz-kWhfwcovL5I2rPQfBQtKnjntGdN-qp2mNnb6gvJrBfqdjWGhJynkDmojp5iYWSPydCp9UMTJbiY97W4UAAGpOW40BFIRc9DhH-T5NMe4Ojth94/s1600/IMG-20170402-WA0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlx1C3DWhCHH0EKQzEeU7Q1laH2Adz-kWhfwcovL5I2rPQfBQtKnjntGdN-qp2mNnb6gvJrBfqdjWGhJynkDmojp5iYWSPydCp9UMTJbiY97W4UAAGpOW40BFIRc9DhH-T5NMe4Ojth94/s320/IMG-20170402-WA0003.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Desert bonfire </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Meg and I are exhausted. We've already been up for over 12 hours and tomorrow morning everyone is supposed to watch the sunrise. he desert guides say it's not good to go to sleep on a full stomach and urge the group to climb one more dune to see the next city over by moonlight. </div>
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But this is no regular dune. It is the Starbucks venti of all dunes. It's legit 900 meters to the top. We start the uphill trek and I'm in front but want to tap out early. People keep passing me until I'm at the very end of the group and then Karim magically appears.</div>
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He says,<span style="color: #3d85c6;"> "Take my hand, I will help you."</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwnrniLTTNzqQPfaqzyNsA-3-7Y3ftSKv1aCmIaJjMvL94HZaOez4tW9me9fVj3x8w07MHLr0rKpUEHmXfJAMHtv2Qi-GQU9a4ifWc2abizp3X6ChUHgKprfVSrQKj6SjOGo0YS9VUS_k/s1600/download+%25285%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwnrniLTTNzqQPfaqzyNsA-3-7Y3ftSKv1aCmIaJjMvL94HZaOez4tW9me9fVj3x8w07MHLr0rKpUEHmXfJAMHtv2Qi-GQU9a4ifWc2abizp3X6ChUHgKprfVSrQKj6SjOGo0YS9VUS_k/s1600/download+%25285%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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I really don't want to because I can tell he likes me and I don't want to lead him on, but I am seriously struggling to keep up. I reluctantly take his hand. </div>
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Eventually we catch up to a group of Chinese tourists that are resting from the climb. We stop just before we reach them and Karim says</div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;">Lets just sit.</span></div>
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I want to keep going but I'm tired as hell. The Chinese people are only about 15ft away, close enough to hear my screams if anything goes down. *<b>Whispers</b>* <span style="color: #e06666;">but in all honesty I don't know if they'd help me. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip5gXG29XoQCjjmQv8WNL8H3HgiOIpv4TL1IdvDJBqpCo89u9n-QYo2ug4WuFbiATuaXYRPzCWsoqojmDYYgha8uwyOokM2kbNIV97QfjblnIo583P30YlvPwW8vU27YYZt82_MqgRaFU/s1600/aladdin-a-whole-new-world-princess-jasmine-17786796-450-2581.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip5gXG29XoQCjjmQv8WNL8H3HgiOIpv4TL1IdvDJBqpCo89u9n-QYo2ug4WuFbiATuaXYRPzCWsoqojmDYYgha8uwyOokM2kbNIV97QfjblnIo583P30YlvPwW8vU27YYZt82_MqgRaFU/s320/aladdin-a-whole-new-world-princess-jasmine-17786796-450-2581.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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I swear this dude whips out a carpet from Allah knows where and smooths it out over the sand.</div>
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It was almost like he had planned this whole thing. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;">Did you get the messages I sent you?</span></div>
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I lie and say no.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;">Normally I'm the concierge and don't come out to camp, but I couldn't stop thinking about you. I came to get to know you.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">You really didn't have to do that Karim.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I walked 1.5 hrs through the desert just to see you and talk face to face.</span></div>
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I wonder if he found my scarf? I thought to myself. </div>
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Karim keeps going on and on about how he never got married because he's been waiting his whole life for a black woman. I kinda want to remind him that he was born and raised in Africa. Every woman he grew up with is black, but instead I ask,</div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">How old are you? </span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;">31. Every year I wait for a black woman to come to the desert camp. Last year a black man came so I was still disappointed. You're the first.</span></div>
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I do like to think of myself as a trailblazer. </div>
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He moves his hand close to my face and says, <span style="color: #3d85c6;">Here in Morroco we call your hair Rasta hair</span>.</div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">That's interesting</span>. I back my face away from his hand. <span style="color: #e06666;">In America we call it Yaki 1b/350</span>.</div>
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He asks if he can touch it. Immediately I think of The Lonely Island's, Jizz in my Pants song and say no. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOvMvAnb45wpKwjfkAkYt-sny8SX9W72bgvejyq5SrEgAXiXCz9gFKr-q_TpLKrBFo4-jX0t88Kut5NmXNXpveLzHUlN6q-tQBqsVRycQMp412QfK9m10Efy3MGm5xiKmdEyv5_m0AAJg/s1600/Ma3DGYS.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOvMvAnb45wpKwjfkAkYt-sny8SX9W72bgvejyq5SrEgAXiXCz9gFKr-q_TpLKrBFo4-jX0t88Kut5NmXNXpveLzHUlN6q-tQBqsVRycQMp412QfK9m10Efy3MGm5xiKmdEyv5_m0AAJg/s320/Ma3DGYS.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Then he starts talking about us getting married. I can move to Morroco or he can move to NY. (He saw that's where I was born on my passport). He comes from a family of 10 children, well 9 now, because his sister just got married. He wants to know how many kids I want to have.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVZE7zuJBayrRD7i4qsvw5O2X0vugGL9tHAT22hBuIMKvaEbgvxtolm9m3NJXl8GYvjdw9nYnst93NOD-TBdx9EYOrV0YAvJg6nUUA4SKd-thttA8JdHsAH9ibd5yjF4ScaB-vMuZYUPM/s1600/tenor.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVZE7zuJBayrRD7i4qsvw5O2X0vugGL9tHAT22hBuIMKvaEbgvxtolm9m3NJXl8GYvjdw9nYnst93NOD-TBdx9EYOrV0YAvJg6nUUA4SKd-thttA8JdHsAH9ibd5yjF4ScaB-vMuZYUPM/s320/tenor.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Now Karim isn't an ugly dude. He doesn't even look like an immediate member of French Montana's family. If the circumstances were different (ie. I was desperate and ignorant to the fact that many men prey on foreign women vacationing in their country in hopes to get a green card) I might have given him a chance. But my life isn't a Disney movie. I can't instantly fall in love with a stranger and move to a foreign country. I am not Pocahontas. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEyNH16JqY2SzqEaaOIHLukZUQt54FGIu9leFCRKAEs0jsGPy6xnFFAm08uVTQ0DkLqRrFzIDfQUR91tf6OB7bDAer3iq6C9i-w79-RNB7EjHHdoPD59UG-db-foh3N2479BhChg0o8Vk/s1600/2017-04-09-14-00-32-977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEyNH16JqY2SzqEaaOIHLukZUQt54FGIu9leFCRKAEs0jsGPy6xnFFAm08uVTQ0DkLqRrFzIDfQUR91tf6OB7bDAer3iq6C9i-w79-RNB7EjHHdoPD59UG-db-foh3N2479BhChg0o8Vk/s320/2017-04-09-14-00-32-977.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me as Pocahontas<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Am I?</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="color: #e06666;">I gently tell Karim, I don't like you in that way. I don't really like anyone. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">That's not normal. The purpose of life is to find a mate, love each other and make each other happy. Happy wife, happy life</span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #e06666;">Why do you like black women anyway?</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifk6KkfrgX6uxQeKG_yUp0GXim7cp_bCGnSJdXNFPoNIA9FZMZHIexGzwsAuErLym7gT3v9ypDo_bbHxNSKSU06mKAXzxaHYv2Ama-bzfalPyNeLPV5MJrT30QYAO1YX3_6E_5VaUMiIY/s1600/why-are-you-so-obsessed-with-me.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifk6KkfrgX6uxQeKG_yUp0GXim7cp_bCGnSJdXNFPoNIA9FZMZHIexGzwsAuErLym7gT3v9ypDo_bbHxNSKSU06mKAXzxaHYv2Ama-bzfalPyNeLPV5MJrT30QYAO1YX3_6E_5VaUMiIY/s320/why-are-you-so-obsessed-with-me.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
He shrugs. <span style="color: #3d85c6;">I don't know why. Allah made my heart that way. But I can also tell that Allah made you a good person</span>. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
I get teary eyed but do my best to hold it together. A little over a year ago I was in a long term relationship with someone whom I wanted to tell me all the things Karim was telling me right now. <span style="color: #e06666;">But he never did. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
It's so dark outside that we can't see each other's faces. The only light is from the moon and the stars and I have to admit it is a beautiful night. I hear a desert beetle scuttle by and I tense up.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Karim scoots closer to me on the magic carpet and breaks the silence,<span style="color: #3d85c6;"> "I only have one heart and I want to give it to you."</span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<div style="text-align: center;">
That line right there almost got me ya'll. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKO2Sl6uSiXMCWD8hgx-LRMo-eaJqJju3SGqPeH-dwh2D2MVRCNu-dGlwbL4ArY_u-u5sW20CE9drgbEHqe1PT2DbvHl4W7Lii3XuzzeaBNOIXgSqgffSrSorltkBq4HI3Sz-JsVb0brw/s1600/tumblr_n1gh7tsS0S1trmkp7o1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKO2Sl6uSiXMCWD8hgx-LRMo-eaJqJju3SGqPeH-dwh2D2MVRCNu-dGlwbL4ArY_u-u5sW20CE9drgbEHqe1PT2DbvHl4W7Lii3XuzzeaBNOIXgSqgffSrSorltkBq4HI3Sz-JsVb0brw/s320/tumblr_n1gh7tsS0S1trmkp7o1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #e06666;">But my mama ain't raise no fool.</span></div>
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Karim may be a lot of things, none of which I'm familiar with because we just met 4 hours ago, but in this moment he has transformed from Aladdin into Prince Ali baba and he's showing me a whole new world of compliments. It's like Drake is serenading me by moonlight, kicking game like judo. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">How many days will it take you to forget me?, </span>He whispers.<span style="color: #3d85c6;"> I will always keep thinking of you</span>.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
How many more women will you say this to this week, I think. But I jokingly reply,<span style="color: #e06666;"> I will never forget this night.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Then I tell him I'm tired and want to go back to the camp and he says ok but suggests we hold hands.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
I bury my hands in my coat pockets and while we're walking down the sand dune Karim tells me to never give my heart to someone who won't give their's back.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Maybe French Montana's 3rd cousin, twice removed isn't as naive as I thought he was.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
As we reach the camp, I politely tell Karim good night and duck into my tent. Meg is inside preparing for bed and asks where I've been.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
I tell her the whole story as I pull on my sweat pants and fuzzy socks. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="color: #4c1130;">"</span><span style="color: #c27ba0;">Wow that is creepy and intense</span>," she says. "<span style="background-color: white; color: #c27ba0;">But now you can never date a guy who won't cross a desert for you."</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqo8Jc2OPfknxBiB_ZZEwUmf7NKbhBhB9b5pQVk4tNDR9gkxs0CMZgEjvbaTsU74SROTlGo4UN2LA9oRkFbHFJ3VNNKcQJbQ-7oXPNJrYUHbgjqu4qbyql5FqvwblAS5hVKFbn7JLvZjk/s1600/IMG_20170409_133357_054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqo8Jc2OPfknxBiB_ZZEwUmf7NKbhBhB9b5pQVk4tNDR9gkxs0CMZgEjvbaTsU74SROTlGo4UN2LA9oRkFbHFJ3VNNKcQJbQ-7oXPNJrYUHbgjqu4qbyql5FqvwblAS5hVKFbn7JLvZjk/s320/IMG_20170409_133357_054.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the desert guides who took photos for me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*names have been changed</span> </div>
Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-84451984292840791322017-02-22T21:40:00.002-05:002017-02-23T07:11:50.085-05:00I too was #HurtBae<div dir="ltr">
</div>
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</div>
<span style="font-family: "times";">At 11:58pm on October 6</span><span style="font-family: "times";">, </span><span style="font-family: "times";">2003
there was a knock on my dorm room door. I was in the middle of writing a
sociology paper, so I put up an away message, got up from my desk and answered
the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times";">It was James*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times";">Before I had a chance to
say hello, he grabbed me by the shoulders with both hands and gave me a hard
kiss on the lips. I almost oozed out of my pajamas and onto the floor like Alex
Mack.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqThZadfDl9AOi-b0qYyscLdikx5Oy0ECs2_Tsqv7b5CVPshJibQTAD9-cEgYv4DHkI1oLnSViWiOtW0w0a08x_vilf2Dse-PRhaqEzTHv2wEW7w4itqQwzagyCo0rn7Sd1UtiJ2fCzWM/s1600/alex-mack-o.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqThZadfDl9AOi-b0qYyscLdikx5Oy0ECs2_Tsqv7b5CVPshJibQTAD9-cEgYv4DHkI1oLnSViWiOtW0w0a08x_vilf2Dse-PRhaqEzTHv2wEW7w4itqQwzagyCo0rn7Sd1UtiJ2fCzWM/s320/alex-mack-o.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
With my eyes still closed
I whispered, “<span style="color: #c05a57;">What was that for?</span>”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times";">I wanted to be the first
person to tell you happy birthday.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times";">I glanced at the clock on
my desk. It was 12:01.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times";">That was the first time he
kissed me and a few days later he became the first boyfriend I had in college. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times";">James was fine ya’ll. He
was 6’2, with sculpted everything and played on our university’s rugby team. I
know what you’re thinking. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Rugby</span>? Well he was also an exchange student from
England. His accent was so thick that I could barely understand what he was
saying to me half the time. It was sexy AF.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times";"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp6xL0ePkk266aZihC80LnhZJRSy3ZZ-2gzfDQh03vESpd7ybNgdGQbz9wGZrPNR72OIIZHgIYLBPiwp-uwr2SM5e83ZHcDIA_NUnPaBY2Z9EE0DmAAr_3SkUDizFz36_TK1prWSKVoHk/s1600/a78ae76da19c1a0f9e0e9b2f7e6229e70bd36cf7bc5b2f29b5f8900face50234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp6xL0ePkk266aZihC80LnhZJRSy3ZZ-2gzfDQh03vESpd7ybNgdGQbz9wGZrPNR72OIIZHgIYLBPiwp-uwr2SM5e83ZHcDIA_NUnPaBY2Z9EE0DmAAr_3SkUDizFz36_TK1prWSKVoHk/s320/a78ae76da19c1a0f9e0e9b2f7e6229e70bd36cf7bc5b2f29b5f8900face50234.jpg" width="249" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">Not only was he an
athlete, but he was smart too. He majored in biochemistry and would help me
with chemistry homework because covalent bonds were not my jam.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times";">Spring semester, James
gave me my most memorable <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Valentine’s Day</span> ever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times";">I went to his room the
night before V Day (<span style="color: #e06666;">doesn’t that sound like a C-list horror movie or an A-list
porno?</span>) to surprise him like he had surprised me on my birthday. There was no
answer so I went next door to our mutual friends' room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Have you guys seen James?</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">Billy looked at Henrik and said,</span><span style="font-family: "times";"> "</span><span style="color: #073763;">She has a right to know"</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Know what?</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">James went
to New York.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times";">We went to school in
Raleigh, NC. It wasn’t like New York was down the street.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">New York? For what?</span> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzXGPzDY_BmULy_Z1OKKiOYRZ7DIcOjNJU9XHZinOUscA73MEnwJQ1VhTyd9Y2xFpGmkW1hyZ6SPZmdKtUW8IeLY5K9I3OjJ6V2UQCCUyqJdjM8aRCULovCVrWIH-3DC3BvWlugReP2_g/s1600/giphy+%25284%2529.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzXGPzDY_BmULy_Z1OKKiOYRZ7DIcOjNJU9XHZinOUscA73MEnwJQ1VhTyd9Y2xFpGmkW1hyZ6SPZmdKtUW8IeLY5K9I3OjJ6V2UQCCUyqJdjM8aRCULovCVrWIH-3DC3BvWlugReP2_g/s320/giphy+%25284%2529.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #073763;">He took Stephanie to New York for Valentine's Day.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">His Biochem partner?</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">I had seen the signs but
chose to ignore them. I saw the way she looked at him while they studied in the
common area. I saw him close out AIM conversation windows with
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><3<3<3<3<3<3</span> dotted across the screen. I bet she was willing
to give him anal when I wasn’t. That’s the only thing I could think of that
would make him cheat on me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">I cried in my dorm room
and blasted Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker suite on repeat through my Dell computer
speakers because I’m dramatic and classy. I also had a music theory test coming
up and figured if I was too sad to leave my room at least I could study the composition of Tchaikovsky's work in between sobs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">That night I vowed to
never let a guy cheat on me or date an Aquarius ever again.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times";">Fast forward to 2017 and
I’ve learned a lot about relationships over the years. I went back on my vow about dating an Aquarius (<span style="color: #e06666;">which was a big mistake</span>) so for the second time, I'm vowing not to do that again. I also notice red flags a lot quicker than I did when I was 19 and subsequently side step the bullsh*t. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times";">But now that my brother is of
college age, I’m learning new things about the way guys think. And it’s horrifying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">To start, my brother is a
mama’s boy. </span>I think this is because:</div>
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<ol>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-family: "times";">He was breastfeed and I
wasn’t</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-family: "times";">He is naturally more
affectionate than I am. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-family: "times";">Growing up he would give everyone a goodnight kiss on the forehead
followed by a quick I love you. I, on the other hand, would throw up the deuces and say, "Aight ya’ll
I’m going to bed"</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-family: "times";">He was babied by our parents </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times";">For example when I was about 14 years old
and he was 5, it honestly made me furious when my mom would cut up his pancakes for him.</span></li>
</ol>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">And pancakes are what sent
me over the edge the other day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">My brother asked my mom and I for $20 and advice about 2 girls he likes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: times; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: "times";">"Nikki is short and cute
and has a very bubbly personality. She has light skin with long silky hair and
she expects me to take her out to places that I can’t afford.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: "times";">Kendra is okay looking,
but her attitude isn’t as good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She has a good job and a car that she lets me drive. If I’m
hungry she’ll buy me food and she always gives me gifts just because. I’d
rather be with her because it’s easier."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjA7eArXXRsu-jfaUNlb4GIP-ED748ulwplGQ4jyhwJCDRXYZLwOo2UyHKHyebXmNvg9KVuvYNeehJKM4nnkb3aqb4rvW7EMj-dlqPaAnW-QkM8-tQPmWZ4f-pt6KO88Afo4tlcPmCsEU/s1600/giphy+%25285%2529.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjA7eArXXRsu-jfaUNlb4GIP-ED748ulwplGQ4jyhwJCDRXYZLwOo2UyHKHyebXmNvg9KVuvYNeehJKM4nnkb3aqb4rvW7EMj-dlqPaAnW-QkM8-tQPmWZ4f-pt6KO88Afo4tlcPmCsEU/s1600/giphy+%25285%2529.gif" /></a></div>
<br />
I told him to <span style="color: #e06666;">be honest </span>with both of these girls and <span style="color: #e06666;">don’t lead them on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">His response: It's not
cheating if they're both your girlfriend <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv5mRJ_c2-pl08am-GWhZQcQL-nJx7nIlq9PiVYVYrIbkJOkC0vUv4icXLgYbO17R2Opq8SoofMNf6g9qdX_1lkNMSBQ0JSLYiIot__nhceqJjdYYKP_CTOh6oI-Q9WWSDELoTDdZXlZY/s1600/IMG_20170222_200832.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv5mRJ_c2-pl08am-GWhZQcQL-nJx7nIlq9PiVYVYrIbkJOkC0vUv4icXLgYbO17R2Opq8SoofMNf6g9qdX_1lkNMSBQ0JSLYiIot__nhceqJjdYYKP_CTOh6oI-Q9WWSDELoTDdZXlZY/s320/IMG_20170222_200832.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Then he asked me if he could have the pancakes I had made to snack on later.<br />
<br />
My response: You would have $20 to buy your own pancakes if you didn't have to take two girls out on dates</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpfYgYUV2mhzbrsfh0L32zce71DcBnENHO_zm8A1u3-MltqJcp0-sSQjt5bph9zHptgfvVtGluAXBaoyeNRf0Se8N03HtyjK8YDCjnF61RkVvcX3vg-AR13JbIjHQiTju6HJBd1qtQA8U/s1600/IMG_20170222_200832.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpfYgYUV2mhzbrsfh0L32zce71DcBnENHO_zm8A1u3-MltqJcp0-sSQjt5bph9zHptgfvVtGluAXBaoyeNRf0Se8N03HtyjK8YDCjnF61RkVvcX3vg-AR13JbIjHQiTju6HJBd1qtQA8U/s320/IMG_20170222_200832.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
This knee grow waited til I left the room and ate my pancakes.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">I felt the same fury that I had felt as a 14 year old watching my mom pour Aunt Jemima on his plate. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times";">I thought to myself, so you don’t care about
these girls’ feelings or my motha f*cking pancakes?! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglpyyz7hN_U2kAwROg9UrJ1Zm7JDneJVAGfn4Opq778xJkdh3l_WUq49OszR2-BNWJSqYZAbWhy9FZWnUba9o1byVrNaAK4A9TqloVwd8aUU6h0KUrW10jM-eD2qmv7ieVldpT_H6TLlc/s1600/Screen_Shot_2016-08-01_at_12.34.21_PM.0.0.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglpyyz7hN_U2kAwROg9UrJ1Zm7JDneJVAGfn4Opq778xJkdh3l_WUq49OszR2-BNWJSqYZAbWhy9FZWnUba9o1byVrNaAK4A9TqloVwd8aUU6h0KUrW10jM-eD2qmv7ieVldpT_H6TLlc/s320/Screen_Shot_2016-08-01_at_12.34.21_PM.0.0.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";">Later that night, when Kendra came over to pick him up I started asking her all types of questions <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Are you hungry Kendra? Brother why don't you treat Kendra to somewhere nice? </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
Suddenly Brother wasn't hungry anymore<br />
<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">What’s your type Kendra? </span><br />
<span style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span style="color: #4c1130;">She</span> literally laid her hand on his arm as she said, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">"Your brother."</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">"Girl you've got bad taste then,"</span></span> I said jokingly<br />
<br />
When Brother got up to use the bathroom and I knew he was out of earshot, I looked at Kendra and whispered...</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><br /></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_HDcoEK0fhXEt2wF4rN6eBayOTWSpmdiB5J1GVbbyru6Gyni3uuy0DOzESDoxGrppPGO3lw-4dKzcPbSfL0gf5zGkm7kjeNupv2Hh8S8nJnuHjBYeXQG-W5-fLu8TRzFDrqugjLQTV8U/s1600/tumblr_npgaopReRT1ti3vevo1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_HDcoEK0fhXEt2wF4rN6eBayOTWSpmdiB5J1GVbbyru6Gyni3uuy0DOzESDoxGrppPGO3lw-4dKzcPbSfL0gf5zGkm7kjeNupv2Hh8S8nJnuHjBYeXQG-W5-fLu8TRzFDrqugjLQTV8U/s320/tumblr_npgaopReRT1ti3vevo1_500.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">You don’t have to give a guy
things to make him like you. Not free meals, not your car, not your body. If he
really likes you he doesn’t care what material things you can give him. A
matter of fact, he will go out of his way to give YOU whatever he can, even if he doesn't have much. And if you feel like something is off, trust you gut, it probably is. </span></span><br />
<br /></div>
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<div style="font-family: times;">
<span style="font-family: "times";">She didn't say anything else to me the rest of the time she was there. I doubt she’ll take what I said to heart
but hopefully she’ll realize I was only trying to help her. I hate to see someone hurt because of someone's else's selfish shenanigans</span>.</div>
<div style="font-family: times;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: times;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Side Bar:</span></b> A couple of weeks after James had cheated on me, I went to a house party off campus and saw that James and Stephanie were there together. I had not become the unapologetically give no fux person that I am today, and so I decided to leave right away. When I got outside, I saw Billy sitting on the stairs at the back of the house. He offered to walk me back to our dorm.</div>
<div style="font-family: times;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: times;">
When we got back, I thanked Billy and gave him a hug in the stairway. As I pulled away he held me a little tighter and then kissed me softly. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">I was shocked.</span> Billy confessed that he had always liked me and he felt awful about the way James had treated me. Apparently right before I showed up at the house party he had gotten into an argument with James and punched him in the face. People at the party broke the fight apart and he was trying to cool off outside when I ran into him on the stairs. </div>
<div style="font-family: times;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: times;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times"; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: times;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times"; font-size: x-small;">*Names have been changed</span></div>
</div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">^ personally I wouldn't let anyone cheat on me more than once before I'd leave the relationship, unlike the girl from the original <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zjLR8293jnY" target="_blank">#HURTBAE</a> video. But one thing that some people forget to account for is Emotional Abuse. Emotional Abuse can cause you to lose your self esteem or have a skewed sense of self worth. Your partner plays mind games with you & makes you believe that you're not good enough for anyone else and so you stay, perhaps thinking that you can persuade them to love you just a little bit more. It's a vicious cycle and a very hard one to break for many of people.</span><br />
<!--EndFragment--></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-9069761372830417052017-02-10T18:57:00.001-05:002017-02-12T17:05:31.454-05:00Welcome to my African American Home<div dir="ltr">
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">My sophomore year in college,
I lived in a dorm where each American student roomed with an International
student. It was like living in a bunch of different countries at once. I was paired with Priscilla, a Brazilian exchange student from Rio de
Janeiro and boooooooyyyy we had so much fun together. She taught me Portuguese
and I taught her English slang. She made me <a href="http://allrecipes.com/recipe/139208/feijoada-brazilian-black-bean-stew/" target="_blank">feijoada</a> & <a href="http://allrecipes.com/recipe/98554/brazilian-cheese-bread-pao-de-queijo/" target="_blank">pao de queijo</a> and I made her yams
and macaroni and cheese on Thanksgiving. We’d dance to Brazilian Pop music
during study breaks and go to parties at Duke and UNC with the Ecuadorian kids.
</span><br />
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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizx4oc__TsCEHL2eFNOhk5qQoMiVyma6GXNJbM36dHPhQuY21oIYaWU6BclnLErRKmPPXxk4kSrf87AaD5P1MUe1iKIaIuG5SpsDyo2-w6N9U4e344rk3wXt_LXqYW9uayC62sC2_uE4Q/s1600/900.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizx4oc__TsCEHL2eFNOhk5qQoMiVyma6GXNJbM36dHPhQuY21oIYaWU6BclnLErRKmPPXxk4kSrf87AaD5P1MUe1iKIaIuG5SpsDyo2-w6N9U4e344rk3wXt_LXqYW9uayC62sC2_uE4Q/s320/900.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Priscilla is on the far left, I'm the Black chick obviously</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">During this time in my
life I was pretty popular and my room was like the United Nations hangout
spot.<u> </u></span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">The Japanese & Chinese students were polite but mostly kept to
themselves. However, I regularly got drunk with the Scandinavian & Irish kids,
had movie nights with my German friends, and dated an English guy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">Priscilla’s culture was
similar to mine in many ways but many of my other friends' cultures that year were not. O</span><span style="font-size: small;">utside of music and movies sometimes I was the first African American person that they had ever
interacted with or perhaps even called a friend. In many ways I was like a Black Brand Ambassador, dispelling their preconceived notions of Black people. Years later, when I dated a White
guy that wasn't versed in my Blackness, I found myself in that same Black Ambassador role. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">When I first started
dating JC* my Grandmother had a hard time processing his White American background. Being born and raised in Brooklyn she was used to ethnic white
people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0WQnEuVfM1ZnMTU4cPjQZay3i-cyPgibTKK9vcxYgwh-91ieFk4CtTfIhKV6jMqZTFY0Be5WRRTzRlR4e8anPL4UHn7qofy8vBkx50WZRAS9u3yQaV-yJlm2B0u9V-0K7ReSFCnSYWI0/s1600/i-dont-know-7xmzmc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0WQnEuVfM1ZnMTU4cPjQZay3i-cyPgibTKK9vcxYgwh-91ieFk4CtTfIhKV6jMqZTFY0Be5WRRTzRlR4e8anPL4UHn7qofy8vBkx50WZRAS9u3yQaV-yJlm2B0u9V-0K7ReSFCnSYWI0/s320/i-dont-know-7xmzmc.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><span style="color: black;">Is he Italian?</span> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">No. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">Irish? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">No. Just Caucasian.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">What do you mean just
Caucasian? Is he Jewish? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">I had to break it down for
her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">My boyfriend was not white like <a href="https://img.buzzfeed.com/buzzfeed-static/static/enhanced/webdr06/2013/8/9/18/enhanced-buzz-21319-1376087743-9.jpg" target="_blank">Jon B</a>,
Eminem or Tommy from Power. It would take a while before my family would be comfortable <a href="http://www.dailydot.com/unclick/white-people-invited-to-the-cookout-hashtag/" target="_blank">inviting him to the cookout</a>. He was a Bernie Sanders supporting, sweatshirt with flip flops in the winter wearing, doesn't close the living room blinds at night and let's his dog lick
him in the face^ type of white guy. To be fair I don't know what Jon B, Eminem or the actor that plays <a href="http://tvtrippin.com/tv/power-star-joe-sikora-compares-his-two-favorite-cities-ny-and-chicago/" target="_blank">Tommy</a> enjoy doing in their free time, but I highly doubt it's listening to music primarily consisting of banjos. <span style="color: #e06666;">I hated those car rides.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">I would explain facets of Blackness to JC and I kinda got a kick out of it. Every month we dated was like Black
History month. I would tell him things and he simply would not believe me. For example he thought I was joking when I told him black people aren't really into extreme sports. He would randomly ask Black people about it when he'd get the chance. He asked my best friend one night and she said, "</span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #e06666;">I cant speak for black people every where but I'm going to go ahead and say no."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLRGO3Su4wRvHPTeObYcJ_FycNwz1Dpe0zRJs6CD8knXgEop2l3nfMsC14CT2kqUerFXWBjusc2g3KMuAQmWYlezIHaVLhflg-8Ibxr0IBqkuUAuM4hftEet0QtAwwtyNxrYV9q5osFEs/s1600/giphy600.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLRGO3Su4wRvHPTeObYcJ_FycNwz1Dpe0zRJs6CD8knXgEop2l3nfMsC14CT2kqUerFXWBjusc2g3KMuAQmWYlezIHaVLhflg-8Ibxr0IBqkuUAuM4hftEet0QtAwwtyNxrYV9q5osFEs/s320/giphy600.gif" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">Conversations like this were commonplace between us. JC played hockey and since
I had never been to a hockey game I was excited to go to his championship
tournament. Before his division played, the teenage division was up and I noticed there was
one black kid playing.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">We don't usually play
hockey.</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">You mean black people don’t
you?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Yeah. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-size: small;">I've counted maybe 4 Black people at this ice rink, me included, and 2 were janitors. I</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-size: small;">n addition to mountain climbing, PCP and serial killing, we don't typically play hockey.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">Serial killing? There are
black serial killers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Name one (I had to stop myself from easily rattling off the names of White serial killers).</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">The DC sniper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">He was African, not
African American. We don't even eat the same food or
have the same health problems.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">Are you serious?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga977twLdMctCA7FSWZWED6Bcx2TOtmCPStf-j1cjkGTxiVITwIsLZxdExd80Z2fVtol8gs5IKIxAijDTnkKD4WI7LU40QOpViKHphyphenhyphenb2iiuTc89DxIZDYoyKXahgpvCAifxa_EilQ7os/s1600/500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga977twLdMctCA7FSWZWED6Bcx2TOtmCPStf-j1cjkGTxiVITwIsLZxdExd80Z2fVtol8gs5IKIxAijDTnkKD4WI7LU40QOpViKHphyphenhyphenb2iiuTc89DxIZDYoyKXahgpvCAifxa_EilQ7os/s320/500.gif" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">African Americans are
going to come after the person who came after them. We're not about to stalk you for 3 weeks, meet you
on the jogging trail and cut you into pieces for stew simply based on the fact that you have brown shoulder length hair.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">Well you’re right that
there aren’t a lot of Black hockey players.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">I bet he was raised by
white people too.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">And because I'm petty at times, when the game was over and
the players started coming off the ice I went over to the black kid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Hey you were really good
out there! How long have you been playing?</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">Like 7 years, since I was
6.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">At this moment his clearly <strike>Canadian</strike> Caucasian parents
walk up and congratulate him on the win. I look at JC like...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgspLGa2fgW0J7InMHr79iXhHKu7qS6dRD7RyxoBeVjbL7ZhbIyjnQPdIY01BXb1Fxh8iHRQfJUK6lNQsMG5eb_5uCT7tJ8Pbyy9eRJ-4S0psqsRe-96zD-FXKIFYmSoHdR4ZbbwQTfyeQ/s1600/jtsdance.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgspLGa2fgW0J7InMHr79iXhHKu7qS6dRD7RyxoBeVjbL7ZhbIyjnQPdIY01BXb1Fxh8iHRQfJUK6lNQsMG5eb_5uCT7tJ8Pbyy9eRJ-4S0psqsRe-96zD-FXKIFYmSoHdR4ZbbwQTfyeQ/s320/jtsdance.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">Speaking of Caucasian parents, when I met JC's</span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">, they welcomed me into their home, offered me snacks and asked if I was lactose intolerant.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBElSSL-Z87TZ4zzQcIUOAhQ9gyDDvVuJf2ZDvHq4g4ox6pnbyKLXnOOqO84JEB2eJ7iYGbRxuf4gxlqxWwSnuX531-kGQ-mI7pOZP0pX2QVfj9T8R69i3onPXeRPmVVJi7xBsubRYftM/s1600/700.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBElSSL-Z87TZ4zzQcIUOAhQ9gyDDvVuJf2ZDvHq4g4ox6pnbyKLXnOOqO84JEB2eJ7iYGbRxuf4gxlqxWwSnuX531-kGQ-mI7pOZP0pX2QVfj9T8R69i3onPXeRPmVVJi7xBsubRYftM/s320/700.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">It
was funny to me because they seemed fascinated that I didn't drink milk with each meal. <span style="color: #e06666;">My stomach hurts just thinking about it.</span> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">Apparently JC had relayed a conversation we had about most minorities being lactose intolerant and so they asked me if my family ate cheese. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">The short answer: <span style="color: #e06666;">Yes, but we're going to hate ourselves afterwards</span>. The long answer is my family probably isn't going to offer you cheese or any other food if you come over. Unless the reason for your visit is specifically dinner or a cookout, they will offer you something to drink. Besides, you're not going to just pop up unannounced to a Black person's home and expect them to answer the door anyway.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">For the record </span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">I really liked his parents. They were very sweet and down to
earth people whom I felt wouldn't mind having mixed grandbabies one
day.</span> Obviously I really liked JC too. <span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">He
sincerely liked me as a person and not in a weird "<span style="color: #e06666;">I've never been with
a chocolate girl</span>" fetish type of way. He thought my natural hair was
pretty, he liked that I smelled like Cocoa Butter. But a big part of what made me like him was the fact that we could</span></span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"> openly discuss our differences and learn from them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">Honestly
I wonder how is it even possible to go to school, get a job and live
in a society with people that are different than you, without knowing
anything about them? <span style="color: #e06666;">Get out of your bubble.</span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfzrnJBzRa8Qcqu7XPZxENce8CmvvSjwwrW0hes3CsmeYYii1VDH6zhZiKudlNfU_swF925uHRGJzGmgD3F31oYmbslAi3DEHyhA0ExU4BvYmePPuPVs8Lnd4TyzkJDBUVkiN1Kz-Vo5E/s1600/300.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfzrnJBzRa8Qcqu7XPZxENce8CmvvSjwwrW0hes3CsmeYYii1VDH6zhZiKudlNfU_swF925uHRGJzGmgD3F31oYmbslAi3DEHyhA0ExU4BvYmePPuPVs8Lnd4TyzkJDBUVkiN1Kz-Vo5E/s320/300.gif" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;">I guess the sad
truth is that we live in two different worlds. I live in JC's world all the
time but only after we started dating did he bother getting to know
about mine.<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: small;"> It didn't work out between us, but ironically it wasn't because of his lack of cultural awareness, it was<span style="color: #e06666;"> bad timing.</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0yoPIUUo3iejTg39-8tJEzzBGh_8-mC_8gLiJVIcWsPhsyE6zzt-8O_d-cIj2KcdVP2huQ3Egw_w3kik8CnyiIBWI_rmLU5ay7lT8XFKUhkoufVYvR1M4fJUK-JdWNi06potMneQJR7o/s1600/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0yoPIUUo3iejTg39-8tJEzzBGh_8-mC_8gLiJVIcWsPhsyE6zzt-8O_d-cIj2KcdVP2huQ3Egw_w3kik8CnyiIBWI_rmLU5ay7lT8XFKUhkoufVYvR1M4fJUK-JdWNi06potMneQJR7o/s320/giphy.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: xx-small;">When Priscilla first came to North Carolina she gifted me with a book about Rio. We would look at it sometimes and she'd tell me stories about each of the places inside. Before she
left to go back to Brazil at the end of our Sophomore year, I gifted
her with a book about North Carolina. </span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;">We were both able to take what we had learned about each other back home and share those experiences with others. If only we could do that right here in the United States.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times";"><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Names have been changed to protect the identity of my ex boyfriend. I also had a huge crush on JC from Nsync growing up and so this was my chance to live out my teenage fantasy.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times";"><span style="font-size: x-small;">^ I'm not stereotyping White people. These are all things that JC actually did </span></span></div>
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Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-86453083014097176062016-12-13T21:14:00.001-05:002016-12-15T08:40:41.927-05:00Shoot your shot<div dir="ltr">
The other night I was catching up on the show <i>Ballers</i> on HBO onDemand and I realized my toes were freezing cold. All I wanted to do in that moment was hop under the covers and rub my subzero phalanges against the warm legs of my (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">non-existent</span>) boyfriend. Instead I went to my room and as I pulled some fuzzy socks over my feet, I got a little nostalgic.</div>
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90% of the time I'm fine with being single, but that 10% can hit you hard and fast. Like when you're at Costco and you really want another free sample of swedish meatballs but you've already had three and the demo lady is giving you serious side eye and already said you can't have any more.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No more free samples for you</td></tr>
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You really feel the weight of not having a significant other to take a swedish meatball as their own but give it to you instead when you're in line for a rotisserie chicken and out of view from the demo lady. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Thats love </span><br />
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Anyway, one evening while I was at my parents house, in an effort to warm up my feet, I climbed into bed with my mom while she was watching the news and yelling at Bill O'Reilly. She booted me from her bed and when the commercials came on she looked down to where she had just pushed me on the floor.</div>
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"I know you've been single for a while and you probably need someone to touch you. Why don't you make plans with that nice guy you recently met?"</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">I shook my head no.</span> I'm not bold enough to ask a guy out.</div>
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"You dont have to ask him out, but make yourself available. You never know what could happen if you put yourself out there. Before you were born, my friends and I would take the train from Long Island to New York and have all types of fun. Sometimes your dad would sneak me into Studio 54 because I was underage. Once, when I was about 18 my friends and I went to watch an off-Broadway play..."</div>
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Her friends were the popular "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">you can't sit with us</span>" type of girls so they knew everyone and hung out backstage with the actors after the show was over. According to my mom a tall brown skinned man came over and started chatting with her. He was witty, handsome, and stylish in his leather jacket. They talked the entire time my mom and her friends were backstage. Right before her friends were about to leave, he asked if he could take her out sometime, but she turned him down. She was already dating my dad.</div>
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That man was Denzel Washington. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">The off-Broadway guy, not my dad. Obviously.</span></div>
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<b>DENZEL WASHINGTON</b> asked my mom out and I can't even get a text back</div>
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When my mom told me this story I went through the 5 stages of grief.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Denial </span>— For real not for play play? I don't even believe you. That did not happen.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Anger </span>— Do you know how rich we could be right now?! You always tell me to dream big and there you were, not even DTF.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Bargaining</span> — Do you have a way to contact him? Do you know a friend of a friend that can contact him? Maybe he remembers you?</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Depression</span> — I will never be inducted into the Illuminati or island hop off the Amalfi Coast with Bey and Jay. I'll be forever relegated to see movies when they are released at local theaters with my other middle class friends and its all your fault.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Acceptance</span> — I guess I'll never know what its like to wake up in a new Bugatti but thats okay. There's more to life than money, power and respect. I love you anyway Mom.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimdRy6owCRb8VLEwJlHzuGHRWCrM4tIS7SO_5de8KsQHK8TehjJkR7TU3wmuCfdQU_wqgbhPlkQC-N5gVvj7TrDHRan0BSSB0hOUS-CF9jFol8-FRT1E2rjt629676togxWnq-FlQz91I/s1600/large_Fences.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimdRy6owCRb8VLEwJlHzuGHRWCrM4tIS7SO_5de8KsQHK8TehjJkR7TU3wmuCfdQU_wqgbhPlkQC-N5gVvj7TrDHRan0BSSB0hOUS-CF9jFol8-FRT1E2rjt629676togxWnq-FlQz91I/s320/large_Fences.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I told my mom this could have been her, but she was playing</td></tr>
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Months later when I had developed a huge crush on a butcher at my local Whole Foods I thought about my mom's Denzel Washington story.</div>
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Full disclosure, I was mildly obsessed with this guy. Sometimes I'd even take my friends to the store with me so they could see the cute guy I had a crush on in his element. I loosely knew his work schedule and what times the store wouldn't be busy so I'd have a better chance of talking to him. I know that sounds crazy but remember what my mom said; <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">You have to make yourself available</span>. Plus the meat counter at Whole Foods can be a competitive place. Business men on cellphones and J. Crew clad moms with strollers vying for attention, aggressively shouting for 7 ounces of organic grass fed gluten free rib-eye steaks with the excess fat off. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Its chaos</span></div>
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Since I was way too shy to ask The Butcher out, or as people say nowadays "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">shoot your shot</span>," I did the next best thing. I made a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">missed connections</span> ad on Craigslist.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRRJRYpRJ8usbwlRjxuqzZ9rWWI0EHw7pmtrKHi-Z0BFiMlb4-mQLkE_yMrVqrjIdRLlxPJtr6-nkw4PKJ3fIeaaCc3mPUOUj17a8waQq2bIh1Xjqr7o7SxgeKBhhsXTW9dFRCC0G3J8/s1600/Screenshot_20161213-201837-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRRJRYpRJ8usbwlRjxuqzZ9rWWI0EHw7pmtrKHi-Z0BFiMlb4-mQLkE_yMrVqrjIdRLlxPJtr6-nkw4PKJ3fIeaaCc3mPUOUj17a8waQq2bIh1Xjqr7o7SxgeKBhhsXTW9dFRCC0G3J8/s320/Screenshot_20161213-201837-1.png" width="180" /></a></div>
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I got a few responses but they were from weirdos asking for my unlaundered panties or Nigerian money scams. I figured The Butcher didn't see the ad and never would so I deleted it and went about my business. I'd see him behind the meat counter at least twice a week and sometimes we'd chat a bit.</div>
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Ya'll, 7 months later on a Monday night my best friend and I went to the Whole Foods meat counter. I asked The Butcher for a Sante Fe turkey burger, 3 slices of maple bacon and one blueberry breakfast sausage. And then I asked him how old he was...</div>
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The Butcher: 22<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Me</span>: Ooohhh. <i>Tries my hardest not to make a face. He did not look 22! I thought he was at least 28!</i></div>
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The Butcher: Can I ask <i>you</i> a question?<br />
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I thought he was going to ask me how old I was, and my heart started racing because I didn't wan't to say 30, but I didn't want to lie either. </div>
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"Sure."<br />
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"Do you ever go on craigslist?"<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGedasjSLYFuD71BjhQ1rPCIzFMeEJM7ZwWTsJDGSpHayHeYaAYhyD96KrNPt4HnTC6ewhyphenhyphenbucxEL8sZk5IT8BMxEp5SwAorE-iKC_Vo6mApm_gtcFvLpsz2_qv5VyevjtrVRHKxbWlqQ/s1600/krabs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGedasjSLYFuD71BjhQ1rPCIzFMeEJM7ZwWTsJDGSpHayHeYaAYhyD96KrNPt4HnTC6ewhyphenhyphenbucxEL8sZk5IT8BMxEp5SwAorE-iKC_Vo6mApm_gtcFvLpsz2_qv5VyevjtrVRHKxbWlqQ/s320/krabs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;"><br /></span>
<i>My face is deadpan but I'm thinking OH SHIT. I start stuttering.</i><br />
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"Ummm yea, who doesn't?"</div>
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"I mean like, the section called Missed Connections."</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;"><br /></span>
<i>FUCK!</i> "Uhh..."</div>
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"Its just that I heard from a coworker that someone was on there looking..."</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;"><br /></span>
<i>Points to self. "</i>Are you asking me if I made a missed connections ad for you on the internet?"</div>
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He smiles and almost drops the turkey burger on the floor. "No no, I'm not accusing you of that. Just trying to put a face with a name."</div>
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I continue to try and be cool. "Well if I were going to ask you out, I'd probably just ask you out." </div>
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The Butcher is still smiling as he puts the wrapped meat on the counter. "I see."</div>
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I grab the meat."Well have a good night. Thanks. Bye." <i>RUNS AWAY</i></div>
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My best friend grabs me by the arm and threatens me. "If you don't go back there and ask him out, I will go do it for you."<br />
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I reluctantly go back to the meat counter alone.<br />
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The Butcher: "Hey I'm sorry for asking you about Craigslist. That was unprofessional of me."</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;"><br /></span>
"No problem. I was actually thinking that if you're interested in going out sometime, I'd like that."</div>
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He smiles again. "I would love that. But actually I have a girlfriend and today is our 4 year anniversary. We're going out after my shift is over."<br />
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With every sentence it was like my heart was ripped down the middle, just a little more. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeQxupRKJ_-jiHR35Rq8Q5qABNhTGfqT4u-hrEjrixseTV1STLoW6i9f5SiSVqSPlBOZO43lNJ1DCQ1V9c9rBDyN48x3UrfStH5IhARs2kKBnEfWyW9koWF-_PlRfrEAMZOWh_6DNkrcc/s1600/WHUvhiH.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeQxupRKJ_-jiHR35Rq8Q5qABNhTGfqT4u-hrEjrixseTV1STLoW6i9f5SiSVqSPlBOZO43lNJ1DCQ1V9c9rBDyN48x3UrfStH5IhARs2kKBnEfWyW9koWF-_PlRfrEAMZOWh_6DNkrcc/s320/WHUvhiH.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">I would love that but...</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000; font-size: large;">Have a girlfriend...</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000; font-size: x-large;">Anniversary...</span><br />
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I slowly approach the meat counter and squeak out<i>, "</i>I don't want your meat anymore." <i>Sits turkey burger, bacon and breakfast sausage on the counter and walks away in defeat. Comes back and grabs the bacon and then leaves again.</i></div>
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I left wondering why The Butcher waited <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;"><b>SEVEN MONTHS</b></span> to ask me about my missed connections ad. And further, why would he even bring it up if he had a girlfriend? Do you have any idea how many overpriced air chilled chicken breasts I had bought in seven months? I wanted my money back.<br />
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I ain't about that friendzone life, so I never saw The Butcher again and came to my own conclusion. It's lovely to feel wanted so I think he brought up the missed connections ad because he genuinely wanted to know if I was interested in him. I mean I did lowkey stalk the guy for a few months and jump in front of baby strollers to order breakfast sausages from him.<br />
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If you remember, a while back I wrote about a guy friend of mine who called me up and confessed that he had always liked me. He then asked me out to a costume party and later ghosted me the night of that party. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Refresh your memory <a href="http://www.prettynoire.com/2015/12/my-fathers-side-of-family-is-from.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></div>
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I ended up going to that party alone. I went as Diana Ross, wearing a vintage dress I found at a thrift shop in Toronto and rocking a huge afro wig. I don't have any pictures because <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">drunkenness</span> but I did have an amazing time. I ended up hitting it off with this guy that was too cool to dress up at a costume party. He thought the wig was my real hair and kept running his fingers through it while we were kissing on the balcony. I thought he was going to accidentally pull it off and I had to keep moving his hands down to my waist. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbrnxr5D6IbD2T58CySB11SMPRl7ZOYxU3yT62kIC15R7_phZizzsLgYb9GtJPGi7YBBEk88NyRloq7qaPf_iCgkUTkYvcqz1HTYVfjJNJJeOGs5fmpb7UjD7UAV-qkS9vNfOPOcIv6mA/s1600/53900550-f51d-0131-6da0-0aa0f90d87b4.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbrnxr5D6IbD2T58CySB11SMPRl7ZOYxU3yT62kIC15R7_phZizzsLgYb9GtJPGi7YBBEk88NyRloq7qaPf_iCgkUTkYvcqz1HTYVfjJNJJeOGs5fmpb7UjD7UAV-qkS9vNfOPOcIv6mA/s320/53900550-f51d-0131-6da0-0aa0f90d87b4.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
Turns out he also worked the meat counter at Whole Foods and was friends with The Butcher. That night my life came full circle.<br />
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I mentioned earlier that I was watching the TV show <i>Ballers. </i>While watching the show I thought one of the main characters was really cute so I looked him up on IMDB. Turns out he's Denzel Washington's son. I don't know how to feel about that since in another life he could have been my brother. Half of me says you can't miss what you've never had. The other half, the petty half, wishes my mom would have went out with Denzel and explored her options. <b>#WasteHisTime1982</b>. </div>
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Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-8135877477158687492016-07-13T17:22:00.004-04:002016-07-15T08:18:59.064-04:00You Better Put Some Respek on My Name Bih...Are you familiar with Facebook memories? Basically Facebook reminds you of what you posted, on this day, in previous years. Today Facebook reminded me of the time my boyfriend told me he wanted to marry me.<br />
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It wasn't a proposal. We were in Minneapolis for his college friend's wedding. During dinner he looked at me with a huge grin on his face and said, "I can't wait until all of our friends and family are celebrating with us when we get married."</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wedding Selfie</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: center;">I smiled back at him but didn't say anything. Even though that's what I ultimately wanted it was hard to imagine my wedding day with him.</span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: large;">Because his mother hated me</span></i></div>
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Parents typically love me. I bring great gifts whenever I visit and tell interesting stories during dinner. But I remember the moment my boyfriend's mom began to dislike me.</div>
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I had accompanied him on his annual summer family trip to NYC to visit his grandmother. His Mom, Aunt, Uncle, Brother and I had all went to the huge Macy's on 7th Avenue<sup style="font-family: Cambria;">1</sup><span style="font-family: "cambria";">.</span> Approximately 32 minutes after sampling some street meat from one of the plentiful food carts the city has to offer, I had to use the bathroom baaaaaaad. I told his family I'd meet them on the 4th floor and dashed to the basement bathroom in Macy's.<br />
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<span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: large;"><u>This part gets a little graphic</u></span></div>
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Did you know that a healthy poo is supposed to be long and S-shaped, like the shape of your intestines<sup style="font-family: Cambria;">2</sup><span style="font-family: "cambria";">? </span><span style="font-family: "cambria";">In an effort to have a banging summer body, I had been pretty
vigilant about eating veggies, probiotics and my fiber game had been
on point for months. Needless to say my poo's had been long and S shaped
for some time now.</span><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><br />
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<!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family: "cambria";">Unfortunately on this particular day in Macy's, my healthy poo was so long
that it got stuck in the toilet and<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><b><span style="color: #ea9999; font-family: "cambria";">WOULD NOT FLUSH!</span></b><!--EndFragment--><br />
<b><span style="color: #ea9999; font-family: "cambria";"><br /></span></b>
Man I must have flushed that toilet 50-11 times trying to get that poo to join the rest of the dead bodies in the Hudson River, but to no avail. I was afraid of the toilet overflowing so I made the executive decision to leave my past behind me and book it out of there. I waited until there was no one left in the bathroom and hurried to wash my hands. As I was reaching for a paper towel to dry my hands off a cleaning lady came into the bathroom and went into my stall. </div>
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<span style="color: #ea9999;">The stall where I had just deposited all my recent life regrets</span></div>
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I was so embarrassed that I nearly tripped over myself running out of the bathroom. I had just made it to the elevator when I turned around and saw the cleaning lady speed walking in my direction. As the elevator doors closed she was waving a mop in the air while yelling something indistinguishable at me in Spanish<sup style="font-family: Cambria;">3</sup><span style="font-family: "cambria";"> .</span><br />
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I had escaped <span style="color: #ea9999;">poo-gate</span> in the basement and safely made it to home appliances on the 4th floor. While looking for his family I discovered a bridal salon and had gotten distracted by the most stunning wedding dress I had ever seen.</div>
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That's where his family found me; fawning over a $3000 Vera Wang tea length wedding dress with an asymmetrical hem line. It was elegant yet quirky, just like me (<span style="color: #e06666;">tooting my own horn here obviously</span>). My boyfriend and the rest of his family joined me while I slowly ran my fingers over the delicate satin bodice. I noticed his mom a few feet away from us, arms crossed, <i><span style="color: #ea9999;">looking furious</span></i>.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4QKm6gKAswxpuPExLEHYp0Ao8NopfAXJLWKGuE3refT6-bZKd94dDThoqK_zJMjPFvP4qw2Gqry_f2zZYSJLgmsfiv7wDRyY-t08adhH5GXnmTtWjuAJeNF-1gpi8qDvjyc0sX-0ZpiA/s1600/SmartSelectImage_2016-07-13-15-20-05.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4QKm6gKAswxpuPExLEHYp0Ao8NopfAXJLWKGuE3refT6-bZKd94dDThoqK_zJMjPFvP4qw2Gqry_f2zZYSJLgmsfiv7wDRyY-t08adhH5GXnmTtWjuAJeNF-1gpi8qDvjyc0sX-0ZpiA/s320/SmartSelectImage_2016-07-13-15-20-05.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is you mad, or is you upset?</td></tr>
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And then I saw the cleaning lady from the basement bathroom. She had a determined look on her face and she was scanning the sales floor, presumably for me."We gotta get out of here!," I said in a panic, grabbing my boyfriend's hand and ushering his family towards the elevator.</div>
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From that moment on, his mother was never nice to me again. I don't know if she had a talk with the cleaning lady or not, but the atmosphere was dark and cloudy between us from there on out.</div>
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Over the years there were multiple instances where my boyfriend's mother would say something rude or just plain bitchy to me. And what made it worse, was that my boyfriend never told her to stop.<br />
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One time I had joked around that I had been teaching my boyfriend to cook because his food was a little bland. Not realizing I was joking, his Dad spoke up and said, "We love his food. We think he's a great cook." His mother narrowed her eyes at me and said, "Just because he doesn't use a lot of salt, doesn't mean his food isn't good<sup style="font-family: Cambria;">4</sup>"<br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">In an effort to smooth things over I said, "How about I make you all dinner tomorrow night? I'll buy everything and bring it over and you can take the night off from cooking. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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His mom looked me dead in the eye, put her hand up and said "<span style="color: #ea9999;"><b>I DON'T EAT ON TUESDAYS</b></span>"</div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #e06666; font-size: large;">Ya'll... I ain't a killer but don't push me </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://img.buzzfeed.com/buzzfeed-static/static/enhanced/webdr02/2012/12/13/14/anigif_enhanced-buzz-9040-1355426549-6.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://img.buzzfeed.com/buzzfeed-static/static/enhanced/webdr02/2012/12/13/14/anigif_enhanced-buzz-9040-1355426549-6.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #e06666; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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I was raised to respect my elders and so I felt as though Jesus was testing me. There were times when I wanted nothing more than to <span style="color: #ea9999;">kick his mom in the teeth</span>, but despite her unsavory behavior I couldn't place all the blame on her. Eventually I began to place the blame on my boyfriend because he let her treat me that way. He once even told me, "You know how my mom is. Couldn't you just say less whenever we come visit?"<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaxLAt4oQTgHyFZo4gy_X2HGaX-sNsazwwi-A1i-iz-env0pQFG95_6uko7lAaAZamr6YpcWcRhp3bBuVu69PFIrORbsadxeUkuqhOh74kLNqMfLnZHL07G510lvRShQBpULkGIL0NaCE/s1600/bqZpW.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaxLAt4oQTgHyFZo4gy_X2HGaX-sNsazwwi-A1i-iz-env0pQFG95_6uko7lAaAZamr6YpcWcRhp3bBuVu69PFIrORbsadxeUkuqhOh74kLNqMfLnZHL07G510lvRShQBpULkGIL0NaCE/s320/bqZpW.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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Even though he claimed he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, I felt like I could never say yes. How can you let the first woman you ever love openly disrespect the last woman you'll ever love? </div>
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In the 8th grade I stood up to this really mean girl named Meesha, who was always making fun of me. I remember her looking really surprised after I put her in a place. After popping a piece of fruit stripe gum into her mouth she said, "You know I still don't like you, but at least you stood up for yourself. I can at least respect that." </div>
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<br /></div>
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Today's Facebook memory was a bit hard for me to see. You see, I decided to type this post while taking a break from packing. My now EX boyfriend is in New York on his annual summer family trip and I'm moving out of the apartment that we shared together for the past 5 years.</div>
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For the majority of those years I felt like I had something to prove to his family. Partially because of one fateful poo on a family vacation, but mostly because his mother could not stand to see her son love someone other than herself and also because her son was too chicken shit to be unapologetic about his love.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But with age comes wisdom. <span style="color: #ea9999;">Unless you're Stacey Dash</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Be with someone that loves and appreciates you no matter what</div>
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Be with someone that is not afraid to defend your honor <span style="color: #e06666;">(Jousting matches are a nice way to do that)</span></div>
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Be with someone that accepts you AS-IS, damaged goods, no returns once you bought it, as long as they help you to become a better person <span style="color: #e06666;">(This is not directly related to this blog post, but a helpful piece of advice nonetheless)</span></div>
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Remember that you are always enough</div>
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<br />
And If they can't do those things then you're better off without them. Even if you're Stacey Dash</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*"Respek on my name" is a quote made popular by Rapper/Producer Birdman of Cash Money. Birdman didn't appreciate the way on air personality "Charlamagne The God" was talking about him and was telling him to show him some respect.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">1. Macy's is great, but personally I don't see the purpose in shopping at a store that you already have in your hometown. Especially when you're in the fashion capital of the world. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">2. Your poo regimen is a great indicator of your health. Here's a website to see how your Poo stacks up ;) <a href="http://www.webmd.com/women/features/digestive-problems" target="_blank">The SCOOP on POOP</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">3. Actually I speak some Spanish but you don't have to be fluent to know that whatever she was saying was not pleasant. I believe I heard her say, Muy sucia...amongst other things</span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">4. I think that was her low key way telling me she thought I looked bloated?</span></div>
Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-4033805353627108672016-03-11T11:50:00.004-05:002016-03-11T16:43:00.578-05:00Lifestyles of the Romantic and Pragmatic<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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The
worst thing about finding out your best friend is getting married is now you
have to lose weight too. I've been busy finding myself, which includes eating whatever I want, swiping left and not having to shave 80%
my body hair just to have 50% of it grow back halfway through a date. Now I have to worry about what I'm going to look like in your wedding photos.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The
night that my childhood best friend broke the news of her engagement to me, I
could hardly believe it. Gabi was the first friend I made in the 7th grade after moving from Long Island, New York to Charlotte, North Carolina. We sat next to each other in AG English<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px;"><sup>1</sup></span> and used to pass notes about teachers we hated and boys we liked in a composition notebook. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiScI24JeL825sIuYIkxmn09BIKi4wCWv6jOBB7FE-OzYFfM0Q1fyOo_PP3D9Tev9OUfQu0ZCWFRxfzYGhjDOYzUrj_yxvxBWuSCb9insTvqs06A4SBVlzec2Z7zLVeGl86-LZsl1ZxrNU/s1600/download_20160311_111343.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiScI24JeL825sIuYIkxmn09BIKi4wCWv6jOBB7FE-OzYFfM0Q1fyOo_PP3D9Tev9OUfQu0ZCWFRxfzYGhjDOYzUrj_yxvxBWuSCb9insTvqs06A4SBVlzec2Z7zLVeGl86-LZsl1ZxrNU/s200/download_20160311_111343.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We used our planners to pass notes in class our entire school career </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Flash forward almost 20 years later and we're sitting across from each other at a gastropub discussing how Gabi's fiance had proposed to her.<br />
<br />
For the past couple years we haven’t been as close as we were growing up but I
still consider her a best friend. So much so that I could barely focus on her story because I was getting nostalgic about our friendship. We’ve been through so much over the years...<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Like
watching TV on the phone together:</span> In middle school I would call Gabi up Monday
through Friday at 4:00pm and sing the opening theme song to Sailor Moon at the
top of my lungs over the phone. Except when it was storming outside because Gabi
was afraid that lightning would come through the phone and electrocute her<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px;"><sup>2</sup></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Our
first jobs:</span> Gabi is a few months older than me so I always felt like she got to do everything first and her life was way more put together than mine. She was the first to drive and worked at JC Penny. She probably came home smelling like a mixture of Japanese Cherry
Blossom body spray and loose change because she worked in the shoe
department. <o:p></o:p>I worked at Subway and walked to work after school because my bike had gotten stolen. I would come home smelling of cold cuts and bleach.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Losing
our virginity:</span> Don’t worry Mom, this part never really happened. At least it
won’t until someone asks for my delicate hand in marriage, I do declare. *clutches pearl
necklace*<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And
all of the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">glorious crushes on guys</span> we’ve had from 1996 through 2015; Me more
than her because I’ve been boy crazy since the 7th grade. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNV2k6d9Tjap9vUmhVunatYFGVINoTZztV2PVM2wRnTi8yH60Bxbc3koM8eXOi8lVbVZbvQNMeUY-lp1iW29xzRpHoNuLGmDNWl2UgQ-tkqtOEP9QFOpYcQhqAlIbI8LG7L1DD_VNi78I/s1600/tempFileForShare_2016-03-11-11-29-31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="515" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNV2k6d9Tjap9vUmhVunatYFGVINoTZztV2PVM2wRnTi8yH60Bxbc3koM8eXOi8lVbVZbvQNMeUY-lp1iW29xzRpHoNuLGmDNWl2UgQ-tkqtOEP9QFOpYcQhqAlIbI8LG7L1DD_VNi78I/s640/tempFileForShare_2016-03-11-11-29-31.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Senior year Gabi signed my yearbook & made sure to list all the crushes I had from middle school to that point</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We
would do this thing where we’d conduct mock telephone conversations pretending
to be each other’s crush. Kinda of like practicing for a job interview with a
friend.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Me:</span>
Hey is <insert name of this week's crush> home?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">Gabi</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #c27ba0;">
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">pretending to be my crush:</span> Who is this?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Me: </span>C’mon Gabi. He knows who I am.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">Gabi: </span>Yeah but maybe he has a lot of girls calling him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Me:</span> So you think he’s a player?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">Gabi:</span> No he’s not that cute. But <i>you</i> are cute, so don’t worry about it. Be confident. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Me:</span> OK. Let's start over. Hey, It’s Tiffany from Social Studies.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">Gabi: </span>Oh this is his mom. I’ll go get him. *Deepens her voice* What you want girl?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Me and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">Gabi:</span> Breaks into uncontrollable laughter for the next couple minutes until Gabi hangs up the phone without explanation after she hears thunder outside</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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After I got the proposal details the
first thing I asked Gabi was, “How do you know when it’s right? How do you know
that this is the person you’re supposed to spend the rest of your life with?” Gabi
responded with “Maybe I’m not the right person to answer that question.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well if you're not the right person then who in tarnation is? <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">It can't be me.</span> I have a fall back
marriage arranged with an old friend if we haven’t found anyone else by the age
of 35. I also fell in love with a guy after knowing him for only 3 weeks, mainly because he called me baby girl and he was a fierce dancer. Hell, I fell in love with the cream cheese on my bagel this morning because it had <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">salmon AND capers </span>in it. I obviously need some guidance.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gabi
told me that her engagement made sense. He’s sweet and kind and treats her
better than previous boyfriends. They get along well and don’t argue much and she wants him to be around even when she hates him in the moment. Don't get me wrong, it's not like Gabi turned 31 and thought "Hey I'm getting older. Here's a nice guy, I'll pick him." It's just that she's less emotional about her relationships than I am.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All of the things Gabi mentioned are important and obviously honesty, supportiveness, trust and communication go without saying. But I wanted to hear about the passion and the butterflies. I wanted her to say, “Guuuuurl I can not get enough of that <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">baby arm</span> he
has between his legs". I want my friend to feel that giddy, take my breath away feeling that I've felt after drinking a pitcher of hard cider, downing 3 shots of Jameson and making out with a hot co-worker<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px;"><sup>3</sup></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
My friend Stephanie says she loves the way her husband
smells, even when he’s been working all day and comes home sweaty. She told me she’ll be doing laundry, sniff the armpit of one of his dirty
shirts and it smells like homemade hamburgers to her. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">It gets her blood going.</span> That right there is the kinda love I want. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">That drunk in love with hamburger </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">pheromone</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;"> love</span>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-j0CgM5uAAuZWmHNmcCpqcIxuV2cga3Q2zUcPNk_Kk6sFrzt0bd9eRJrX8DZZwRxO0z9itEVoNb1BWfln4rCS49PLri2cXvcfKjQekwnX6531wdVm0NBtdZUZPMYsq3b2HUlWAU-2LbU/s1600/shirtsniff.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-j0CgM5uAAuZWmHNmcCpqcIxuV2cga3Q2zUcPNk_Kk6sFrzt0bd9eRJrX8DZZwRxO0z9itEVoNb1BWfln4rCS49PLri2cXvcfKjQekwnX6531wdVm0NBtdZUZPMYsq3b2HUlWAU-2LbU/s200/shirtsniff.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mmmm. Juicy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After hearing Gabi justify her relationship, I suddenly realized that I'm a hopeless romantic. I want a guy to look at me the way I look at my food when the waiter is bringing it to the table. I want a significant other that will eat mini cupcakes with me at night while we're watching Cartoon Network. I want a humorous love story that my husband and I can share with neighbors at a block party. "...And then she tripped and fell face first right into the potato salad and that's when I got the inspiration to write<i> Best I Ever Had</i>. She was that special somebody."Drake playfully kisses me on the cheek and smiles at our neighbors, R. Kelly and Soledad O'brien.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8kGqKm5MpRKkruaK3Buno2umXWn95oYyat9k2T0kR-AvNJkbtgC4ZN5_0gYFGV1_-9xKzKf6msovLDDiJVebRlsRk0QF42CZpYoaSHn_NI-li_VFsPoZcLrl9FO65mFIa1-XBV8aEdD8/s1600/drake-hotline-bling-meme-funny-music-video.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8kGqKm5MpRKkruaK3Buno2umXWn95oYyat9k2T0kR-AvNJkbtgC4ZN5_0gYFGV1_-9xKzKf6msovLDDiJVebRlsRk0QF42CZpYoaSHn_NI-li_VFsPoZcLrl9FO65mFIa1-XBV8aEdD8/s320/drake-hotline-bling-meme-funny-music-video.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You want another hot dog Kels?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Really Gabi should blame herself for my romanticism. She was the one who introduced me to Harlequin romance novels in the 8th grade. She had a stack of them in her locker and would loan them out to me one at a time as long as I would pinkie-swear that I'd return them in good shape.<br />
<br />
To be fair, Gabi has always been way more pragmatic than I have. Once in the 11th grade, I got into an argument with a ratchet girl who didn't say 'excuse me' after bumping into me in the school cafeteria. Gabi whispered in my ear, "she's bigger and way more hood than you. Do you really think you'd win that fight?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
With all that being said, I'm happy that Gabi is embarking on this new stage of life and her hubby-to-be is really a lucky guy. Heck, she's lucky for getting out of this terrible buyers market (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">i.e. millennial dating culture</span>) and finding someone that she wants to spend her old crotchity days with. I don't know for sure but her fiance also looks like he may be the proud owner of a baby arm so hooray for that. Gabi and I have a lot in common but it so happens that we think about love differently and that's OK. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And since I know Gabi is reading this, I want her to know that I've never been a bridesmaid. I know being a bridesmaid means that I'd literally be a <strike>slave</strike> maid because I wouldn't be paid for my hard work throwing bridal showers and bachelorette parties. I actually hear it’s an awful experience something akin to being water boarded while being forced to listen to Rihanna sing a ballad. But somehow I still want entry into this exclusive club.<br />
<br />
If you can not accommodate me in your wedding party then that's OK too. I have already found a banging dress to wear to your wedding that will show my effervescent beauty without stealing your shine on your big day. I also promise to give the best drunken wedding speech your guests will ever hear.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<!--StartFragment--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130; font-size: x-small;">1. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130; font-size: x-small;">AG English was Academically Gifted English. It was a class for smart kids or for kids whose parents didn't want them to be eventually filtered into the prison</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130; font-size: x-small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130; font-size: x-small;">system</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130; font-size: x-small;">2. Gabi was adamant about her no talking on the phone during thunderstorms rule. I actually Googled it and there have been no reports of people being electrocuted through landlines during lightning strikes. Back in the late 90's there was really no way to find out if that was true unless Bill Nye had decided to do a show about it. So thank you Google. Bill Nye, you let me down man. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130; font-size: x-small;">3. This hot coworker is the same guy that called me baby girl and I subsequently fell in love with after 3 weeks. It didn't work out between us in the long run (week 4) because even though I knew how much he liked me, I don't think that </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130; font-size: x-small;"><i>he</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c1130; font-size: x-small;"> realize just how much he liked me. </span></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-6680143480839956032015-12-14T13:01:00.000-05:002015-12-14T16:11:51.081-05:00Stop Asking Me Why I'm Still Single<div>
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My father's side of the family is from the Caribbean and there are a lot of traditions, rules and strict codes of conduct we follow. Well, when I was a baby someone in my family forgot to invite an old family friend to my baptism. <span style="color: #ea9999;">A serious no-no.</span> This old family friend, who felt disrespected & snubbed, consequently decided to put a curse on me.* As a result, since the moment I turned 16 I've had a ghost following me around keeping guys from being interested in me.</div>
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<span style="color: #ea9999;">At least that's what I tell people when they ask me why I'm single.</span></div>
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Honestly I don't even know what's an acceptable answer to that question. First of all it's rude as hell to ask someone why they're not dating, married or a swinger. It's basically asking somone to explain in detail what's wrong with them. Personally I think you should only ask someone why they are single if:</div>
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<span style="color: #ea9999;">1. You are interested in them and plan on asking them out on a date</span></div>
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<span style="color: #ea9999;">2. You know someone else that is interested in them and you're going to try and set them up on a date</span></div>
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Secondly <span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: large;"><u>Be a problem solver, not an instigator</u></span></div>
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If I always see you order a cheeseburger when we go out to eat, I'm not going to ask why you never order a steak. Maybe eating cheeseburgers remind you of a better time when things were fun and simple. Maybe you like the way the bun holds it down, keeping everything secure. Obviously you are not ready to move on to other cuts of meat just yet. You have your reasons, and we don't have to talk about them until you're ready.</div>
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Being the supportive friend that I am, I'm not going to ask you to leave your comfort zone. Just know that when you're ready to finally leave McDonald's and sample a real hunk of meat, you've got options. Next Friday night it'll be me and you in our go get em outfits with reservations at McCormick & Schmick's. I'm here for you girl. <span style="color: #ea9999;">Appetizers on me</span>. </div>
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Unless we're close friends I'm going to stay out of your love life. And let's be real, if we're close friends then I already know why you're single. <span style="color: #ea9999;">You cray.</span> I may ask you why you THINK you're single just to see how deluded you are but we both already know the answer, whether or not we're ready to say it out loud. </div>
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Perhaps I'm single because everyone I like:</div>
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<span style="color: #ea9999;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #ea9999;">Won't text back<br />
Is too famous<br />
Is too young<br />Isn't heterosexual</span></div>
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But truthfully I'm probably single because I travel a lot for work (no time to meet anyone), <strike>guys are idiots</strike> and I have trust issues. </div>
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It's not because I think I'm ugly, unlovable or because I have low self-esteem. On the contrary, I think I'm cute, funny, body proportional and I don't smell like cats. <span style="color: #ea9999;">That's wifey material right there.</span></div>
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Recently I had a guy friend call me up out of the blue and confess that he's liked me for the last 5 years. He then asked me out on a proper date to grab drinks and go to Halloween party together, dressed as the cartoon characters Doug Funnie & Patti Mayonnaise. Well the day of the date comes around and I hear nothing back from this guy. He was a no-call no-show. I still went to the party and had a good time but was bummed nonetheless. About a week later I finally hear back from him through a <span style="color: #ea9999;"><b>GROUP TEXT</b></span> asking if anyone of his 30 or so friends would like to go to a concert Friday night.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT_EaYBcF-rU2Mfv7eN22GUWmVUcN4mmM5cuvi11YBCubyfD5TUvwLynMqj6HLltl2z_ibXqnq0LNCaG9ahKBXv7g-9hYNI618LWyB8LqLL6mQliLGBEZSZNgLovr4u7Zj7nB8_JwjWJQ/s1600/20151031_231728_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT_EaYBcF-rU2Mfv7eN22GUWmVUcN4mmM5cuvi11YBCubyfD5TUvwLynMqj6HLltl2z_ibXqnq0LNCaG9ahKBXv7g-9hYNI618LWyB8LqLL6mQliLGBEZSZNgLovr4u7Zj7nB8_JwjWJQ/s320/20151031_231728_1.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halloween Party bus </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHHSDC0U3_3bRTDQ9Z99CwIkaok05CQ-ZSexH5dNjDrLjL4SuOkv7GlykFS5WAAYRsJ3YLT5eBAn_rF0AZ79615y5Gp6GoAnjUWQAkVPOL99J4Id0uYFZfcGLm7Dqo5X5fovEaU7_wg-g/s1600/20151031_225551.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHHSDC0U3_3bRTDQ9Z99CwIkaok05CQ-ZSexH5dNjDrLjL4SuOkv7GlykFS5WAAYRsJ3YLT5eBAn_rF0AZ79615y5Gp6GoAnjUWQAkVPOL99J4Id0uYFZfcGLm7Dqo5X5fovEaU7_wg-g/s320/20151031_225551.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Had an awesome time <br />
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If ghosting♧ me wasn't enough you included me in a group text? Talk about rubbing salt in an open wound. Hey dude, since we're trying our best to <span style="color: #ea9999;">emotionally cripple</span> people, the spare key to my apartment is under my doormat. While I'm at work why don't you come over and boil my pet bunny on the stove for good measure°.<br />
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Because of unfortunate experiences like the one above (and trust me I have more stories like this one) I'm pretty wary of guys who claim to be interested in me.</div>
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Even if you grabbed the nearest Poké ball, pointed at me and exclaimed, "I choose you," I'm probably still going to ask you if you need to see my State I.D. to make sure you've got the right person.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkX9xkEiJwLZGN3xXuV6Ei2aw1C3ZXKkCNreDaIvkAhjrndbUZgn-G4LlttbDlSlAA1qnzRwSeSPbW5a2kyWs7pGf34LX-F-ual78v3XWz757Wo_uyW1bz-Gw1pxlLkbT1BMBymRGIYc8/s1600/beatiful-i-choose-you-love-nice-pokeball-Favim.com-406921.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkX9xkEiJwLZGN3xXuV6Ei2aw1C3ZXKkCNreDaIvkAhjrndbUZgn-G4LlttbDlSlAA1qnzRwSeSPbW5a2kyWs7pGf34LX-F-ual78v3XWz757Wo_uyW1bz-Gw1pxlLkbT1BMBymRGIYc8/s320/beatiful-i-choose-you-love-nice-pokeball-Favim.com-406921.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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At this point I'd rather catch flights than catch feelings but despite all the crazy experiences I've had, I'm still an optimist. If years of watching Sailor Moon as a kid taught me anything, it's that love conquers all and bladdy blah blah. I've still got hope that my Tuxedo Mask is out there looking for me. And if not, then I've got a pact (ie. arranged marraige?) with a friend to marry each other if we haven't found anyone by the age of 35.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*This may be the plot to Sleeping Beauty</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">♧Disappearing or ignoring someone without explanation </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">°I really do have a pet bunny</span><br />
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Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-87900127512901007692014-08-28T17:53:00.000-04:002014-08-28T18:31:00.188-04:00Forever 21<div dir="ltr">
Every year around the 3rd week of August, I would order my little brother to leave the living room, get on 3-way with my best friends and sit in front of the tv to watch my favorite pop stars walk the red carpet. For my friends and I the MTV Video Music Awards were like a final hurrah to the summer and a welcoming hug to the new school year. </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">I wonder what Gwen Stefani is going to wear this year? </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">I can't wait to see the N'sync-Britney Spears mashup performance!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">OMG Fred Durst is so hot!</span> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8UQ-4bjulqYHcscsEokDl_I_VT2zH3l3cx-jSIiucUkVP0DMH2tKxwNjM4FU1sXZ27ylZdJTOOKyDgSVTW9qUo74Td-VXQ7RrJFyt6leBGL-ALp3zk_9WYiHbxcCJ8s6X53D7ghWb9Z0/s1600/Fred-Durst.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8UQ-4bjulqYHcscsEokDl_I_VT2zH3l3cx-jSIiucUkVP0DMH2tKxwNjM4FU1sXZ27ylZdJTOOKyDgSVTW9qUo74Td-VXQ7RrJFyt6leBGL-ALp3zk_9WYiHbxcCJ8s6X53D7ghWb9Z0/s1600/Fred-Durst.png" height="160" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It's all embarrassing but I'm least proud about thinking Fred Durst was cute</span></td></tr>
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I rarely, if ever watch MTV anymore but decided, what the heck after seeing comments about Usher "looking good for his age" on my Facebook timeline. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Not even joking</span>.</div>
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I barely knew who half the people at the VMA's were. Lucy Hale? Little Mix? Rixton? Your guess is as good as mine. I mean, Miley Cyrus won video of the year so basically that tells you about how much the world has changed since 9/11. Personally I feel like if you:</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">1. Were born before the mid 80's</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">2. Weren't a teen parent</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">3. Don't do a lot of babysitting </span></div>
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Then you should feel seriously <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">ashamed</span> if you know who any of these people are. Except <span style="color: #ea9999;">Iggy Azalea</span>, I think she's cool.</div>
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Watching Nicki Minaj bounce her bum on top of an invisible anaconda and seeing Ariana Grande wearing a high cut, bedazzled leotard and gogo boots that Beyonce probably vetoed during her Destiny's Child days was unsettling.</div>
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Surely I haven't turned into the old lady sitting on her porch in the white wicker rocking chair, telling kids about back in my day... but honestly humans between the ages of 11 and approximately 23 irk me. What is a Vine celebrity? (I still don't know what Vine is. The new Youtube?) Why are parents letting their 13 year olds wear shorts with their cheeks hanging out or teaching their 10 year-olds to call me ma'am? Their metabolism and innate ability to operate on less than 4 ours of sleep when not yet a quarter century old? <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">The little bastards </span></div><div dir="ltr"><font class="Apple-style-span" color="#e06666"><br></font>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5wCyw4D7yAOknOwbMYz8dDnDeMBL3bjRMfJ1p72qvaz_uSdStLKno-ksOXR1tgo_3RcPOc1_Xn3Xqi430N8ektk00CKn7127FAnyIl8VPDJg3hEjM_9gfR4wfpAoRz8Z7DuWNoxe8Qv8/s1600/ariana-grande.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5wCyw4D7yAOknOwbMYz8dDnDeMBL3bjRMfJ1p72qvaz_uSdStLKno-ksOXR1tgo_3RcPOc1_Xn3Xqi430N8ektk00CKn7127FAnyIl8VPDJg3hEjM_9gfR4wfpAoRz8Z7DuWNoxe8Qv8/s1600/ariana-grande.jpg" height="427" width="640"></a></span></div>
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A young guy at my gym (24 years old) told me he went out last night with friends, partied til 5am and came to work at 6. I wanted to pop an Ambien, drink a warm a mug of tea and curl up in the bed with my heating blanket just thinking about it. <br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmh9hQvOvK7bOQBMqeo2e4OKIv_jQGgFfRIKnd62gtWqCgqVUAwWzsb3Da3RcVqTjzHDZEsNbhMFPtTnTTn2_iIt6If0_yHvh7PBQsX4pT5VwvvUmvObrIYN-tXnHiAiUw8ViDW1yCuaw/s1600/snug-as-a-bug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmh9hQvOvK7bOQBMqeo2e4OKIv_jQGgFfRIKnd62gtWqCgqVUAwWzsb3Da3RcVqTjzHDZEsNbhMFPtTnTTn2_iIt6If0_yHvh7PBQsX4pT5VwvvUmvObrIYN-tXnHiAiUw8ViDW1yCuaw/s1600/snug-as-a-bug.jpg" height="212" width="320"></a></div>
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Maybe I feel this way because I'm turning 30 in a little over a month and consequently I'm having a self realization/mini crisis moment. I feel like its finally time to put some things on the shelf and only dust them off for story time when I have to entertain grand-kids or court mandated juvenile delinquent volunteers at the nursing home. Hey sonny, let me tell you about the New Year's Eve when I <span style="color: #e06666;">drunk-vomited</span> in my friend's sink and feel asleep on his kitchen floor.</div>
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Getting older <strike>doesn't have to be a death sentence</strike> just means you have to make some adjustments. I'll admit that on occasion I shop at Forever 21 and I still make bets on which side of the Oreo is going to get the cream when I untwist it, but I've stopped reading Cosmopolitan magazine <span style="color: #e06666;">cold turkey</span>. When I was in middle school I used to secretly buy them and stack them in the back of my closet after pouring over the pages of self quizzes and made to order puca bead necklaces. I realized I couldn't read Cosmo anymore when I recently read an article entitled "how to know if you're compatible with a guy based on the <span style="color: #e06666;">Snap Chat </span>photos he sends you."</div>
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Anyways there's nothing wrong with getting older. Even with my sometimes creaky knees, hangovers after 2 drinks and that time my back went out, old age is a blessing not bestowed on all of us and I'm grateful for it. Now #TurnDown.</div>
Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-8616445707711424732014-05-12T22:51:00.000-04:002014-05-13T09:58:38.416-04:00You're Doing Too Much <div dir="ltr">
Today I'm a hater. I am standing in front of my Chicago apartment because it's finally over 60 degrees outside, drinking a 40oz of haterade and pouring one out for my homies that have had enough of social media wedding awareness or SMWA. But first, I'm going to share a secret with you.<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I am
clairvoyant</span></b><br />
</div>
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I don't normally talk about my super powers but since we're friends, I am opening up to you. One night a few years ago, I had a dream that I was attending the wedding of one of my Ex boyfriends. And this wasn't any old, we made out at a party, dated for a month and then broke up after he banged my suite mate type of relationship. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria;"><b>Which actually happened to me btw. </b></span>This guy was the one that got away.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO7pEySQcpgGYr8wd_mFSf-AjmiJWjJR2BdfSAcwardzuLUlNyhfKd8TSZHrJuR6tUnOStSs5HXHRQAp0GeXLOJslg03PD55VCeeODrnV2ySscsSuq4HkmcpWIg30mDpcJ1dbkJx6iRIg/s1600/IMG_20140512_211749.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO7pEySQcpgGYr8wd_mFSf-AjmiJWjJR2BdfSAcwardzuLUlNyhfKd8TSZHrJuR6tUnOStSs5HXHRQAp0GeXLOJslg03PD55VCeeODrnV2ySscsSuq4HkmcpWIg30mDpcJ1dbkJx6iRIg/s1600/IMG_20140512_211749.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Haterade</td></tr>
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In the dream, before his wedding started, he swept me up in his strong tuxedo'd arms and confessed his <b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">love</span></b> for me. He told me that I had been <b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">the one</span></b> all along and that he was marrying the wrong girl. Then he gave me a long, hard ...ahem... kiss, and I woke up abruptly. I tried to shrug it off and got ready for work that morning like normal but the dream kept bothering me. As I commuted to work my curiosity won out and I looked him up on Facebook. Low and behold he had just gotten engaged. My heart fell and then I threw up on the lady sitting next to me on the train.</div>
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That was the moment my aversion to <b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">SMWA</span></b> was born. I guess I could pinpoint the moment even further. It was actually when I saw the pictures of him and his wife-to-be dressed in their Sunday's finest. They were holding hands and staring lovingly into each others eyes on a fucking golf course. Dude doesn't even play golf! </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz4Gjzv49RBpsTlsxZiHtKZ49rXBSNpXQNYTdyti8pywZfkJtcZ7AhiktBovloyDy_4CkqrpD2gS73R6-XaXd2d8x_RwWij3nWd-VoKuDb9e8HhWQBZeu25P5gi2_5kU3Zh7NZ0kbkfSE/s1600/funny-engagement-pictures.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz4Gjzv49RBpsTlsxZiHtKZ49rXBSNpXQNYTdyti8pywZfkJtcZ7AhiktBovloyDy_4CkqrpD2gS73R6-XaXd2d8x_RwWij3nWd-VoKuDb9e8HhWQBZeu25P5gi2_5kU3Zh7NZ0kbkfSE/s1600/funny-engagement-pictures.jpeg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because my fiance and I always leave the club and not only walk through, but scream at the drive through window.</td></tr>
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I abso-<b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">freaking</span></b>-lutely hate engagement photo shoots. Like I don't know about you, but I can't recall ever having put on a David's Bridal ball gown, waltzing through the forest at sunset and cradling my boyfriend's head in my lap. <b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">WTF?</span></b> I'm not a Twilight cast member. Engagement photo shoots are the <b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">cheesiest</span></b> thing ever.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN58Yye_UqnzWw2on57bB9PFZP85b5pOb43Z9RvqsBnFbhyphenhyphenCNc2zCbnKrdyoyLBXGfH3nTs2Dy117lweA4Gz10K9EFXy5d-KUmH1-HNPTtf9lo_aJj-OtbVYPR0XWGXoC-755_pvRFE70/s1600/weird-engagement-pics-part2-15.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN58Yye_UqnzWw2on57bB9PFZP85b5pOb43Z9RvqsBnFbhyphenhyphenCNc2zCbnKrdyoyLBXGfH3nTs2Dy117lweA4Gz10K9EFXy5d-KUmH1-HNPTtf9lo_aJj-OtbVYPR0XWGXoC-755_pvRFE70/s1600/weird-engagement-pics-part2-15.jpeg" height="200" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WTF?</td></tr>
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This one couple I know actually made a freaking engagement movie.<b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;"> Like for real, not for play-play</span></b>. I actually think it could have been a cute way to show people how they met, but they made a gross production out of it. Set in the <b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">1920's</span></b>, filmed in black in white with ridiculous props and corny music. Neither one of them are up and coming film makers, struggling actors or prolific documentary screenwriters. So why all the fuss? The acting was <b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">not even good. </span></b>I could have watched a rerun of Sex in the City and been happier.</div>
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And I get it. If you <b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">love</span></b> someone you should celebrate that love. Its okay to want the world to know. Beyoncé is always screaming her love from the mountain tops for her husband Joe Camel. Just to set the record straight, I'm not hating because I am a bitter soon to be spinster with no prospects on the horizon. <b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">I gets mine</span></b>. I just think people go over board.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8aIpKvoPj3TM81cpYdfLxi07N6MtCLj79DuMkgsdf88iNm9XxwR4ddKBCHz1IShcdvRGBB9TjcMCP13HjInp8OeEp_BEw3L8oMdKRz79DV3JqSGmTTm8IUDmgelWRji_Y3eO02dFqZt4/s1600/jz.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8aIpKvoPj3TM81cpYdfLxi07N6MtCLj79DuMkgsdf88iNm9XxwR4ddKBCHz1IShcdvRGBB9TjcMCP13HjInp8OeEp_BEw3L8oMdKRz79DV3JqSGmTTm8IUDmgelWRji_Y3eO02dFqZt4/s1600/jz.jpeg" height="216" width="320" /></a></div>
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I mean if you're lucky enough to have Facebook friends who don't solely exist to play <b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">Dungeons and Dragons, </span></b>then about the time you reach your mid to late 20's, a lot of your friends are getting married and pooping out babies. <b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">That was not a typo.</span></b></div>
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My newsfeed gets cluttered up with photos of my friends counting the days until their upcoming nuptials and I'm over the moon happy for them! I believe in love and marriage and if we're not coworkers or frenemies, chances are that I want you to be happy. But lawd some people are doing the most!</div>
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<b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">*</span></b>Only 78 days, 3 hours and 42 minutes left until we tie the knot!</div>
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<b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">*</span></b>Can't wait to see my girl walk down the aisle! Here she comes now! <b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">*selfie posted to Facebook from the wedding ceremony with Fiance approaching the alter in the background</span></b><b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">*</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">*</span></b>I love my fiancé so much that my heart of going to explode and then his is going to explode too so we've just bought our side by side cemetery plots y'all! </div>
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<b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">*</span></b>We've been married <b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">10 minutes</span></b> and I can't wait for the next 10! <b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">Love you boo!</span></b></div>
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Am I the only one who feels like you don't have to <b><span style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">bombard</span></b> the internet with your over the top proclamations of undying love? Who are you trying to prove your adoration to exactly? I'll always hit the like button when I see something thoughtful and sweet one of my friends has done for their loved one. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwE5_bOMEEkmrI-rIQPAkktqUgMJjH9zHKaSxH8IVPEJHLbN0DT10lDGovq-85pufv1b8YOlj_xsKGyxQFq69OghcFStJvPBjbSkrkXTncKlsud9LyC_hZIFnUEotPLjS6CMqjN4qNPiU/s1600/Screenshots_2014-05-12-08-13-56.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwE5_bOMEEkmrI-rIQPAkktqUgMJjH9zHKaSxH8IVPEJHLbN0DT10lDGovq-85pufv1b8YOlj_xsKGyxQFq69OghcFStJvPBjbSkrkXTncKlsud9LyC_hZIFnUEotPLjS6CMqjN4qNPiU/s1600/Screenshots_2014-05-12-08-13-56.png" height="400" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An actual Facebook Friend of mine. On their way home from work, her Husband got her a Frosty and she got him a McFlurry, not knowing that that the other had already gotten them an after work dessert. How sweet right? Notice that I LIKED the status!</td></tr>
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But these framed certificates of congratulations from Obama on your wedding union is a bit much.</div>
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You're telling me that President Barack Obama took time out of coordinating drone attacks to congratulate you on your wedding? Get dafuq outta here with that.</div>
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I'm not going to delete you because you're showing love for your significant other. But you people that take it too far and have subsequently made me vomit in my mouth a little bit, I'm going to have to unfollow your posts. Btw, congratulations on your engagement.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFMm9cVGc6_onnxNQQJjLWbskH_jS85XJZvYwPv2FAQPQ3uTXGolh9BZRpLJL6kKiiPMkF7VzmoEgYtsKlQlssbSR_22ELakih8HXP1rqn10LtI4Z-6BTXaSz1R8g0V5CrGrCJauZTVMw/s1600/A-letter-from-President-Obama---Dec-2009-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFMm9cVGc6_onnxNQQJjLWbskH_jS85XJZvYwPv2FAQPQ3uTXGolh9BZRpLJL6kKiiPMkF7VzmoEgYtsKlQlssbSR_22ELakih8HXP1rqn10LtI4Z-6BTXaSz1R8g0V5CrGrCJauZTVMw/s1600/A-letter-from-President-Obama---Dec-2009-001.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cute idea but I can print this out from my home computer too, so stop acting like you're special. You don't know Barack and you don't know Michelle.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: xx-small;">Photos are not own:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: xx-small;">Totallylookslike.com</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: xx-small;">True Photography Weddings</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426975079936902471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-12882846639829447072014-04-08T17:16:00.003-04:002014-04-08T17:44:54.752-04:00Why I hate public bathrooms<div dir="ltr">
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For years I've been doing the Chun Li move when it comes to flushing the toilet seat handle so believe me when I say that it's nice to not have to touch anything in a public bathroom. </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4569b; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">#ThroughChristAllThingsArePossible</span></i></span></div>
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT1ytqgKjySkQMJXnC4OJZNQlR0F8-j8jjXz0QjVAOzxYY54anfF_6Thlux1HvjH50qvHwGLbIOAHaN_TpMFaHrQ3marB2rAZUscAxtCNiPWQnUhI-ptUB3-hE41XvDDQV67tXrcXuSYM/s1600/chunli.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT1ytqgKjySkQMJXnC4OJZNQlR0F8-j8jjXz0QjVAOzxYY54anfF_6Thlux1HvjH50qvHwGLbIOAHaN_TpMFaHrQ3marB2rAZUscAxtCNiPWQnUhI-ptUB3-hE41XvDDQV67tXrcXuSYM/s1600/chunli.gif" height="260" width="320" /></a></div>
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I know that <strike>America</strike> major American cities are getting on board with being less wasteful and saving the planet by banning plastic bags and I think its great. But the one thing we can not afford to skimp on is hand soap. These automatic hand soap machines are stingier than a Haitian refugee with a chicken wing. I mean they honestly give you enough soap to kill like 3 bacterium. So when you see me at the sink, flicking my hands back and forth, please know that I'm not pretending that I've got 2 turn tables and a microphone. I'm just trying to get some more dang soap.</div>
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I also dont like to be f'ed with unless I'll get the possibility of a new job or a free meal out of it. So obviously I hate it when the sensor won't pick up my movement and turn the water faucet on. Nobody wants to see me twerk in front of the sink just to be able wash my hands.</div>
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And nobody wants to spend a lot of unnecessary time in a public bathroom, afterall I'm not George Michael. </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4569b; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><i>But Some things should not be rushed!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 28px;"> </span></i></span></div>
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Most often the automatic flusher usually flushes before you're finished with your business. It defeats the purpose of being an automatic flusher if:</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4569b; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 28px;"><i>1.</i></span></span> I have to squeeze my bladder muscles as hard as I can in order to pee in 3.5 seconds</div>
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<div dir="ltr">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4569b; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 28px;"><i>2.</i></span></span> I have <u>2.4</u> seconds left to thoroughly wipe and throw the tissue paper away in time for it to fully be sucked down the drain</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4569b; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 28px;"><i>3. </i></span></span>I end up having to <i><span style="color: #b4569b; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">Manually</span></i><!--EndFragment--> push the button to flush it again anyway!</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
And since they're making everything automatic anyway, how about standard automatic plastic seat covers in public bathrooms. They have them at Chicago's O'hare airport and have changed my life! </div>
<div dir="ltr">
Normally I'm squatting low enough to the toilet seat to avoid splash back and simultaneously get in my crossfit WOD. I basically do this maneuver so that my butt doesn't touch the seat because I don't go bareback, nor do I trust those paper toilet seat covers. Like if thats all that stands between me and crabs or trichinosis of the booty hole then I'll get my weight lifting in by hovering over the porcelain bowl thank you. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
And a little privacy would be nice. Would it be too much to ask for bathroom door manufacturers to make door hinges more flush? <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4569b; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><i>See what I did there? </i></span>If I can see you walk by from the inside of the stall, then I know you can see me getting my potty cardio on when you walk by as well.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
As a bathroom courtesy I must ask moms to cut the umbilical cord: If I see another mother bring a grown ass 13 year old bat mitzvah'ed man into the ladies restroom I'm going to say something. If your son is old enough to tie his own shoes, there's a good chance he's old enough to use the men's bathroom alone. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
All automatic everything is a double edged sword. While writing this I realized waving my hands in front of the hand activated sensors could possibly cause a hand tumor 30 years from now. Finger foods are awesome. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4569b; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 28px;"><i>I NEED MY HANDS!</i></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Don't blame me for my slightly irrational fear of cancer, blame the Susan B. Coleman foundation and all the pink merchandise for sale in October. Let's write a letter to our congressman or have a kid hold up a piece of cardboard with an ill written message on Facebook to get some scientific studies on hand sensors up and going.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBuF2FkNtDrbQzAaiQzrwZzaAjSGBwH-Oy4A0JQ0YQ2180ERPEUiRbNBfNxJUt2B8tKyabauHQ3nLF_UvPUQ4ohG1eYHvChL9y0yGZemOG_HfUtgDdFROqSXmOHuDgnFQ4BaZe33eEHuw/s1600/like.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBuF2FkNtDrbQzAaiQzrwZzaAjSGBwH-Oy4A0JQ0YQ2180ERPEUiRbNBfNxJUt2B8tKyabauHQ3nLF_UvPUQ4ohG1eYHvChL9y0yGZemOG_HfUtgDdFROqSXmOHuDgnFQ4BaZe33eEHuw/s1600/like.jpeg" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426975079936902471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-26321239013188235762013-12-01T18:14:00.002-05:002013-12-01T18:14:25.289-05:00The Strip Club<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
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So lately my next-door neighbor Amanda and I have been
spending more and more time together. Just to be clear, not in the Justin
Bieber short haircut having Subaru Outback owner way, but more like the eating
homemade Rice Krispie treats during a friendly yet charged game of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Catch Phrases” type of way.</div>
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<br /></div>
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One day after an early morning calorie busting zumba class
at our gym (By the way, I sweat like a Black athlete with a pending rape
charge), Amanda suggested we go to the spa. She told me how relaxing and
calming the whole experience can be. According to her you basically sit around
in saunas, receiving top quality beauty treatments from little Asian ladies, while
you chat away with your friends and luxuriate in all your middle to upper
classiness. Plus one of her friends had an expiring Groupon that I could use
and there's a café inside the spa. Bougie-ness at a discount AND snacks?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d518af; font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">Sign me up!</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwk9qyq5ijmiQrWDY5S4BMFJvijfoQ2xi1EK5twx8NqX8WQzsjvKiXhudQKu_yBpuwW9y44FNqVyyNHIseuW-qQW19Pqzj0Qe60X28Tu0U_R25ZUkkI-ZoaSbd5FpTxJlav0zObEGjTnE/s1600/KingSpa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwk9qyq5ijmiQrWDY5S4BMFJvijfoQ2xi1EK5twx8NqX8WQzsjvKiXhudQKu_yBpuwW9y44FNqVyyNHIseuW-qQW19Pqzj0Qe60X28Tu0U_R25ZUkkI-ZoaSbd5FpTxJlav0zObEGjTnE/s640/KingSpa.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">King Spa and Sauna in Niles, IL</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now I know I masquerade as being an HCB (High Class Bi-otch)
but I’m going to let you in on a little secret: I’ve never been to a spa
before. I’ve only seen them in magazines like Vogue (with countless other
excursions I can’t afford) and on TV shows like Sex and the City. Remember that
one episode where Samantha gets banned from the day spa after asking her
masseuse to go down on her and when he refuses she grabs his junk? </div>
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<br /></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting'; font-size: 21px;">Well this was my chance!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgExRbgLIhFYDvflOK9Wq3KFRu3xoeoNCTa91Qo_9oSp9KwQWiTRhDuJqtEBsXiqD4JKOg46Qha_bTqhyphenhyphenweA6zsdQfyAn8v1iBd_L5QjvXE09t4s-4v-LYXLs-Y-U3F9rL_8HwsJegdAXw/s1600/sexspa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="443" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgExRbgLIhFYDvflOK9Wq3KFRu3xoeoNCTa91Qo_9oSp9KwQWiTRhDuJqtEBsXiqD4JKOg46Qha_bTqhyphenhyphenweA6zsdQfyAn8v1iBd_L5QjvXE09t4s-4v-LYXLs-Y-U3F9rL_8HwsJegdAXw/s640/sexspa.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In preparation for the event, as per Amanda’s instructions,
I took a shower at home and scrubbed the epi right off my dermis. How
embarrassingly gross would it be to get in the wet sauna and leave a pile dead
skin floating behind you Pig Pen style? To prove I was fully committed to this
outing and as not scare or offend anyone, I also shaved my legs, which I am
pretty much against doing in the wintertime. Not only does the extra fur keep
you warm by providing a much needed layer between your long johns and your legs
but I like to set new records for myself, each spring tallying up the inches of
matted leg hair to see if I beat last year’s record. Just kidding.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting'; font-size: 21px;">A little...</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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After showering at home, I dressed in a warm, yet cute
ensemble and headed to King Spa and Sauna where Amanda met me in the lobby. When
I arrived I got a bracelet with a key and plastic medallion attached to it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUzwhSp30muq9tdno0-wKVlNIH7-4KaYgRVsysupsBKhAyZ0uNWJj67DC80uLlkX5blKY3wI4js_hTpCPvVdeLNTu6NIyOL5dCunif9ld0BJvHCCVkAT-tfShXmABjzWNq73MfBbESO4o/s1600/spahand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUzwhSp30muq9tdno0-wKVlNIH7-4KaYgRVsysupsBKhAyZ0uNWJj67DC80uLlkX5blKY3wI4js_hTpCPvVdeLNTu6NIyOL5dCunif9ld0BJvHCCVkAT-tfShXmABjzWNq73MfBbESO4o/s400/spahand.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The
number on the medallion is your account number for when you buy anything inside. ie. A beauty treatment, some food, a happy ending (just kidding) etc. It also serves as your locker number. You get two lockers, one for your shoes and
one for all your other belongings. Next you pick out your pajamas, the choices
being either small/medium PJ's in pink or X-Large PJ's in gray. I guess if you’re not small
or medium then you’re punished by having to dress like an elephant. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Qk__81S1M4LmeLjXa8bsWES1TT8s_l0Wu7PqxBqvg147xDXLK4zXPmsgPIoFfIM2jR0zDS_zhDHHM1sz-5dIwmtKCmAbYqzCv-FCbbELixCKh-75PYTJGlZCx5zhpvNLsyccSdBQQtM/s1600/adult-elephant-costume.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Qk__81S1M4LmeLjXa8bsWES1TT8s_l0Wu7PqxBqvg147xDXLK4zXPmsgPIoFfIM2jR0zDS_zhDHHM1sz-5dIwmtKCmAbYqzCv-FCbbELixCKh-75PYTJGlZCx5zhpvNLsyccSdBQQtM/s320/adult-elephant-costume.jpg" width="224" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everyone Else</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vMLaaBGMuu4jhlNTN2Vg7JT7gfykB-J5Wf5t9uVkPJqi6sJ9qkOeEDL4NjA2Gdbb8em9V_pwP-njp1fg-JgmuxW54P9yRd-byEX5AUx2CNdezKuLkLYMeT_cPjxx0XbvSHJqI_e-KQ4/s1600/spaclothes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vMLaaBGMuu4jhlNTN2Vg7JT7gfykB-J5Wf5t9uVkPJqi6sJ9qkOeEDL4NjA2Gdbb8em9V_pwP-njp1fg-JgmuxW54P9yRd-byEX5AUx2CNdezKuLkLYMeT_cPjxx0XbvSHJqI_e-KQ4/s320/spaclothes.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Small and Medium Dainty People</td></tr>
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After pajama selection, the men go in on the right, the women on the left. When you enter the hallway you're greeted with a "Please take off your shoes sign" where you lock your shoes in your designated cubby.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitIVtZ3lN_eqBbq4Au3TzjKDAJd2ysq2L4B8zLbPHptkefu7K39nKIjBxIRhnk4XSjLK46bRiaTMg_EFkUK_zdx7DLlJPlmprzLQ3TaNnvPCbhRIdtEiOaaLGN7cnHRVAdnxLzHTrZ1AE/s1600/shoesspa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitIVtZ3lN_eqBbq4Au3TzjKDAJd2ysq2L4B8zLbPHptkefu7K39nKIjBxIRhnk4XSjLK46bRiaTMg_EFkUK_zdx7DLlJPlmprzLQ3TaNnvPCbhRIdtEiOaaLGN7cnHRVAdnxLzHTrZ1AE/s400/shoesspa.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Korean part is translated as, "or ninjas will cut off your feet"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">Next stop: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">FULL FRONTAL NUDITY-VILLE </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">aka the locker room. Luckily for me, I grew
up attending afterschool programs and summer day camps at the YMCA. The YMCA being notorious for locker rooms full of smooth bottomed kids loosely chaperoned by
their parents and old, wrinkly ladies with their nipples dragging on the floor
who trade recipes in the showers. My childhood had prepared me for this moment.
Thanks Mom.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Even still, seeing naked
women (which doesn’t bother me) and actually getting naked in front of them are
two different things. I’ve always been a pretty modest person. When I graduated
from undershirts to training bras in the 6<sup>th</sup> grade my
mom and aunt enthusiastically sat on the edge of my parent’s bed and giddily
urged me to strut my new <s>itchy </s>lacy, flower-patterned garments for them. I guess in their minds it was a coming of age fashion show type celebration of me turning into a lady
(like I had previously been a pickle or some other non exciting thing). Of
course I refused. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">Monsters.</span></span></o:p></div>
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It doesn’t help matters when you have a WebMD diagnosed body growth that you’re not used to other people seeing. I
have a childhood scar on my shoulder from a car accident and a hole in my back
(we won't even go there but it's healed up nicely) that I really don't want to
discuss with the masseuse. Also everyone's adaption time to nakedness is different but
honestly you better get over the nudity thing quickly because you only get two hand
towels. One to wrap on your head like Princess Leia and the other to dry off
with. Neither one is big enough to wrap around yourself unless you're Nicole
Richie. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1eoNw9k6LPQ_vrLK61vXYgHe2rm4nGJKVh7GTskciDBgvHUUSbKf7cyAeZbxZ7_VSf4vx9r9PXIhqF_dwf8j3zSiOyqwWdR6idx4GyVZn4dA14A-jJX1HrZ93rUcwLh35UhWoUksRk8s/s1600/spafrp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1eoNw9k6LPQ_vrLK61vXYgHe2rm4nGJKVh7GTskciDBgvHUUSbKf7cyAeZbxZ7_VSf4vx9r9PXIhqF_dwf8j3zSiOyqwWdR6idx4GyVZn4dA14A-jJX1HrZ93rUcwLh35UhWoUksRk8s/s320/spafrp.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They teach your how to roll up your towel to make the Princess Leia buns!</td></tr>
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Inside the wet sauna room there a line of showers (no curtains) and 4 jacuzzi pools. 3 are hot and you are supposed sit in them in order of increasing temperature. The 3rd hot jacuzzi was so hot that I started fanning myself which caused this middle aged Korean lady next to me to slap me on the shoulder and cackle, "the heat good for you!" The 4th and final jacuzzi is purposely freezing cold. I think I felt my ovaries shrink when I got inside of it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQWqh1Kd7tfw-aMCFTntDecxUwzXFoILV3q4sxPkXih9pUZhtRhy1onBUtkRt7vtBLckveh5J_ZQ_GjcjSOYosH_IK4Da9sxZIG_3OiH2xot5qusWiB-Ov-4ic8dDavewGxpOqJWjzKJg/s1600/pools.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQWqh1Kd7tfw-aMCFTntDecxUwzXFoILV3q4sxPkXih9pUZhtRhy1onBUtkRt7vtBLckveh5J_ZQ_GjcjSOYosH_IK4Da9sxZIG_3OiH2xot5qusWiB-Ov-4ic8dDavewGxpOqJWjzKJg/s400/pools.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Next you get inside the steam room where the air is thick with moisture and the smell of aromatherapy eucalyptus oil. It was so steamed up in there I couldn't see anything on anyone from the knees down and my subtle curly hairdo immediately turned into a Diana Ross afro. Afterward you take another shower to wash off the dead skin and then you go get in your PJs.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5c7zl4iK6UoERAc9o2TvyKu5XemfO6xdXSR-jRSDi9Wcufx7no_ozLECE8zwAMSgAubgD3k1Xe1F-Lsp-4_pi2IolTarPCrFs8UxdPERPuymIX6Vj9wxvX1U-xcon-JP3O1zr-T8-i_g/s1600/goldspa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5c7zl4iK6UoERAc9o2TvyKu5XemfO6xdXSR-jRSDi9Wcufx7no_ozLECE8zwAMSgAubgD3k1Xe1F-Lsp-4_pi2IolTarPCrFs8UxdPERPuymIX6Vj9wxvX1U-xcon-JP3O1zr-T8-i_g/s400/goldspa.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gold Room which is situated off the common room</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">Inside the common area
there a multiple hot rooms each one with certain attributes that are supposed
to make you feel different through special ions or something. My favorites were
the amethyst and gold rooms because they were pretty. </span>There is also a cafe with yummy high priced korean foods like bulgogi and jap chae. We all shared an amazing dessert of
red beans and fruit over shaved ice and I had a pumpkin smoothie. </div>
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Upstairs there are sleeping and meditation rooms with huge leather
Lazyboy recliners that even elephants can fit in. There is also a bunch of other cool stuff like a "sweat chair" that looks sort of like Professor X's wheel chair (from X-men). Ot's supposed to make you lose water weight. They even have a movie theater room with showings every few hours. The Pursuit of Happiness, Harry Potter and Speed (I think they save that one for last when they want people to leave for the night) were on the schedule for that day. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOlOoF8kmroo9TYp-7awC4s0ky8FwWrZ63nhqHNN8fQ5wwxOtut7Mmd30NTdnY4qGg0kJvCzmpxofN14L-nC5E_-z3kx49zd_AzuSUxWk8ljX2Y43GWPUeY2dEZm2aS1eIGti8evNhytQ/s1600/spafood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOlOoF8kmroo9TYp-7awC4s0ky8FwWrZ63nhqHNN8fQ5wwxOtut7Mmd30NTdnY4qGg0kJvCzmpxofN14L-nC5E_-z3kx49zd_AzuSUxWk8ljX2Y43GWPUeY2dEZm2aS1eIGti8evNhytQ/s320/spafood.jpg" width="315" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It looks suspect, but it was actually really good! Enough for 4 people to share.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We stayed at the spa for 6 hours and I didn't even notice the time fly by. Completely the opposite of <a href="http://prettynoire.com/2013/11/my-day-in-prison.html" target="_blank">My Day In Prison</a>! <span id="goog_845431897"></span><span id="goog_845431898"></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a>I meditated in the amethyst room, took a nap in the quiet room, made friends with a nice black lady around my mom's age while I was in the hot jacuzzi and accidentally rubbed naked bodies with Amanda in the steam room. To answer your questions before you ask them:<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">1. </span></span>Yes it is weird hanging out with random naked women and even more so your neighbor.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">2. </span></span>Does Amanda have nice boobs? Nicer than I imagined.
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">3. </span></span>Will I go to the spa again? Most definitely and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">you can go too! </span></span>Right now, for the next couple of days LivingSocial is having a deal on the King Spa! Check it out <a href="http://t.livingsocial.com/deals/904742?ctr=2&ref=share-deal_pur_proc_email-copy_box-web-deals&rpi=141904517&rui=7414380" target="_blank">HERE</a>! You too can experience exotic foods and mingling with random naked people (but not simultaneously, thats gross). </div>
Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-78242952011954260132013-11-27T16:12:00.001-05:002013-11-27T16:51:21.770-05:00My Day in PrisonI've returned to my blog after many moons, ready to regale you with unique stories of my life! Don't call it a comeback! Okay okay, you can call it a comeback, but allow me to reintroduce myself:<br />
<br />
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I’ve been doing some soul-searching since my last blog post
in April. Basically I’ve done some traveling for work, going to strip clubs,
taking Hula hoop classes, accidentally funding the "street pharmacist" in my
neighborhood and raising a rambunctiously hungry and moody bunny rabbit. I've got a huge curly afro now, so there's that. Blog
posts on all of that coming soon! </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-3BlxBra9YQOvGZZw_K_JOAhasi7m_2TMFIc7AkKlCBiZVOhGYOEaTANB9d7ML3ksqaMxAMEiUK5Bnk-1oyYiFcAPNmsX-x0iShpe6WsYR9g0ez8WxExGG_TbmmFA4za46S0bfDdmh3w/s1600/bunny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-3BlxBra9YQOvGZZw_K_JOAhasi7m_2TMFIc7AkKlCBiZVOhGYOEaTANB9d7ML3ksqaMxAMEiUK5Bnk-1oyYiFcAPNmsX-x0iShpe6WsYR9g0ez8WxExGG_TbmmFA4za46S0bfDdmh3w/s400/bunny.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bunjamin Bunny and his stuffed friend Snow Bunny</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Honestly I’ve just been lazy and not blogging like I should
be. A new friend of mine stumbled upon my blog and told me I should continue
writing. So on this bone chillingly cold Thanksgiving eve, while I’m
being held hostage for what feels like the last 72 hours in the dingy tiled, bare
walled PepBoys <s>waisting</s> waiting room, I dusted off the old keyboard and
here we are.</div>
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Yesterday I called up PepBoys and made an appointment for my poor little VW Passat to get
looked at. They told me that without an appointment it would be about a 3-hour wait
if I just walked in. What is this,
the line to buy Uggs on <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">Black Friday </span></span>? </div>
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To make the most of my time I got here at
the crack of dawn, even before the panhandlers start asking for change at the
train stops. As a result my hair is wrapped in a satin scarf and tucked under a
wool hat. Trés seductive like a sexy, less racist version of Aunt Jemima. Minus the pancakes of course as it was too damn early to cook anything. </div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX9086sb03CWhJC74y59240sDbcRwKKJ3EtdflFUYUC7wD7oYMyRfL1FMmJ-zCc9vqbV44GJ7WwLjcyrar8k5XX24zYgGcwIA0JVPEX53IBlsiB_EVa9ZUSThQDQ4QoKleZ3YMrbv2qbg/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX9086sb03CWhJC74y59240sDbcRwKKJ3EtdflFUYUC7wD7oYMyRfL1FMmJ-zCc9vqbV44GJ7WwLjcyrar8k5XX24zYgGcwIA0JVPEX53IBlsiB_EVa9ZUSThQDQ4QoKleZ3YMrbv2qbg/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></div>
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I’ve also got on mixed matched MENS gloves and I’ve
had to use the bathroom since I got here. For some odd reason they don’t have
bathrooms available for non-employees. Am I supposed to pee inside the germ
infested kiddie toy box in the corner of the room with everyone watching? I
didn’t realize going to PepBoys was like going to prison. After 3 hours I'm like "Fuck it!" Can I use
the bathroom if I fill out an application? </div>
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High above the recommended line of eyesight, loosely
tethered on the paint chipped wall is a microscopic 19 inch TV. </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-bottom: 6px; padding-left: 6px; padding-right: 6px; padding-top: 6px; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzmEY_vj0cEnIsb9mef87uLlhWxwc2IGIs3_QPb2KaGXz87G-nyk7BQOPJ6qgBBlMDD-Escb8QYDE5JOAkQlOW2Ee7RpJkg43WbSLn_wJYkI6irrR7-tjE6clhyKZSvD6EFt68XOi7L6Y/s1600/tv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzmEY_vj0cEnIsb9mef87uLlhWxwc2IGIs3_QPb2KaGXz87G-nyk7BQOPJ6qgBBlMDD-Escb8QYDE5JOAkQlOW2Ee7RpJkg43WbSLn_wJYkI6irrR7-tjE6clhyKZSvD6EFt68XOi7L6Y/s400/tv.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">Why is the TV on the ceiling?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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No, I’m not an elitist
with a 55” flat screen at home, but I DO wear glasses. Mostly for watching TV, night driving and zombie shuffling to the kitchen in the middle of the night to get either a spoonful of ice cream or a pump of whipped cream straight from the can and into my mouth. Why dirty a spoon when you don’t have to? But this TV situation is ridiculous. I really don’t think it’s fair that I should be in need of an exorcism just to watch television while my car is being serviced.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ixALnIH0OXGb4BGl800FRzVG3uQNxGg-FKeVDlQDBCtsM6OQZ616BO82cKTmvJbCqEj6iSsWNxOizqou6AI1b6aOLmH_XyjBlpYz1aR6lcgKAbhU6VgFr-KF_HULwVfElLdxyVDeKKc/s1600/exorcismholywaterunpure.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ixALnIH0OXGb4BGl800FRzVG3uQNxGg-FKeVDlQDBCtsM6OQZ616BO82cKTmvJbCqEj6iSsWNxOizqou6AI1b6aOLmH_XyjBlpYz1aR6lcgKAbhU6VgFr-KF_HULwVfElLdxyVDeKKc/s400/exorcismholywaterunpure.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
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If you choose to crane your neck 180° the holding cell shows Wendy Williams episodes on repeat. My
guess as to why we’re being subjected to this brand of torture is:</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">1</span></span> They are trying to brainwash us for some top
secret government project.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting'; font-size: 21px;">2</span> They want us to lose all since of time.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">3 </span></span>When they give us the bad news about how many<s>
hundreds</s> millions of dollars it going to cost to fix the car, we’re happy
to pay anything just to get out of here.</div>
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After a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">6</span></span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">HOUR WAIT</span> a lady who arrived the same time as I did this morning, literally broke down and started crying because she had been here so long. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">And I thought my periods were bad?! </span> </div>
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About 30 minutes later the father of two children playing in the off smelling kiddie toy box started throwing toys at each other. When he said, "That's it, it's time to go," I looked up at him with a false sense of hope in my eyes. You can't be mad at the kids. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">Prison has a tendency to bring out the worst in people.</span></div>
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Finally my name is called over the loud speakers after a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">7 HOUR WAIT</span>. I could have gone to buy Uggs <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">and </span>gotten Starbucks in that amount of time yet I'm moments away
from getting the news on my 13 year old V-dub. Is she going to be okay? Are
they going to recommend I put her to sleep? We’ve had some good times, ole’
V-Dub and I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuOvRxilvPyrH5-8i7dRMbbPlp5bSIIsi5sQnRebkiULRyVxm12l3BTU9Flfi9J2SOOOdmna9RwZSgMlM8N2jJkX_KAEcxZqo5UlQYFFbluKZJVjnTMOKQ0yjCp5Eu0xSYRzeLUxIIi28/s1600/uggs.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuOvRxilvPyrH5-8i7dRMbbPlp5bSIIsi5sQnRebkiULRyVxm12l3BTU9Flfi9J2SOOOdmna9RwZSgMlM8N2jJkX_KAEcxZqo5UlQYFFbluKZJVjnTMOKQ0yjCp5Eu0xSYRzeLUxIIi28/s320/uggs.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Even though she
is slow to wake in the mornings, has parts that creak and isn’t as young as she
used to be, she still looks good for her age. It’s true what they say: black
don’t crack. Unless of course you forget to oil the leather seats: learned that
the hard way.</div>
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Obviously I’ve been at PrisonBoys so long that I’m relieved to
hear my name called, but if you think about it, can you really recall a time
when having your name called over a loud speaker has resulted in something
good? A visit to the principle’s office. A visit to the doctor’s office. Mall
security when you got separated from your mom in Lane Bryant that one time… And
I’ve never gotten my name called on <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><u>The Price is Right</u></span> so I’m bitter
about that too.</div>
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After <s>pleading</s> speaking with the cashier it looks
like I can either have heat in my car this winter or I can eat dinner
indefinitely. While rubbing my neck, desperately trying to work the kinks out
from watching <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><u>The Wendy Show</u></span>, I think about it for a second. Life is all
about choices and what it comes down to is do I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">need</i> dinner or do I need heat? Dinner is subjective anyway and I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">have</i> been trying to lose weight.</div>
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But that’s why God created <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">influenza.</span></div>
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And while heat would be nice when it’s 12° in Chicago, with
a windshield of -141°, God also created blankets and summer time for when you
don’t have heat in your car. I’d also have some extra cash to spend on gourmet
whipped crème for nighttime treks to the refrigerator. Anyway, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d55cad; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">Happy Holidays</span>!</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-15360632831418695862013-04-03T12:15:00.000-04:002013-04-10T12:48:22.166-04:00I See You<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">If you keep up with me on <a href="http://instagram.com/prettynoire" target="_blank">Instagram</a> you might have seen that I've started the fashion portion of my blog! (Look to the right hand side of my blog for the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">Instagram</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"> feed). I've also posted some pics of me rocking some new frames on there as well. A little while ago I was lucky
enough to be invited to try out a pair of glasses from Firmoo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <a href="http://www.firmoo.com/" target="_blank">Firmoo</a> </span>is an online eyeglasses store
that has everything from computer glasses to sunglasses. You can even try
out your <a href="http://www.firmoo.com/free-glasses.html" target="_blank">FIRST PAIR FOR FREE!</a> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.firmoo.com/free-glasses.html" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY7hJS0lI_1mgnSFs2hu2E5fOIiZGJVkAtXLfRTciJ9tWW-VNc5F_fAaipKzA9tXejp8SSRGtctqLJPcwBO33Giy3hIoVkLWq2EuGzH1lNCcNsgaaTQUdMdrprY81HnaipQAqTPp70aCo/s1600/firmoo.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Click to get your free pair + S&H</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">What I love about Firmoo</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;"> </span> </span></div>
</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">* </span></span>They have a large selection of frames in different colors
and for different face shapes. You can upload your photo to their site and see
what the glasses will look like before you actually purchase them! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">* </span>The glasses
didn’t take a long time to come in the mail! I do a lot of online shopping and hate when my items take a long time to get to me. I ordered my prescription glasses and they shipped
out pretty quickly.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting'; font-size: small;">* </span>They come with a cute black eyeglasses case, a cleaning cloth
and some extra screws and what have yous just in case you need them! Nobody
wants to trek to the store to buy eyeglasses screws but these frames are such
high quality that you will probably never need to make any adjustments!</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3HtcF3XnIKywLcUcKw0MUApEBLnTxcf5OVj8MmGGnu0WVRWG42YjAonMjh8eOq6vNYfvc8w6yEMcjPhytkvXHSLbW3Ksr0d13H14Qtym7IEAiiRM4wueIJlutbwjyltut6_06k_TWlXo/s1600/glasses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3HtcF3XnIKywLcUcKw0MUApEBLnTxcf5OVj8MmGGnu0WVRWG42YjAonMjh8eOq6vNYfvc8w6yEMcjPhytkvXHSLbW3Ksr0d13H14Qtym7IEAiiRM4wueIJlutbwjyltut6_06k_TWlXo/s400/glasses.jpg" width="300" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7vGIk7VxeIvX0W48yjaNXUyW9ZNJBe_v_-yMLueMEV7pGIOpjKxNTVvp1K5XdlxbxVLF4rH6UrSYj5KAaBfLQCg-GMyEBXNstehhc0Blp-FWpjEjB2l7topgEzSkAluk1679NTU9vZVg/s1600/glasses2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7vGIk7VxeIvX0W48yjaNXUyW9ZNJBe_v_-yMLueMEV7pGIOpjKxNTVvp1K5XdlxbxVLF4rH6UrSYj5KAaBfLQCg-GMyEBXNstehhc0Blp-FWpjEjB2l7topgEzSkAluk1679NTU9vZVg/s400/glasses2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting'; font-size: small;">* </span>They are extremely affordable! You can get a pair for less than $40 (prescription included!). I actually wear prescription
glasses for (driving, watching tv/movies and seeing in the dark since I have
terrible night vision lol!) and have to go to the eye doctor twice a year. I
just sent Firmoo my prescription and they did all the hard work.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjQh0PtlLvOX7fm8jyL_X2Jf5E5Sz29hURvdz-O8guvFgVl1tkKShr0ar-JkU0wtXeiMMerSmudHrTIbzqcCAvLQRz90UyyNVLXp48LSCpYS4dHTIFiTBUsNJXMFE72PEmr4zLr0MMDXc/s1600/glasses4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjQh0PtlLvOX7fm8jyL_X2Jf5E5Sz29hURvdz-O8guvFgVl1tkKShr0ar-JkU0wtXeiMMerSmudHrTIbzqcCAvLQRz90UyyNVLXp48LSCpYS4dHTIFiTBUsNJXMFE72PEmr4zLr0MMDXc/s400/glasses4.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Now I can pull off the geek, hipster or teacher looks
flawlessly. I will definitely be ordering my summer pair prescription glasses from Firmoo.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">GO</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;"> </span>GET<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;"> A </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">PAIR!</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFrHw9CrfPjT-oOu_0rMH21eqLUo4S4nv3jGTw3QcDGul02Z4qAaimta_l4ZOwcjKYuLt50omP5W5iTtXIIl81QPiYIyuUYAANFjnn8VYj4ukLiOUx7DB1DMSPsHaJ84m9YWs8bt0Xn9o/s1600/PhotoGrid_1365598561163.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFrHw9CrfPjT-oOu_0rMH21eqLUo4S4nv3jGTw3QcDGul02Z4qAaimta_l4ZOwcjKYuLt50omP5W5iTtXIIl81QPiYIyuUYAANFjnn8VYj4ukLiOUx7DB1DMSPsHaJ84m9YWs8bt0Xn9o/s400/PhotoGrid_1365598561163.png" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></div>
</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-45725311091636815862013-04-01T01:37:00.001-04:002014-04-17T17:23:24.037-04:00Ain't Nobody Got Time For That<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Have you ever seen the Instant Breakfast Drink
commercial where Holly Robinson Peete is all like, “With so much going on it's
essential I give my kids a nutritional breakfast”?<br />
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">Bitch Please</span>.</span></b> Now I don’t have children and I didn’t even
grow up eating the type of full breakfasts that you see in tv commercials, but
giving your kids a chocolate milkshake that has 7 teaspoons of sugar in it
can’t be all that good for them</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKkoIe1-Sq8zDpqoUGT5jnLFyaLHQS_8kz7P4D9FkWTyUgEMA3BD4PNmci-b0PfunS6lnHXniwMjw-YPSG5YPgDZElxa15sgvcj4Ruy2ZeF9BPlGreTtKv94RXElY-baOT3oh9_Nc-h9M/s1600/tumblr_lt7f7nsWnN1qe11lio1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKkoIe1-Sq8zDpqoUGT5jnLFyaLHQS_8kz7P4D9FkWTyUgEMA3BD4PNmci-b0PfunS6lnHXniwMjw-YPSG5YPgDZElxa15sgvcj4Ruy2ZeF9BPlGreTtKv94RXElY-baOT3oh9_Nc-h9M/s400/tumblr_lt7f7nsWnN1qe11lio1_500.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who is eating all this food when they wake up? I would definitely have the itis*!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
If you're going to feed your kids pure sugar in the form of morning milkshakes then teachers should be able to carry tranquilizer darts with them. That way when the sugar takes over the childrens' bodies and things get out of control the
teachers can shoot a quick dart to the neck of the offending child and resume the lesson plan.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A lot of people think they are being healthy by choosing items
that are lite and low fat or because Holly Robinson Peete said to drink it. They don’t really
know what’s good for them. <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">But who's fault is that?</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of my good friends from high school and I were talking
about the obesity epidemic the other day and she believes it’s the government’s
[FDA] duty to make sure companies aren’t taking advantage of consumers. Large
companies shouldn’t be able to tell you that a chicken is organic, but secretly
feed the chickens inorganic corn meal, old parts of birds that were in chicken
fights and jelly beans. We should be able to go to the store and pick up a box
or a bag of whatever our heart desires and know that what we are buying, is
what we are really getting. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNcLqRSr4Jgkd2msDQ6V4dU_jxmqeQJMCnRV4XxNzHYoV8X_ZmkgvXAheQfizijf0guG9V_JABuNmqRcKbxQyrikxfGQX29ubdcKQdKvCQcllHpcVSPZzLgKFcgMUv7N3dN2yPNf_J1GE/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNcLqRSr4Jgkd2msDQ6V4dU_jxmqeQJMCnRV4XxNzHYoV8X_ZmkgvXAheQfizijf0guG9V_JABuNmqRcKbxQyrikxfGQX29ubdcKQdKvCQcllHpcVSPZzLgKFcgMUv7N3dN2yPNf_J1GE/s400/Unknown.jpeg" height="267" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Amount of sugar in one serving of Carnation's Breakfast Chocolate Shake</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And while I agree that companies should disclose all the
facts about their products, I just don’t think it’s realistic to believe that a
multi-million dollar company would choose honesty and straightfowardness over
their bottom line. Marketing phrases like "<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">No added sugar</span></b>" and "<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">No Trans Fat</span></b>" are
supposed to make you think it’s okay to eat <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">Fishy McBites</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We live in a fast paced world where we want what we want, when
we want it. I don’t want to wait until next week for GI Joe Redemption to come
out in theaters. Ain’t nobody got time for that! I’ve got to download it from bit torrent and watch it <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">NOW</span>! People want the same thing with their food. They don't want to take the time to research what they should and shouldn't be eating. They just want to eat it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCahmZ99PVnpO3rP35o9UNAMS5ZUSm5xlnlnSaHToAUcc3oS41FuVND9vwnnPanpc5wiNBpD8DTye7sHEj_UDqh3fi_SjNBNvqehz8dlOBMj7pfFJI6d8ItEXvA41b4DDIo94y6-gCIw/s1600/Aint-Nobody-Got-Time-for-That.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCahmZ99PVnpO3rP35o9UNAMS5ZUSm5xlnlnSaHToAUcc3oS41FuVND9vwnnPanpc5wiNBpD8DTye7sHEj_UDqh3fi_SjNBNvqehz8dlOBMj7pfFJI6d8ItEXvA41b4DDIo94y6-gCIw/s400/Aint-Nobody-Got-Time-for-That.gif" height="223" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I mean, would you enjoy getting dolled up, hanging out at a bar with friends and flirting with men to find a sugar
daddy to pay off your college loans? <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">YES</span>! Who wouldn’t? But if you’re really
serious about your health then you should reschedule that appointment to get your
mustache waxed, hop on the computer and find how natural your Trader Joe’s
peanut butter really is.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is no reason why a middle/upper class person of
generation X or generation YOLO should not take responsibility for what they
put in their mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can only
make the best choice based on the facts that you are given, but if you don’t
even do the research to begin with that’s your mistake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">And you know what?</span> I love those Ikea Swedish meatballs, but in Europe,
trace amounts of horse meat has been found in them. Would I eat Ikea Swedish
meatballs on a normal trip to Ikea in America? <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">You better believe it. </span>Would I eat them in Europe after I took the time to go online and see how much sodium is in a serving of those yummy meatballs and stumbled upon this horse meat nonsense? <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">Possibly</span> if they were all out of chicken strips. But at least I did the
leg work and know what I'm biting into: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">More Protein</span>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJzVwM6viqv5MqahImSKU_qnSIyrvEE507rUuKU5zwRfSX3EOaQSGPOrWGxlsg6q9jHRTlCqUuXs_0L-b3qcVfn8IeQfmF1NjBFvindxwo4hBGIo7BvVa5GefhRizLIfxsKEVyD5nxw4U/s1600/2576296074_f979b91cdd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJzVwM6viqv5MqahImSKU_qnSIyrvEE507rUuKU5zwRfSX3EOaQSGPOrWGxlsg6q9jHRTlCqUuXs_0L-b3qcVfn8IeQfmF1NjBFvindxwo4hBGIo7BvVa5GefhRizLIfxsKEVyD5nxw4U/s320/2576296074_f979b91cdd.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What I would like to eat for breakfast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEUrMvkUG2Ndr9vQRKWISqpcCWZ_4RN6Oaadq9qH8U54pdtsRMBYruGu7YEeOQTiKeexmr3pdS7D1-NKQ1nzf83tIf05v-XR3jVIiJTl0E3dOqQ4gGMuH6R4z8LUokV_n06n029v-cZ-8/s1600/tumblr_mitz6x1Vl21rug9lho1_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEUrMvkUG2Ndr9vQRKWISqpcCWZ_4RN6Oaadq9qH8U54pdtsRMBYruGu7YEeOQTiKeexmr3pdS7D1-NKQ1nzf83tIf05v-XR3jVIiJTl0E3dOqQ4gGMuH6R4z8LUokV_n06n029v-cZ-8/s320/tumblr_mitz6x1Vl21rug9lho1_1280.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What I grew up eating for breakfast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
*The Itis is when you eat a (could be large) meal and your get extremely tired/lazy/lethargic afterwards.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-18471581329495470532013-03-18T13:03:00.001-04:002013-03-18T15:41:24.983-04:00Dates On A Plane<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s always been a <s>fantasy</s> life goal of mine to meet
a handsome stranger on a plane. Over the past year I’ve been flying more (for
work mainly but a little for pleasure) and this weekend on work trip to Denver
it finally happened.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By the way, there is free wifi at Denver International
Airport! Usually airports try to charge you at least $7 to connect for an hour
so. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">Money Grab! </span>So I was taking this opportunity to check my emails and do some tweeting while waiting for the plane to board. Eventually someone sat down in the empty seat next to me. I didn’t
really pay any attention until this sexy masculine scented cologne started wafting
my way.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For any guys who may be reading this, just in case you
didn’t know, a good smelling man will make a woman want to rub her boobies all
over you. At least it makes me feel that way.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghDtBZIuaHhgEGokTZi45vu2iARUtzcmUlZAMZ3qaVRJFv1GMP7BAnszq1iSgMzCezMhlm0-Bqxy-zXIvTOqW0nuFe-6NnNTkn8G_cFTaYzqNaEg5eV4XkzbyDx1NvIJidx_ItrRHn60s/s1600/ngnaughty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghDtBZIuaHhgEGokTZi45vu2iARUtzcmUlZAMZ3qaVRJFv1GMP7BAnszq1iSgMzCezMhlm0-Bqxy-zXIvTOqW0nuFe-6NnNTkn8G_cFTaYzqNaEg5eV4XkzbyDx1NvIJidx_ItrRHn60s/s640/ngnaughty.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Axe body spray isn't the best scent for men out there, but it's better than nothing</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then, out the corner of my eye I see him. Sitting next
to me is the man of my dreams. In awe of the amount of sexiness in my presence
I immediately stop typing, grab my bottled water off the floor and accidentally
spill it on myself. Smooth? Not at all. A great conversation starter? <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">HELL</span> yes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As we board the plane we chat about my lifelong battle with
clumsiness, which leads to the getting to know you question and answer session.
This guy, (referred to as Mr. Smile from now on) has an amazing white toothy
smile, like something out of a crest commercial. I struggle reminding myself
not to stare intently at his mouth. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Southwest Airlines has a punch-someone-in-the-face-and-knock-over-a-baby-stroller-to-sit-anywhere-you-can policy so Mr.
Smile and I sit down next to each other. He puts my bags in the overhead bins for me and asks if I would rather have the window or the aisle seat. What a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">gentleman</span>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After we reach 10,000 ft. I pull out my tablet (that I
rooted myself) and we talk nerdy tech stuff for a bit. Sadly I discover that
I’ve lost my headphones, but Mr. Smile offers to share the left side of his earphones
with me under the condition that we watch a decent movie together. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the flight attendant comes over to ask what we’d like
to drink she says what a cute couple we make. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mr. Smile shoots me a glance and replies, “You know we met
for the first time on a Southwest flight. We’re on our honeymoon now. Headed to
Chicago and then to <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">Paris</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Clutching her heart shaped Southwest pin she sighed. I’ll be
right back.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJgsQv3B8eM5ZoORQjTzI7u2wEEWGCVbmG7KvRcuOPhU9y4i-sI9Xdp73gekmseokeUZwIQ19fKkaa8gzvVMeVFBTVryD_IPU8DxL8Rq5Jc61R7QBfYS83UBhqiK950kTbIBl0iKn33y4/s1600/sw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJgsQv3B8eM5ZoORQjTzI7u2wEEWGCVbmG7KvRcuOPhU9y4i-sI9Xdp73gekmseokeUZwIQ19fKkaa8gzvVMeVFBTVryD_IPU8DxL8Rq5Jc61R7QBfYS83UBhqiK950kTbIBl0iKn33y4/s320/sw.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She brings us complimentary chardonnay (guess it’s the
closest thing they had to champagne). Over the intercom system the captain
congratulates the newlyweds in seats 18A and 18B and the guests on the plane
all start clapping. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am happily <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">mortified</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mr. Smile leans towards me, his sexy man scent filling my
lungs and lightly kisses me on the lips. I try to catch my breath as I almost melt out of my seat. And then suddenly
the plane gives a rough jolt that throws me forward sending my stomach into my throat and my heart into afib. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wake up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is nobody sitting next to me. The flight attendant is
telling everyone to remain seated as we coast to a stop and that we may now use
our cell phones. Thank you for flying Southwest and welcome to Chicago.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was all <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting';">dream</span> </div>
<!--EndFragment-->Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1661096398229108172.post-86065441400174903292013-03-04T05:01:00.001-05:002013-03-04T09:34:23.666-05:00OK CupidThe other night, over fried chicken and watermelon (j/k we were totally eating fois gras) one of my close friends and I were discussing this guy Blake that she had went out with on a couple of dates. They had met on an online dating site. He was really cute and very nice, but he was dumb as rocks. She just could not continue to see him.<br />
<br />
Honestly I don't really see much of a problem with dating a dumb dude as long as they are cute. For example take Derrick Rose. Have you ever heard him speak? In most of his commercials his lines are kept to a minimum and I'm sure that's for the viewers benefit. He sounds slow. Not mentally handicapped slow, but simple multiplication slow.<br />
<br />
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<br />
I'm not a dating elitist. I don't think you need a Masters Degree, Nobel peace prize and a Grammy award to be datable. Of course it doesn't hurt that D. Rose is worth millions. But if you can't hold an intellectually stimulating conversation just be handsome and mysterious. It's sexy.<br />
<br />
Basically my friend told me that I don't know what it's like out there in the dating world. Apparently its really hard to find someone. Maybe she has a point. I did get rejected by that cashier at <a href="http://www.prettynoire.com/2013/01/deux-degrees-of-separation.html" target="_blank">Marshalls</a>.<br />
<br />
I'm not lucky enough (or unlucky if you're one of those glass half empty people) to have fallen in love and married my high school sweetheart. I didn't even have a high school sweetheart. The guy I went to the prom with ended up being bisexual (aka homosexual). Plus, once you leave school it's really hard to meet someone.<br />
<br />
After college I had a period of 'dating myself time'. Basically nobody at work was suitable to
date (read: attractive, funny or single) and I started to panic.
Where am I going to meet someone? <br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ff0080;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">*UN-DATABLES </span></b></span></span><br />
T-pain might have been in love with a stripper, but personally I don't date guys I meet at clubs or public service workers which include:<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ff0080;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"><b>Police Officers</b></span></span> - They all look the same and have that "po'po look". Plus I don't need anyone judging me for wearing a shirt once and then returning it back to the store. That is semi-legal.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ff0080;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"><b>Military</b></span></span> - No offense but they seem a little brainwashed. You have to be conditioned to make it in the military and all that discipline would drive me nuts. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ff0080;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"><b>Fireman</b></span></span>
- They are nice to look at, but I don't touch. Basically I don't want
my boyfriend's face to get burned off. Is that selfish? I don't think so. </div>
<br />
And I would rather
not date <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ff0080;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"><b>actors</b></span></span>. You never really know what you are getting with them. Are they
really into me or are they just doing research for a part where a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ff0080;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"><b>~fill in the blank~ </b></span></span>Bank Robber/Ex Convict/White guy dates a black girl? Most of the guys I've met that are in the
acting business are either self centered, fake or insecure, if not all 3. The combination
of auditioning, rejection and sometimes unwarranted praise can F a
person up. Of course my aversion to dating people in these professions can go out the window if you have a nice smile and even nicer biceps.<br />
<br />
On
the other hand I love <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ff0080;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"><b>creative types</b></span></span>. If you can play a guitar
(especially with your toes), build a PC from scratch or take
amazing photos, I just might fall in love with you. Extra points if
you're into video production and/or you smell good.<br />
<br />
So after much deliberation my friend and I decided that I would conduct a little experiment. I would set up a profile online and see how easy (or hard) it is to find a normal, datable person. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ff0080;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>My Goals</b></span></span></span><br />
1.<strike> Set up an online dating profile</strike> Check!<br />
2. Find a friend<br />
3. Find a pen pal<br />
4. Find a date<br />
<br />
Please let me in on any advice, do's/don'ts, precautions to take etc. Do you have any interesting/funny/horrific/inspiring online dating stories? In the mean time, Wish me luck!<br />
<br />
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*And before anyone gets upset, I respect all of the aforementioned professions and know people/have friends who have made a career out of them.There is nothing wrong with their line of work and I'm not saying I wouldn't consider dating someone that pays their bills through those means. Through my own personal experiences I've found that people in those positions are not preferable to me. But to each their own.Joliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06056175745269256337noreply@blogger.com2