Monday, October 31, 2011
This is a cautionary tale…
The Fast and the Furious!
While I was perfecting my mountain climbing skills, the Breadman was also doing some climbing himself.
He was trying to climb his way into my heart very fast and very furiously.
A little too fast.
A little too furious.
So much so that instead of falling head over heels, I started seeing flags. And not the kinda of flags that indicates the start of a race. No this was the kinda of flag that screamed hit the brakes. A red flag!
But seriously what was wrong with me.
It was truly “love at first sight” with my sailor.
And never once with my sailor did it ever feel wrong or “off”.
So, why was I having these feelings with the Breadman?
It could happen again right?
But before I even started my mountain climbing excursions with the Breadman, he was on the fast track.
He would show up at my apartment with thoughtful “gifts”.
Things like “I noticed you were out of juice so I brought some with me.”
He would make me breakfast (in his undies I might add which was totally hot!).
I would come home and there would be flowers in my foyer.
Or get to work and there would be flowers waiting there for me.
And I know you are all thinking “Ahhhh!” “That’s so sweet!” “So romantic!”
And it was…
All so sweet!
All so wonderful!
All so romantic!
And it felt all “too good to be true”.
And it was too fast. This was happening at lightning speed.
After about 2 weeks the Breadman was professing his love for me.
But here is the thing…
Where it all felt wrong…
Where it all felt too pretty, too neat, too packaged, too wrapped up and too fast…
Even though it was love at first sight for me and my sailor. It was months and months before we said “I love you!” to each other.
I remember the 1st time my sailor let me know he loved me.
He didn’t tell me.
He circled it on a card and then pointed to me.
So this much I do know…I know that my sailor loved me so much that it was hard for him to say it. He didn’t just throw the words “I love you!” around. They were only used when he truly meant it.
But the Breadman…
The Breadman was waxing love within 2 weeks.
I think I tried to convince myself that it was going to happen again with the Breadman.
I tried to convince myself it was sincere. I wanted so desperately to be in love. In love the way I was with my sailor.
I allowed myself to “fall” for the Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing.
I pushed my fears aside. I fell for the disguise and then I got swept away.
Swept away by every “I love you!”
Swept away by every flower, every breakfast and every mountain climbing excursion.
So swept away that I couldn’t even tell that he was pulling the wool over my eyes.
And when the mask did finally get pulled off, I was in shock by what I saw.
There is a part of me that wants to end the post here. Leave you with another cliff hanger in the Tale of the Breadman.
But here’s the thing. The Breadman does NOT deserve anymore billing.
It will end here.
And so the story goes…
Remember this is a cautionary tale.
Beware of the Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing...
There were other things about the Breadman that should have given me a glimpse behind the disguise but I looked the other way…
You know that beautiful, thick brown hair that flips so perfectly to one side that I mentioned…
Yeah well that took him over an hour to achieve. I would be sitting, dressed, ready to go out and he would be in the bathroom blow drying his hair.
Now I know that Metro-Sexuals have hit the scene and I am a big fan of the guy that does proper maintenance.
BIG FAN (Really guys make sure you’re “maintaining”. I say a good trim from head to toe is always in order!).
But, no guy should take longer to get ready than you do.
So take caution: It shows that underneath it all there might be a little too much vanity and a little too much self absorption.
And also, I found out that the Breadman wasn’t divorced like he said he was. He was in the process of getting divorced.
It is very important to make sure that they are free and clear and have been for some time.
So take caution: Those that are still tangled up, well, they will get you caught in the web too. Divorce is messy and if it’s not yours you really shouldn’t be a part of it.
And after all the “I love you’s”…
When the Breadman and I were planning on moving in together, ironically is was around Halloween when his mask came off, I found out that I was not the only woman he was making these plans with.
The Breadman was truly a Wolf. He had another girlfriend. Maybe more than one. I do not know.
It amazes me how he pulled this off since we spent so much time together.
And it seemed to all correlate with when his divorce finally became final.
Because as soon as his divorce became final things started to change.
So take caution – When someone is so quick to say “I love you” it might be a sign that they don’t hold the same meaning to those words that you do.
And lastly, trust your instincts. My initial instincts were to hit the brakes. But I ignored all the red flags and sped ahead blindly.
It really is all too cliché and predictable.
I am sure there are many of you who have come across this Wolf.
They do share similar traits.
So, I will leave you with this cautionary tale and the warning signs.
Take heed and beware!
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Saturday, October 8, 2011
*For those of you that don’t want to know what it’s like to get down and dirty with the Breadman, I suggest you skip this post. There is a part of me that can’t believe that I am writing this but I am a girl that likes to tell the full story…from the big moments down to the smallest details. You’ve been warned.*
This is for the ladies…
There are a lot of myths out there regarding the anatomy of a man.
And all across the world there are women and their girlfriends giving validity or squashing these myths because women talk. They talk about everything.
I think that’s why a lot guys didn’t like Sex in the City. They didn’t want to admit that women tell all. The long and the short of it, right into the thick of it…Women tell all!
And we have all heard these myths and we can debunk most of them.
“You know what it means if a guy has big feet right?” Wink Wink!– Yeah it means they have big socks and big shoes. The size of a man’s foot has nothing to do with the size of their “et…et…hmmm’s”.
Definitely a myth.
Now the size of their hands is another story and I have a whole theory on that which I will share with you later.
“Black men are hung.” - Black men are like any other group of men. Some got it and some don’t. It might have something to do with the size of their hands.
“If he’s tall and skinny he has been blessed” – Myth busters (my fellow female friends and I) have determined that this one is mostly true but there are exceptions to every rule.
“It’s not the size of the boat but the motion of the ocean.” – Okay on this one I definitely have a theory…or should I say a “tell it like it is” breakdown.
Here it goes…
When you are dealing with a “manhood” that is bordering on the average (slightly larger, slightly smaller) than it is most certainly the motion of the ocean. Technique plays a big, big role but…
But…if you are dealing with a “manhood” that’s let’s just say is very short on the man and maybe a little too much on the hood…well, he can have all the technique in the world…he can go down til Christmas and sooner or later you gonna want him to come up “boom” in the “boom boom room” and he’s got nothing to “boom” with.
And…if you are dealing with a “manhood” that over-floweth with MAN!! He doesn’t need to know how to use it…you do.
Which bring me to another myth out there that was really bothering me and that was the Urban Myth that says that bodybuilders (due to excessive steroid use) have a “tiny manhood”.
And the Breadman was a bodybuilder. He no longer competed so he wasn’t adding any “extra assistance” when I met him and hadn’t for years but when he was competing he used to get a lot of extra assistance.
And the myth was not in his (or my) favor.
I even had a girlfriend give confirmation to the myth.
My girlfriend as soon as I told her my guy was a bodybuilder gave me that face …you know that “ohh…yikes…poor you” face…So I said: “What! What’s with the face?” and she said:
“You know what they say about bodybuilders…” and then she holds up her pinky in demonstration.
Of course I said: “That’s just a myth.”
And then she launches into this story about how she was dying to hook up with this guy who was a bodybuilder and he had the most perfect body. She finally started dating him and well when the time came for her to move in on the downtown area…well…and then she shook her head and held up her pinky again…
This can’t not be. I mean the Breadman was magnificent. There couldn’t be anything “small” about the Breadman.
Which brings me to the foot myth and the hand theory. We already know that foot size is a myth and does not in any way indicate what’s “packing” but here is my theory on hand size…I figure God is not going to give a man this teeny, tiny, little thing and these giant hands to jerk it off with and vice versa…a guy is not going to have this great big “manhood” and these teeny, tiny, little hands to do the deed with…
So in theory (once again there are always exceptions to the rule) the look, size and feel of a man’s hands matches their other appendage. If a guy has long skinny hands and fingers he probably has a long skinny you know what. If his hands are small…yikes…and so on…and so on…
The Breadman was a myth of epic proportions. Everything was bulging on him. He had the biggest and meatiest hands I’d ever seen. He was a mountain. A mountain of muscle. My mountain. My mountain that I wanted so desperately to climb.
But…ahhh… then that probably meant there had to be something wrong…right…isn’t that another myth…that if they got it going on in some places others areas would be lacking.
I had to push this myth out of my mind…because there was nothing more disappointing than getting to that moment…that moment of the great reveal and…whomp, whomp, whomp…let’s just leave it at DIS-A-PPOINTING.
And the Breadman and I were at that point. At the point of the great reveal. There was no turning back, I was going to be a myth buster whether I wanted to or not.
So, we are in his truck and things are getting very hot and heavy. The outer clothing caresses are now going to be permitted…
I gently brush my hand in the area…hmmm…no bulging.
I go in again…I’m having a hard time locating it…oh no!!
All I can picture in my head is my girlfriend holding up her pinky…IT CAN’T BE!!
And then the Breadman gently takes my hand in his giant, meaty hand and moves it to the left and…
Holy mother of…
Oh…my oh my…it was there and it was bulging…bulging all the way out the left side and up to his ribcage! His ribcage!!
From now on ladies if you want a secret signal to denote a man’s WELL “endowedness”, you can just tap your ribcage. We will make that the international symbol for Holy Crap!!
And all of the sudden I became a little leery of my mountain climbing expedition because right in the middle of the mountain was a giant tree that I was not so sure I was ready to climb.
I told you that the Breadman was a myth of epic proportions.
But there was that other myth…the myth that’s says that if they got it going on in some places others areas would be lacking…
For some reason at that moment and for some time to come after that, I really didn’t care. I had opted to let that myth fly…to hell with myths…I am no longer the myth buster!!
But what I was forgetting to consider was the age old adage…
“If it seems too good to be true…”
Sunday, October 2, 2011
As promised the Story of the Breadman…
It would start with a little flurry and a rush of excitement throughout the restaurant. Well, at least coming from the waitresses, hostesses and female bartenders because we all knew around what time the Breadman would get there.
I don’t think there was anyone in that restaurant that didn’t know when the Breadman was making a delivery. I’m pretty sure even the guys came out to get a glimpse of the Breadman.
Although they wouldn’t admit it. They would just give him that “knowing” head nod and say “What’s up man?”
But they were there to look too. Because, well let’s just say that the Breadman was a Wonder to see!!
This guy was beyond swoon worthy.
When he would walk in, he would have all of the girls blushing (and a few guys too).
Except for me, I would put on an air of being “unblushable”.
I wouldn’t rush to the kitchen to get a glimpse of his “hotness”.
I would wait until he would come out to the bar and ask me for a drink of some kind and then of course I would hand him his drink trying not to look up or catch his eye.
Being a little standoffish.
Because inside, I was swooning. I was blushing and giggling like a little school girl.
And trust me, anyone would swoon. It was impossible not to swoon.
And if I caught his eye, I knew I would blush.
So, as soon as he would walk away I would take a sip of water, put my hand on the bar like it was holding me up and make some kind of comment like:
“That is one mountain I would love to climb.”
And then I would blush!
But all of it out of the Breadman’s sight.
In front of him I was cool, calm and collected.
As soon as he walked away…weak in the knees.
He was hot!
I mean HOT!!
And he was a mountain.
A mountain I was dying to climb.
A giant mountain of hotness.
He looked like a Greek God.
He looked like the Greek God Atlas.
With all those bulging muscles holding up the world.
He had these large, brown puppy dog eyes and this beautiful thick dark hair that flipped perfectly over to one side.
And a Greek God really was exactly what the Breadman was…a myth.
He was a myth of epic proportions.
So, you took your moment, imagined, swooned, fantasized and then went on with your day.
Really, unless he was there making all the girls blush you really didn’t think about him again.
It wasn’t like I actually really thought that I could be with the Breadman.
He was a myth. An untouchable but oh so fun to fantasize about myth.
And anyway at this time I was still seeing Stockbroker boy. And I was all wrapped up in my city and in acting school.
Stockbroker boy if you remember was the 1st guy I dated after my sailor. And the boy that had me crying on my way home after the first time we were together.
It was with him that I think I learned the difference between sex and making love. If I had sex I wouldn't get hurt. And Stockbroker boy made it perfectly clear that we were “just dating” and we were not exclusive. That was something foreign to me at the time too. I had to learn it.
But don’t get me wrong, Stockbroker boy wasn’t mean, or “a player”. He was who he was and we had some “fun” times. Some actually really fun times. Times I might not have been able to open myself up to if it wasn’t for him being who he was.
And at this time, I still longed for my sailor so I guess we helped each other out.
But one thing was for certain, I was not entertaining any ideas of being with the Breadman. As far as I knew, he didn’t even know I existed until…
Until one very embarrassing day at the restaurant that in turn led to a date…
Now as I said we all knew when the Breadman made his deliveries. We all waited, watched and enjoyed.
So I was a little shocked when I walked into the kitchen one morning and he was standing there with the manager.
It was not delivery time.
I walked in the back to ask the manager a question and I’m pretty sure once I saw the Breadman my question came out like: “Hey, I was wntihe if hetgye hei seya?”
And then the manager turns around…
IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE KITCHEN (I might add)…
And says: “Michaela have you met [Insert Breadman’s real name here]. I thought you two might get along.”
And right on cue the whole kitchen (meaning all the cooks!!) start with the “ohhhs” and the “ooooohs’ and the “ahhhhs” and the “whooooos”.
BLUSH does not even begin to describe it.
And I went red faced back to my bar.
I am pretty sure that I told my manager and the kitchen staff that I was never speaking to any of them again.
But after a couple of days I was over it.
And vowed to not be around when the wonder of the Breadman made his next delivery.
And I wasn’t. And I went on with life as usually.
The following weekend had the distinct honor of being Super Bowl Sunday.
Now believe it or not Super Bowl Sunday is not a busy bar day. Most people have Super Bowl parties.
This was Super Bowl XXX.
And for those who need to a little background.
It was 1996 and the Pittsburgh Steelers were playing the Dallas Cowboys in Super Bowl XXX.
And for anyone who doesn’t know my crazy, football girl side. I am a HUGE Pittsburgh Steelers fan.
Yes, a big enough fan to have some Pittsburgh Steelers home decoration.
A big enough fan to dress in the appropriate Pittsburgh Steeler attire and a big enough fan to yell at the TV when they are winning or losing.
Big fan and I have been since the days of Mean Joe Green and Terry Bradshaw.
And my Steelers were playing their arch rivals the Dallas Cowboys in the Super Bowl XXX.
And I was bartending that day.
It didn’t really bother me to be bartending that day b/c I knew it would be slow and I would get to watch the game.
And slow it was.
I had no one at the bar and then my manager peeks his head into the bar and says: “You have a phone call.”
“Really? Who?” –
No one calls me at work. Ever.
And it was the Breadman!
I’m pretty sure I asked him several times to repeat who is was. I think I was actually confused at first.
But then he asked me if I would mind if he came in and watched the game with me.
Getting my bearings back I distinctly remember saying: “Are you a Cowboy fan?”
Now some of you might not understand the importance of that question but trust me a devoted Steeler Fan knows how important it is that any perspective date answers that question with a definite “NO!”…
And he did!
The Breadman said “No!”
He was not a Cowboy fan!
So I said “Yes. Come watch the game with me!”
I hung up the phone and screamed!
The cooks were like “There she goes…”
I am a vocal football watcher!
“I guess Pittsburgh is winning!”
No Pittsburgh was not winning but it certainly felt like I was.
Sadly my beloved Pittsburgh Steelers did not win the Super Bowl that year. They lost due to turn overs.
Football is a funny game. One minute you could be winning, you have the momentum and the next…boom…you turn the game over…
It is what makes the game exciting. It is what makes people get up out of their chairs and scream at the TV.
And it is what also makes a loss that more devastating.
Because one minute you’re winning…