A cup of Con fefe every morning?

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We start each morning with a “Hiya, sun!”

That’s our abbreviated   Sun Salute.

A colorful fruit plate is our traditional weekday breakfast. Never the same -each day is a mealnge of seasonal sweet fruits. We toss in a few mini-berry muffins or hardboiled eggs. Voila!

Our stove top has special copper pot where each day we brew an addictive, floral concoction my granddad, Con, named Con Fefe – a name our family and friends have all used for decades.

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We were tickled to learn #45 had copied our recipe.

Revelation

She said he was Boorish with no Polish. Half right.

Cynthia fell for the much older, wealthy man with the Maserati, condo on Nob Hill, house in Tahoe and a “place” in the desert.

It took two months of razzle-dazzle dates: jaunts to the Napa for lunch at Auberge du Soleil and wine tastings, dinner at the notoriously expensive Season, a weekend at the “Desert House” (a luxurious five-bedroom manse with a stunning kitchen bigger than her condo with a walk-in refrigerator; pool; orchid forest, etc) before she really “got” him.

Beguiled by his wealth, “toys,” trips and small, but expensiv trinkets from Tiffany’s, she eventually woke up. 

Harold said he had accumulated a great deal of wealth first in the liquor business, then in real estate, and as a result of some very “shrewd” investments.

Google the Guy

Cynthia’s very best friend, Patsi, was impressed by the enormous wealth of this  guy and was delighted to see her friend swept off her feet, enjoying such a romantic tryst with a real tycoon.

Curiosity prompted her to Google, Harold Cowle, the self-proclaimed multi-millionaire. Patsi the paralegal knew how to dig deep for details and what to her wondering eyes should appear – details indicating old Harold had kept some pretty risque company. A few of his pals were wearing orange jump suits at white-collar crime “joint.”

Actually, Harold was of Polish origin – his legal name was Kowalczyk of the infamous clan involved in Bernie Madoff type Ponzi schemes.

Based on these reports, Cynthia broke it off with Daddy Big Bucks and tells all her single girls friends to Google the Guy, every time.

The party is over.

 

 

Polish

Tip, Tipsy, or Tippler?

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Girls Make Passes at Cute Drinks in Pretty Glasses

The pretty pink drink with the sophisticated name was a Best-seller for a decade. Snooty bartenders loathed the concoction. And yet, scores of ladies kept asking for “The Cosmo.”

Sydney bragged that she “didn’t feel a thing” after quaffing three of the pretty cocktails. Buzzed and blurry she slurred the sentence – causing gales of laughter from the other tipplers at the table.

Flash forward, and the ladies who laugh had updated their Drink du jour to the ginger-laced Moscow Mule served in the pretty, shiny, copper mug. The takeaway with the Mule was the it really had “a kick” and a girl would be “rendered bi-lingual” after two of the potent drinks. Whoa!

It took awhile, as the girls explored the Wide and Wild Wonderful World of Cocktails. Finally, the girls realized sipping wine had a certain  je ne se quois ( bonus: few calories, cost less, and fewer slurred word conversations)

Cheers, girls!

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Slur

Loving Lee one day at a time?

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Lee was a rock ’em-sock ’em rhinestone cowboy. He was bold, brash and outgoing.

On our second date, there was no doubt about it, this guy was a big-time drinker. His drink du jour was a Moscow Mule and he consumed several in a very short period of time.

“Keep them coming,  honey” was his advice to the cocktail waitress.

Given my background dealing with alcoholics, I gently slipped away -indicating I had spent way too much time with people who drink too much. Next.

Flash forward three years,  and I run into my old friend, Lee. He was exuberant and thrilled to see me. He announced he had turned his life around and wanted to see me again. 

He was very proud of himself- he said he had cutback his drinking dramatically.

I agreed to have dinner at his house Saturday night. When I arrived, he was opening a large box on the kitchen counter. It contained two glasses. Glasses? Heck,  they were  really big goblets. No, the glasses were actually the size of small fishbowls.

He  proudly explained that his  doctor advised to cut back on his extensive cocktail hour and relegated him to one glass of wine, nightly.

Lee confided in me that he didn’t have a problem – just a challenge. 

Let’s just say that we had “The Last Supper.” I carefully walked down the 12 steps from his condo to the garage, letting go and moving on.hope

 

Lovingly

On your mark! Get set- start flirting!

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Happy New Year!

Now is the time for all good Singles to take a dive into the online dating pool.

New Year’s Day is the most popular Start Date for Singles of all ages to seize the day and the dating world.

Whether you are going to trawl around Plenty of Fish , or Try the 7-Day Free Trial at Match.com or any of the other dozens of Dating Sites:

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Word on the streets, for myriad reasons – tsunamis of singles decide to try online dating the first week of January every year. It is what we do. Join the Club!

Whether you feel Tinder or  you are a woman who want to be in control and want to Bumble around. Do it.

“Life is short – Break the Rules. Forgive quickly, kiss slowly. Love truly. Laugh uncontrollably and never regret anything that makes you smile.”

Mark Twain

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there is no time like Now

I dodged a bullet

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 He promised me…

That he would behave, be cordial, polite and refrain from saying anything offensive. 

I had suffered through far too many embarrassing situations where he, Mr. Bravado, bragged, boasted and was a show off.

It turns out, my friends told me they found him to be quite “entertaining.” I knew they were laughing at him behind his back. He usually picked up the tab- that’s what they liked about him.

On our first date, we waltzed around Nob Hill; dinner at the Stanford Court, Champagne and dancing at the Top of the Mark, nightcaps at the Fairmont. On our second date, he brought me a gift- a beautiful gold bracelet from Cartier. Rings and things and followed.

By the sixth date, I had decided to cut bait. Although he promised, his brash and bawdy behavior continued. Escaping from this egotist became a necessity.

 He wanted to dine at Season- one of San Francisco’s most expensive restaurants.                  I suggested we have a drink in the lobby bar at the St. Francis (with the long line of taxis waiting right outside.) It was siting in that public place, the Lobby Bar, over a glass of High Rock Ranch Sirah, that I returned the gifts to him and told him  that we were not meant to be. Mr. Bravado doesn’t take “no” for an answer.

It took 30-minutes for me to get away. When I returned home, flowers were waiting at my doorstep and a parade of phone messages followed. At first, his messages were sweet, they became more threatening. And finally, he stopped calling. 

I dodged a bullet.

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Promises