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SWF for younger or older SBM "Friday Nights" I'm a tall blonde woman, and I date interracially. Anytime I post on CL I get flagged for that fact. It's too bad that it's 2011 and people get flagged for an interracial ad, but that's Boston.
Anyway, if you want to know what I am looking for, please read the essay. If you are looking for that kind of thing too, please write. And put friday nights in the subject line so I know you arent a spammer. Thank you.

When I was a kid, I looked forward to Friday nights. It was Brady Bunch and Partridge Family night, with my brothers, watching a black and white TV upstairs my parents' bed. We'd usually have popcorn, up there in our own little world, and I loved it with all my heart. And on Friday nights my father would pull out the skillet on the only day he'd cook, other than on the grill in the summertime.
My father would always make "breakfast for dinner" on Fridays, which meant pancakes, or French toast and sausage. We loved breakfast for dinner. My dad cooked because my mom was busy getting my two littlest brothers to bed, and also marinating whatever it was that she was preparing for my father and her weekly "Friday Night Supper." My mother always made a romantic dinner for my dad on Fridays. Always.
With six kids, my mother was always cooking, and she used to say that she learned to cook different types of foods because when she was a child, her mother never varied the menu. My mom knew exactly what was for dinner, each day of the week her entire childhood. That motivated her to learn how to prepare Italian, Chinese, and French dinners. Now when I think back on the zillions of potatoes my mother peeled, and how we always had huge weeknight dinners of roast beef or ham or chicken, including two vegetables and a starch, I'm amazed at how she managed daily. But on Fridays, she always had Gourmet Magazine out on the counter when I got home from school, and she'd start the meal for my father, early in the day.
I would walk in the door Friday afternoon, and she'd hand off one of the baby brothers to me to change a diaper or make a bottle while I made myself cinnamon toast. My mom would then burst into chef mode, smoking a Virginia Slims, lining up all the ingredients. Immersed in the recipe, she would talk to herself, scouring through cabinets, hunting, then opening the fridge, pulling out the drawers, mumbling about recipe substitutions. It was the only thing creative that my mother allowed herself, other than a little interior decorating.
My brothers and I would scatter after our after-school snack, goofing on one another upstairs, or else we'd jump onto our bikes to ride to the playground until my father stood out in the driveway early evening, ringing a cowbell, our signal to gather back home. We'd walk inside to the smell of pancakes, and bound into the diner booth in our kitchen, jockeying for position, grabbing sausage with gusto. It was always so loud in our house, and now that it's deadly quiet in mine, I can still hear their voices and laughter ringing in my ears, if I'm still enough.
After dinner I'd do the dishes with my father, my mom still puttering, and bathing a baby afterwards in the kitchen sink. As soon as the two baby brothers were asleep, the four "big kids", (three of my brothers and I), would run up the red carpeted stairs, beating the hell out of one another en route, in order to grab the best seat on my parents' bed. I always got to lean against the headboard. I was the oldest, and The Enforcer.
I'd watch the Brady Bunch, always wishing I had long blonde hair like Jan Brady, the underdog, and I had a mad crush on Peter, but nothing like the case of the screaming thighs that I had for Donny Osmond ( but I digress). In between the Brady Bunch and Partridge Family, I'd go downstairs to make the popcorn in the air popper, melting butter on the stove, trying to listen to the low voices of my parents.
My mom always set the coffee table in the livingroom with candles on Friday nights, and the only other light was from the TV, where they would eat dinner sitting on a loveseat, watching a Red Sox, Bruins or Celtics game. They would talk about an especially obnoxious client of my father's, or how one of my brothers "talked back", or how they were going to fix the always leaking roof. But other times, they drew plans on napkins of additions and renovations they'd like to do, and laughed about jokes I couldnt decipher, and didnt really want to hear.
But I still remember the feeling I had when I'd look in the livingroom to see my parents enjoying a Gourmet Magazine meal, the love they had for one another in the midst of all the chaos in their lives. I always smiled inside, looking at them, and felt that feeling in my chest of happiness that only children feel: A certain safety, knowing you are grounded, and that everything was right in the world at that particular moment.
And now, I know how brave my father must be to visit my mother, especially on a Friday in the nursing home, and he never ever misses. I'm ashamed that I dont have that courage. I want her to go home, and hear her laughing in that kitchen, smiling at my father like she used to. I cant go to my father's house without crying. I just cant. The Friday nights lurk there, in echoes and shadows in every corner.
Tonight, as I make my mother's famous gourmet phyllo dough pizza, for only me, I realize again how blessed are the couples who find one another, and cherish each other, through good times and in bad. Because there must be no greater love on Earth as between two soulmates, sharing baked stuffed shrimp and a cold beer, watching the Celtics with future plans written on a paper napkin, sitting on a loveseat, smiling at one another forever in the dark.

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My idea, meet someone worthy of a good time :) I work in the loop so if you do too, then even better. Not looking for blondes woman wants sex tonight single online dating anything serious, not looking to play games but not going to hook up with a stranger...maybe meet up for lunch?
Please be over 30 and under 40, shaved head=hot, be taller than me (5'6)...I know, I know :)

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LOOKING FOR...richard r..... w4m I am looking for richard r....he use to live in antioch and now lives in slo. We use to see eachother, and I lost his email....
He works as a security guard and is about 52 yrs old...
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He has a truck and rides his harley often.
He has a brother and a couple of sisters. If you know him please tell him to contact stacy...he will know EXACTLY who I am
THANK YOU

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