The Co-Sign Theory

As I try to get to know men romantically late in life, I'm learning things about them that I didn't know earlier on. Although men are universally associated with strength, I am learning that, emotionally at least, they can't handle too much. I almost want to go as far as to say that they can't handle anything at all. Pix called me negative as I told him about my day in a good mood with a happy voice. Apparently, if something is not overtly positive and sunny, it is negative, and he can't bear to hear it. This sucks, because I was hoping he would be someone I could tell anything to. I thirst to have more male friends like this, but it doesn't look like it is in the cards. 

I told P about this, and, of course, he took Pix's side. P will take any side but mine, even if the other side is covered in spiders and quicksand. I told him about how, when discussing negativity allegations with my tight-knit circle of college Instagram sisters, they told me that men can not handle anything and to reserve difficult/political/thought-provoking conversation for my female friends. 

"I wouldn't take too much stock in that," P said. "Women just co-sign on whatever other women say, even if it's wrong or they feel differently."

The example that he used was actually the one I was thinking of when he said it. Big Homie Sans had listened to me complain about being lonely for nearly 20 years. And she was always pretty supportive and encouraging. Then one day, in response to a text I had sent her  (I was texting her to tell her to call me so I could let her know that I was official with the guy I had told her about), she sent me a text that had A LOT of hurtful things in it. The main thing that she said that hurt me terribly was that she didn't understand why a guy, particularly one that was fit, would want to date me because I am so fat. Why would he want to date a girl who could die? She called me and tried to walk it back, but it was already in the air. I began to wonder if she had always felt this way, even when she was assuring me that I would find someone at some point. 

God, I hope this is an isolated example. I would hate to learn that the women in my life that I love are just being co-signers and not real, honest friends. As someone who has been the victim of a surprise intervention (by people who had no professional authority to hold one), I can tell you that honesty from friends hurts. Three of my dearest friends basically told me that they were tired of me. It was a nightmare. But I would prefer that to people just co-signing my thoughts to avoid heavy conversations. You can't have a real friendship that way, and as with the example of Big Homie Sans, the truth always comes out eventually, and it is usually always negative. 

Capricorn-ish

Meanwhile, in App-land, I matched with a guy that I am now messaging. He's divorced, has two kids, and just moved here from another state. He likes art. He seems like a cool guy. He also seems to have a foot in reality, which is why I was surprised when he said that he would love it if his partner were a water sign. Sigh. Here we go. Another one of these zodiac people. Honestly, I had to Google to see if I am a water sign or not. Of course, I am not. He said that isn't a deal breaker, just a preference. When did men start buying into this witchcraft? I hate to down anyone's beliefs, but don't they know that the zodiac is complete hogwash? Like any superstition, it has the power that you give it. This is just something else to add to the list. First, my weight was seen as a negative by men. Okay, fine. I can see that. But now I am being judged based on my own birthday? Something I have no control over at all? I mean, why get to know me at all? Shouldn't the zodiac tell you all you need to know? I just Googled the characteristics of a Capricorn, and it says that we are focused. That should tell you that the astrology doesn't astrologize with this thing. Anyone will tell you that I am panickingly all over the place! Anywho, like I said, he seems like a cool guy. I will keep you posted. 

App'ed

A few months ago, I thought that I was done with the dating apps because I had found such a great guy. A few weeks ago, I vowed to never go back on the app because I was so disappointed things didn't work out with the "great guy". Now I'm back out of sheer, old-fashioned desperation. This is the third time. Let's pray that three times really is a charm. 

Admittedly, things aren't going so well two days back. The first day I matched with a guy. We were having a good chat through the app before he asked, "What do I need to do to see what's under your dress?" I let him know I wasn't really looking for that. He apologized. I wished him well. Convo ended. Yesterday, I matched with this highly sexy man. We too had a great conversation until he started talking about sex. Oddly, he said he hadn't had sex in nine months. He was on some type of sex fast to clear his head that he's ready to break. This time I was sad. I didn't want our conversation to end, but I could feel the end coming. I let him know I wasn't sexually active. He then proceeded to tell me he didn't consider anal or oral sex "actual sex". I was dumbfounded!! How could he believe something so ridiculous at his big age?? Conversation ended. 

Sadly, I expect more of the same today. Each time I go back on the app, the men get more sexually assertive. I mean, does anyone want a relationship anymore or is that over? Maybe past a certain age, people have become so jaded by their horrible relationship experiences that they jump backward into some type of sexual default setting. My not being on board with this is proving to be a pretty large barrier for me. I wish it weren't this way, but I don't think I'm ready for a dating world where anal sex is considered as casual as a kiss. Perhaps I'm old-fashioned, but that just feels like too much for me. 

Maybe the app gods will smile on me and send me an old-fashioned man who likes hand holding and Lifetime movies. Here's hoping! 

The Dress

Long ago, I discovered that it is a bad idea to ever, ever share music that you love with a guy that you like. When it inevitably goes south, you will never be able to listen to the music again, at least not without crying. I can't tell you how much 90s R&B I've had to let go of because I attached it to a loser that sucked all the beauty out of it. I am wondering if a similar thing has happened with this dress that I bought earlier this summer. 

It is hard to believe that just a few months ago, I thought that me and my friendboy were going places. We had great conversations, and I just enjoyed talking to him. Now, we have sunk like the Titanic. But before we hit the iceberg, I bought this gorgeous maxi dress online that I was hoping to wear when I met him in person. We planned to meet when he finished this big work project. Promises, promises. Now, I am pretty sure that the meeting that was never scheduled is canceled, and I am not sure what this means for the dress. Does it have bad man juju all over it like my old Jodeci playlist?

When Big stood Carry up at the altar, she kept the Vivian Westwood dress she was supposed to get married in in a box in her closet. My dress is not that grand, but it is adorable. It is a pink maxi dress that fades into fuchsia and purple tie-dye towards the bottom. Cute, right?! I have never worn it, waiting for the never-happening meet and greet. Now I don't know where I should wear it or even if I should wear it. What if it holding bad relationship bad luck?

This may sound silly to you, but I know there is something to it. Clothing, like houses and cemeteries, holds spirits and the disappointment of failed intentions. However, I am thinking that I may be able to salvage this adorable frock based on the fact that I stocked this dress before I even met friendboy. For two years, I would visit this dress frequently online. It was way too expensive for me to buy, and never went on sale. Shortly after I started talking to friendboy, I went online, and it was finally marked down to something I could swing. Does having a prior relationship with the dress cancel out the juju?

Honestly, I am not made of money. I really need to wear everything I buy, even if the big, bad wolf pooped on it or something. I just don't want to think about the disappointment of friendboy while I have it on. I also don't want the energy of the dress to repel the man of my dreams while I have it on. Regardless, I plan on wearing it at some point, even if it's just to listen to "Forever My Lady" on repeat in my room. 

Starved 2: The Thirsty Games

I had another weird dream that I feel illustrates how starved I am for affection. Apparently, I was part of some type of sexual relay race. The dream kind of played out like an episode of The Amazing Race. Couples would do freaky stuff (my memory is hazy, but I remember one couple doing a naked yoga class), then they would run and pass the baton on to the next person. I felt super excited in my dream, eager to see what my thing was going to be. But when the baton got to me, of course, I had to do all this really hard stuff to get moving. I recall having to take a car off a tow truck. Then I had to go to a department store to find something sexy to wear. Even in my dream department store, there was a very limited plus-size section. Then I had to run across town, all while still being excited for what was to come, but what was to come never came. By the time I showed up winded and overworked to my little situation, I breathlessly opened the door, then woke up! I even get screwed in my dreams while trying to get screwed! Plies wasn't around this time, but the naked yoga couple was a married couple I went to college with. Either my subconscious is begging me to find a partner, or this is all a side effect of watching nude scenes in Tubi movies. 

Midlife

Is there any test I can take to confirm I'm in a midlife crisis? Of late, I have woken up in the middle of the night to cry, listen to jazz, and write emo poetry. I have not been this emotional since middle school. There was always something to be emotional about in middle school, but that's only because everyday was a fresh hell. Plus, I had just started getting periods, and the sound of someone to breathing made me want to body slam them. I'm one poem away from taking this sad act on the road. Help! 

Accountability/Smountability

I can really get on my high horse when it comes to my friendships. I consider myself a good friend, and pride myself on always being available for a friend in need. I try to be the friend that I would want someone to be to me. That's why it pains me to say that there have been some friendships where I really, really dropped the ball. My friendship with Bri is one of these friendships, and I dropped the ball so badly that the part of me that HATES taking accountability wants to leave the ball where it is and run. However, my dedication to therapy will not allow this to stand, so I have to apologize for my badfriendness, even if the friendship does not regenerate. 

Today, I was on Facebook looking at my friend Wanda's page and saw that she is friends with Bri. That little icon was in the corner of Bri's picture, indicating that we are not friends on the site. This made me sad. When we were freshmen in college, we were inseparable. When you saw her, you saw me. Now we don't talk and we don't even have a surface, social media friendship. Unfortunately, this is all my fault. 

I have been thinking of Bri a lot lately because she is still really good friends with one of our mutual friends. Mutual keeps me posted on the things going on in Bri's life, which I appreciate. She is doing so well, and I am so proud of her. But I can not say that it does not sting that the things that she tells me I do not know firsthand. Years ago, when I should have originally addressed this, I had to come to terms with the fact that I had been a bad friend to Bri which sucks, because I truly love her, even today. I put other friendships before ours, and I recently told Mutual I was finally ready to address that with Bri.

"Well, apologizing for what you said about Rosie would be a good start," Mutual said. I was confused. I hadn't thought about Rosie in years! 

"Rosie? What?" I asked.

"You remember when you said Rosie BLLLLLLLEEEEEEPPPPP?"

Hearing those cruel words I said about Rosie 20 years ago literally made my eyes cross. I nearly threw the phone across the room! Have you ever had a moment so bad, I mean BAD, that your body and mind go into some weird protection mode and acts like it never happened? That's how I feel about the THE INCIDENT with Rosie. Well, it really wasn't an incident. I said some inexcusable, unprovoked, jealousy -fueled f*&ked up s/+t about Rosie that was so horrible that there was no walking it back. Once I said it, out friendship was toast, and she was one of Bri's best friends. Oddly enough, they are not friends anymore, but she is still mad at me about it. That's how bad it was. 

It never dawned on me that the fall of me and Bri's friendship had anything to do with Rosie. I was prepared to own how bad of a friend I was to Bri, not address the Rosie stuff. Addressing Rosie would make me have to address some very dark parts of my character that I would like to believe I've outgrown. Rosie represents a me I don't want to think about and like to play like never existed. 

When I talk about being on a high horse, I'm not joking. I've called people who don't want to have hard conversations cowards, and here I am being as cowardly as they come. I shall keep you posted on any progress with this. Whether I want to or not, a conversation has to be had. 

Starved

I think I am starving for male attention and affection. The other day, I took a power nap and dreamed that I went to the apartment of my grandma's best friend so that I could make out with Plies. The rapper, Plies. Plies. In reality, this guy has to be a full foot shorter than me and 100lbs, but in my dream, we were eye-to-eye, and I giggled while he kissed all over my neck. It was nuts! I don't see Plies in this way; however, I like to follow his political content. Anyway, in the dream, we were pretty hot and heavy until I looked around the apartment and noticed that we were surrounded by pictures of my family and my grandma's antiques. And while he continued to kiss all over me, I was thinking, How did he get these things? Is that a picture of my grandpa? Is that the little statue she brought back from Africa? All I can make of this is that I desperately need a kiss...and to figure out what happened to a lot of my grandma's things. 

Brotherly Love - The Great Pen Pal Disaster

I want to be friends with one of my Xavier brothers. Nothing gross or romantic. I honestly would like to be his friend because he seems to have a really cool life, and, as a lover of stories, I would love to know more about it. Sadly, befriending men has always been tricky for me. Tricky and awkward. In college, I would often fall in love with guys that I befriended, which would cause some of these friendships to crash and burn. However, that won't be an issue now because I have no more love left to give. It went out the window with my dreams of ever having abs. 

If I am telling the truth, the biggest thing keeping me from reaching out to this guy is because of what happened a few years back. At the time, I was pen pals with two of my Xavier sisters. This was awesome for me, because I love to write and love getting mail. There is something about the written word that is different and way more exciting than verbal conversation. It is for me anyway. I enjoyed being pen pals with them so much that I decided that I wanted to have a boy pen pal too, and I knew just who I wanted it to be: 🍺. 🍺, much like my other Xavier brother, seemed to live a very charmed life. He traveled the world, hung out all the time with his friends and family who seemed to just be in love with him, even though he was hyper and extra, and he had a fulfilling job. This, as you already know, is the opposite of my life. I never go anywhere and can't get my "friends" to call me back. 

So, I decided to ask him to be my pen pal, and I was nervous about it. He and I were not friends in school, and I was afraid that he might think that the request was weird. Yet, against my nervous stomach, I asked him to be my pen pal in an Instagram message, and he wrote me an elegant, beautifully written letter telling me no because he didn't know how to write. I read the message twice and for some reason, perhaps out of hysterical embarrassment, it made me laugh. 

Fast forward a couple of weeks later, I ran into one of my Xavier sisters, Mona, at the grocery store. It is always good to see a college friend! She told me how she lost all this weight working out and eating better, and she filled me in on her new job. And just by chance, I told her about how I asked 🍺to be my pen pal and how he said no. I laughed but stopped laughing when I saw her mortified face. 

"Girl, of course he said no! You know what he thought you meant!"

I was confused. "What do you think he thought I meant?"

"Come on now, Holly. Pen pal. Pen. Penis. He thought you wanted to have sex with him!"

A ringing went off in my ears, and the whole grocery store stood still. Oh my God! There was no way that he thought that was what I meant, was it?

"You know he is friends with THE CREW. He probably told all of them how you slid in his DMs trying to f*&k!" she exclaimed. 

I raced home and read the message over a million times until I began to see all types of hidden meanings in it. I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, not blinking, envisioning him reading my message to the THE CREW and them laughing at me. I wanted to message him to let him know that that was not what I meant, but just in case he didn't think that was what I meant, I decided not to. Plus, sending messages is what got me in that mess. You know, I saw him at homecoming. I spoke to him and he spoke back, but only after his attempt to walk past me failed. Brutal. 

This I think about when I consider reaching out to another Xavier brother about being friends. The last thing I need is another guy I went to school with thinking I want his "pen". 

Special

Can women have a midlife crisis? I know that I had a quarter-life crisis. Maybe I am just consistently in crisis. It's hard for me to tell. I have always been overly reflective and a little moody. But I do find that I have had a lot of questions about life as of late. One question that I find myself constantly nibbling on is when it is a good idea to give up on your dreams. At what point do you accept that you are never going to be a runway model or an NBA player and go get a job at Wal-Mart? Today I wondered if I have been asking myself the wrong question. For me, I think that the real question is, when do you accept that you are not special?

Throughout my life, I have felt that I am special, which is ironic, considering I didn't grow up with any money or any type of privilege. However, I always thought that I was a good writer without anyone co-signing this fact. I felt that I was funny and cool, even if no one else agreed. I have also always felt that I am a little psychic and very intuitive. People generally like me, and I am even a good whistler. As you can see, for a long time, I have been getting high on the supply that is me. 

Because of this, I had very high expectations for myself. I had this amazing life mapped out in my head without really having a plan to achieve it. But that was okay, because I was special, and as long as I stayed true to my dreams, a yellow brick road would appear out of nowhere and lead me to the promised land that was my achingly bright future. 

NOT! 

At my big age, I can tell you I am not special. On the low end, I am someone who does okay at stringing a sentence together, and on the high end, I have an undeserved high opinion of myself that has led me astray. I think that it is beyond time that I come to terms with the fact that I am not special. At most, I am a nice lady stringing together an existence. Sadly, I am under not special. Below average. Unremarkably underwhelming. In about a year, any talent I thought I had will be replaced by AI. I'm humorous, but not really. I just know how to word things in an interesting manner. I'd say that I am useless, but that is not true. There has to be someone around to stand as a proud example of what not to be. And with this in mind, I take a bow. 

It is with a heavy heart that I report that I have most likely wasted half of my life thinking that I am special, and it has gotten me nowhere fast. Where did I get off thinking that I was special in any way? I should have never believed Barney when he said that I was. Jerk. 

Showers and the Blue Juice

My friend's sister had a baby shower and put the photos on Instagram. Balloons, a cute color scheme, games, and food were all present. However, some things were there that clearly did not belong: men.

First, they started using red fluid instead of blue fluid in the maxi pad commercials, now this! Call me old- fashioned, but I love a themed, all- girl affair. Men at a baby shower just doesn't make sense to me, or at least makes as much sense as me sitting in on a stripper-filled bachelor party. I guess the difference is that I would be crashing the bachelor party. The men at the baby shower were actually invited. 

Our grandmothers would have never allowed this. But I feel like today's mamas invite the baby's father and his guy friends to show that the father is on board with the pregnancy. Whether he is on board or not is no one's business! But, because of this need, all the women have to sit in their color coordinated Sunday best while the guys over eat the refreshments and make dumb jokes! 

Good people of the internet: when is enough going to be enough? How much more of the blue maxi pad juice are men going to snatch out of our lives and private spaces? It's enough already, and I demand reform! Who's with me??

13 Pounds

Last week, I had a gyno appointment at the hospital. Like most women, I wasn't jumping for joy for the appointment, but when you are a woman, you can not avoid these things. One of the reasons I was not excited was because I was going to ride into the city with my aunt to save money, and she would drop me off at the hospital on the way to work. I miscalculated how long I would be waiting for my appointment. It was a whopping three hours! When it was finally time for my appointment, I could hardly keep my eyes open! Another reason I was not excited for my appointment was because I was not looking forward to getting weighed. 

Let me tell you, nothing can ruin my day like getting weighed. However, I decided to force myself to get weighed so I could see how much weight I had gained. Even with changes in diet, I was feeling more sluggish and even heavier than usual. I was not excited. When the moment of truth came, I stood on the scale and cleared my head completely, a trick I found keeps me from screaming when I see the usually tragic number. When my weight came up on the digital screen, I was shocked. I had lost 13 pounds! 

This may not sound like a lot to you, but it is beyond a lot for me. I was beginning to think that I literally could not lose weight, seeing that I never do. I have consistently gotten bigger my whole life. I didn't even lose weight in New Orleans, walking to my classes in 120-degree heat! Yet somehow, I had lost 13 pounds. For the first time ever, I was feeling hopeful about my weight. I felt like I was going to burst!

Of course, I had to tell a few of my girlfriends. I mean, this was really momentous! Out of the seven friends that I told, only about half of them seemed genuinely excited for me. The other half had very low energy, disappointing responses. However, I was not surprised. 

For years, my friends (particularly the ones from college) have been hammering me to lose weight. To diet. To exercise. A few years ago, I got serious and tried to diet on my own and was excited to talk about it with my friends. The excitement results were about the same, and this made me sad. I figured that my friends didn't really think I could make any positive changes in my life in this area, or maybe even thought I was lying. 

But after talking to my friends, I realized that the reasoning was more maniacal: they didn't want me to lose weight. Not really. 

This was a sour pill to swallow, but follow me here. Life deals you a lot of punches and a lot of change. Moves. Deaths. Promotions. Layoffs. Loves. Breakups. However, in all of this, there is one constant: Holly is and probably will always be fat. Not just fat, but really fat. No matter how bad or tough their lives were, mine would always be worse because of my weight and all that entails. Even if the worst thing ever happened to them, that would be okay, because at least, at the end of the day, they weren't me. Many of them couldn't even imagine my pathetic existence. No boyfriend. No cute mini dresses. No travel on an airplane. I really do believe that this gives them comfort. A lot of comfort. 

This all sounds horrible, right? Who wants to believe that the people who "love" them would bask in the glory of their bad health? Believe you me, it happens. 

If I lose anything else, I'm keeping it to myself. You won't be able to tell I've lost anything until I hit big numbers anyway. Plus, the lackluster reaction kind of hurts my feelings. Who wants to feel like they aren't supported by their support system?

The Question

What am I doing?

I know what I should have done. I know what I need to do. Yet, I have no idea what I'm doing. At 40, I should know what I'm doing. 

I have friends that are literally running the world. Starting businesses. Making BIG money. And none of them seem quite as lost as me. They seem to be adults. I am not an adult. Not fully. I'd say I'm about 12. Which is crazy, because my body is about 114. 

This has been a question for me for a long time which means I have never answered it to my own satisfaction. This is because I honestly don't know. 

Oh well. Maybe the answer will come to me today. Most likely not though. That I know. 

Doesn't It Feel Good To Pay Less?

I had an amazing, silly dream the other night. 

I had a dream that I was walking through an outdoor mall and came across a Payless shoe store. I couldn't believe it! I walked through the door to find a huge, clean, fully-stocked Payless that looked a lot like the Payless that used to be near my house. 

"Hello, ma'am! Are you okay?" the clerk asked from behind the counter. I was literally standing in the middle of the floor with my mouth open wide and my arms extended. 

"I can't believe it," I said, elated. "All the Payless stores closed where I am from!" I cried. 

The clerk smiled. "Oh wow! Well, we are still open."

I was overwhelmed by joy! Immediately, I ran over to the aisle that had my shoe size. I literally grabbed as many pairs of shoes that I could carry, then dumped them at the checkout counter. At this point, there were other people in the store staring at me. Once I was done finding shoes for myself, I went to the children's section and tried to remember what sizes my niece and nephew wore. Then I grabbed all of those shoes and dumped them at the register. Just as I was about to pay, a deliveryman walked in and began to hang purses around the store. The moment he was done, I grabbed as many of those as I could and dumped them on the counter. The other customers in the store were growing visibly impatient. 

"I want all of this!" I exclaimed. 

I woke up, heart pounding, looking around my bed for my new Payless purchases which, of course, were not there. 

Then, just today, I had a dream during a nap that I was at a Disney park with my family. We were all hanging out in our hotel room when I got a call from Kinfolk. He wanted to let me know that he was at the same Disney park and wanted to meet me. He gave me his address, which I don't remember which sucks, because I heard that when you see numbers in your dreams, you should play them as lottery numbers. 

Anywho, my nephew and I got on a trolley to go meet Kinfolk in the town square. Everyone was so happy around us. We went and ordered food, and Kinfolk and my nephew went to a buffet line. I got annoyed with my nephew because he brought back a literal basket of shrimp pasta. After we ate, we walked around and window shopped for a while when I saw it to the left of me: a brand new Payless. There were huge glass windows and it was way more fancy than any Payless I ever saw. I ran towards it, but woke up before I could go inside. 

I am not sure what all of this means. I am hoping that it means that Payless is coming back with flagship stores. I would be the first one in line! 

Eyelift

When I was a teenager, I had a habit of being very, VERY, convicted about issues that I was not educated enough or old enough to understand. One of the issues was plastic surgery. If we are made in God's image, getting plastic surgery (unless you underwent a severe facial trauma) was like telling God that he is ugly! I decided long ago I would never have any type of plastic surgery done. Fast forward to today. If my looks fall off, I want every plastic surgeon in Atlanta to tap dance on my face! Plastic surgery would not be ideal, but I have been thinking about it a lot since I think that I need an eyelift. 

I have always had straight, poofy eyelids. This is something called monolid (which I just found out now as I am writing this post). Essentially, I do not have the crease that separates my eyelid into two parts. For those of you who can't envision this, I do not have that part of my eyelid where women usually put on eye shadow. I guess I do, but it is very, very thin. Many Asian people have this type of eyelid, hence why people have asked me if I am partially Asian my whole life! 

The other day, I looked in the mirror and felt like my lids were looking a little more poof than usual. I had spent the weekend babysitting and did not have restful sleep. However, when they were still poofy the next day, I became fearful. Since I don't have a substantial eye crease, what if my eyes eventually poof shut and I have to keep my lids open with my hands?

As silly as this sounded, I became obsessed with my eyes. Is it possible to become a super poof and not be able to see? I really began to panic! And then a word came to mind that calmed my nerves: eyelift. Yes, an eyelift! A simple, medical miracle! And I don't mean putting some lotion on my lids that should lift them in a year or two, I mean good old-fashioned scalpel magic! And if I don't have the money for it, I will use invisible tape to lift my lids as close to my hairline as possible. 

Wheeeeew! Crisis averted. 

Equally Backed

You know, the new term for a fat person is a "big-back". How offensive is that? Recently, I saw an Instagram reel where a plus-size influencer was talking about how dating is much harder for big-backed women because being a big-back shows that you don't care about yourself, so men don't have to really care about you in a relationship. Disrespect is to be expected. This theory has been run across me by friends and foes alike over the years, and after my experiences trying to date by using a dating app for plus-size people ( I will share more about that later), I can say that this theory is true. Life has also shown me as much. 

However, as I am now officially middle-aged, as are many of my single friends, many of the tiny-backed women in my life are sharing their experiences with men that sound like they are of the big-backed variety. I mean, one can say that a man is going to treat you however he is going to treat you, regardless of your "back", but as a young woman, I saw the noticeable difference. I remember this one incident in high school where I got off the bus with my tiny-backed buddy Teri. Our mutual friend Bryan held the door open for her to walk into the school and then let it slam in my face. Of course, there was my friend 💋in college who was tiny-backed and gorgeous. I personally witnessed men cross both crowded rooms and oncoming traffic to get to her, while guys actively worked hard to ignore me. This was no easy task, seeing that I am almost six feet and weigh A LOT. 

Like I said, I have seen men treat thinner women better. That it what it is. Yet, at 40, it seems like having a tiny back is no longer shielding women, many of whom would be considered "high value women" from the big-back treatment. Now they are on podcasts and writing thought pieces like this is some new thing. It's enough to wonder where this shift is coming from. Could it be that being single past a certain age, especially after your 30s, is making thin women and plus-size women "equally- backed"? If so, I feel sorry for thin, middle-aged women. It can't be easy going from diamonds to doo-doo. 

I hate to admit this, but I have been listening to some of those brotard podcasters. Not their whole shows, just the clips that come across my social media feeds. They are just oozing with anger and sexism, and I seriously wonder of many of these men actually like women. During their tirades, I notice that they put this huge value on being single and young and make single older women sound like scum-of-the-earth sad sacks. I'm sure you are familiar with the cat lady comments that were prevalent earlier this year. To them, the only place for an older woman with any kind of baggage is next to the garbage bins. 

Yes, I think ageism has finally made thin and plus-size women equally-backed. This sucks, because while many older women see wisdom in age, many men just see an okay body with a tombstone as a head. It also sucks because at a time when women should be relaxing and enjoying life, they are put in yet another situation where they have to compete against each other. But we aren't in our 20s anymore. Many of us are choosing to forgo the dating Olympics, especially since the trophy is a gross guy that thinks you should think he is the prize because you are older. So many women are opting out of that game, and I couldn't be prouder of them. Yet, slim, trim, or otherwise, women of all sizes yearn for someone to love no matter what the climate is. So, I also stand with those love-lookers who are willing to stay in the race. You go girl! Go full in, I've got your back. 

The New Cat Lady

Me and my friend guy had an ugly text exchange recently, which left me with a strong desire to get a cat. I found a lovely 17-year-old beauty on a cat rescue site, but my aunty doesn't want a cat in the house. So now I'm not sure what to do since finding a romantic partner that doesn't make me cry seems to be out of the question for my life. According to Pix, cats are out of style anyway. 

"Cat ladies are not cat ladies anymore," he explained. "Those women who only watch true crime shows are the new cat ladies. If you meet a girl who only talks about that show Snapped or the stuff she has seen on I.D. Discovery, you are in trouble."

P thought that this was hilarious. Apparently, all the bitter women at his job gang up together and talk about the latest serial killer slasher show they are binge-watching. 

Now that this new definition of a cat lady is in play, I am realizing I have been one for at least the last 5 years. There isn't one streamed missing persons/ the boyfriend did it/ the husband is suspicious docuseries that I haven't watched. For some reason, there is something so addictive about these shows! The only thing that would make watching them better would be watching them with my new cat in my lap. 

Stages

Long ago, I was invited to Colorado to review a winter resort. A family was staying there that I became friendly with, particularly the mother. She asked me how old I was, and at the time, I was 25. She was in her 50s. She said, "You are in that stage of life where you go on Facebook and see that all your friends are getting married. I am at that stage of life where I go on Facebook and see that everyone's parents are dying."

I have thought about that statement over the years, primarily because these stages seemed so extreme. I figured that there has to be a middle stage, and there is. At 40, I am at that stage of life where messed-up, scary stuff begins to happen to you to show you that you are no longer young, and it's not fun. 

Recently, a college friend of mine was diagnosed with breast cancer. Over the years, breast cancer has been diagnosed younger and younger in women. I had a mentor in her 70s that told me that when she started out as a nurse, it was rare to treat a woman under 60 with breast cancer. Now my friend, whom I remember partying with and watching her cross her sorority, is now posting about her doctor's visits and their mental toll. 

I have friends who are navigating separations and divorces. Friends that are dealing with high-risk pregnancies because they are now considered "geriatric". Friends who have seriously injured themselves doing something basic, like bending over or turning their head. It's also supplement time. Don't be surprised if you go to hang out with your girls and the conversation goes rogue, and you all start talking about what vitamins you are taking for heart health and to strengthen your pelvic floor. 

A woman recently went viral for pretty much having a live panic attack because she just turned 40 and felt like she had done nothing with her life and time is running out. This comes with it to, this feeling of feeling like you have not accomplished enough. Even accomplished folks can feel this way, and it's a very haunting and panicked feeling. You start to get antsy, searching for a way to at least have some small success. It's a lot of pressure. 

Earlier this weekend, I had a Clearly Canadian water. Do you remember those flavored waters from the 90s? They are back, and it was amazingly refreshing. The last time I'd had one of these drinks, I was at the stage in my life where my biggest concern was getting my homework done so that I could watch music videos for the rest of the day. Now, when I hear songs on the radio, I don't know who half of the artists are! 

I can be negative and anxious, so for my own mental health, I am trying to brainwash myself into believing that this is the stage that great, beautiful things are going to happen to everyone I know...just a little later than expected. This stage of life can be scary, but I just know that there is some sunshine coming around that bend, and I put that on my fish oil and glucosamine. 

Falling During The Fallout

A long time ago, I read this article about a doctoral student who had the opportunity to provide therapy to migrant women from another country who were granted entry into the United States after living for God knows how long in a refugee camp. She was stoked and eager to provide the women with tools to deal with what she was sure would be intense feelings of loss, hopelessness, fear, and even outright anger and exhaustion. To her surprise, all a lot of the women wanted to talk about were their boyfriends in the camp and the dramas they were dealing with. These women had been forced from their homes and saw incredible violence and hunger, but they wanted to know what she thought about their guys breaking up with them or moving to another country outside of the US. What did she think about long-distance relationships? In her opinion, did they have a chance of working? Needless to say, she was not prepared for the women needing this type of support. 

I thought about this the other day when I was talking to my new friend Pix. I met him online, we aren't compatible, and we are becoming friends. He called me excited to let me know that he has essentially met his dream girl. Their values align, she is super nice, and their conversation is smooth like butter. They are going out on a date, and he is super ecstatic. 

One of my college homeboys is stuck between two women. They are both cool and pretty, but they both speak to different sides of his personality. In all honesty, he does like one a little more than the other, but the one he likes the most isn't the best candidate for marriage which, in middle age, he has finally decided to get serious about. 

Then there is me. I had a guy that I was interested in for a second there, but after a hurtful text message exchange, I'm pretty sure we are through. P has warned me that when things like this happen, guys vanish for a while and come back later when they figure you have forgotten about what happened. So, he may circle the block, but I don't think that I can forget some of the stuff he said in those messages, especially since they are still in my phone and seared on my brain. I find myself thinking a lot about him and the general probability that I will ever find anyone. 

All this is happening while the sky is falling outside. So much is going on that it is hard to keep up with the news. One minute, people are talking about what to do if their healthcare is cut. Another minute, people are posting on Instagram about what to pack in your nuclear fallout backpack. There is an old saying that love conquers all. When we should be trying to figure out what to do as the world ends, we are editing our dating profiles and trying to figure out the quickest less painful way to become partnered. So yeah, love may conquer all, but what I am learning is what that doctoral student learned when helping the refugee women: love supercedes all when it comes to importance. Right now, I should be doing countless things to ensure me and my family's survival, but I am sitting here thinking about going back on a dating app. Maybe I will refresh my profile; make myself sound funner 😒, and post some new pictures where it doesn't look like I have six chins. It seems like love and its pursuit are the default setting, even in extremes. Because, as you hustle through the theoretical refugee camp that is life or prepare for global annihilation, you want someone who thinks you are cute next to you holding your hand.

Baby Talk

They say that birth rates are on the decline. I find this hard to believe, seeing that every time I go to the gynecologist, me and the menopausal receptionists working the front desk seem to be the only women in the whole place not knocked up. My social media timelines are literally packed full of newborns. But apparently, the receding birth stats are real, so much so that the government is willing to pay families $5000 to have a kid. I'm not sure if that is going to get America's families to baby makin'. Anyone who has children in their lives knows how expensive they are. I am pretty sure that I spend about five stacks a month on my nephew's Chick-fil-A orders. 

Today, I was informed that a young woman I mentored when she was a tween is pregnant. She is now in her late 20s, is in a relationship, and has a good job. Yet, when I heard the news of her being with child, I was not happy. I actually felt a very sharp wave of depression and doom in the pit of my stomach. You would have to be living under a rock not to know that the world is on fire. And I mean literally. It was not that long ago that Los Angeles went up in flames! There are wars and rumors of wars. People are losing their jobs left and right. The cost of living is through the roof, and there are global protests about one thing or another daily. There seems to be a united sense of dread and hopelessness when it comes to the state of affairs of the planet. I don't quite understand why someone would choose to bring a child into the world when everything is so, for lack of a better term, coocoo bananas!

However, a 20-something slipping up and having an oopsie baby with her boyfriend is almost to be expected. What really has me perplexed is the aware and educated people that see the distress of their surroundings and still decide to have a child. A guy I went to school with and his wife just brought a lovely little baby girl into the world. If I were closer to him, I would ask him how he and his wife decided to start their family when there are so many question marks and red flags all around us. 

My friend Amanda's sister is planning to get pregnant with her fourth child with her husband. I could not believe my ears when she told me this. I asked her why her sister would want to have a child now, with everything going on. She told me that I am not the only one who has asked that question. She said, "Why would she let things that are going on in the world prevent her from having her family?" Extreme social uncertainty seems like a huge reason not to have a kid, but I think I am in the minority on this thinking. 

I guess an argument can be made that there is no great time to have a kid. My great-grandma was born just 40 years after the abolishment of slavery. I just know that my great-great grandma's head had to have been spinning! Then my grandma was born right before The Great Depression. Yikes. My grandma had my mom in 1963, when things truly did not look too optimistic for Black folks, and my mom had me in the mid-'80s just as the country merged into the crack crisis and the AIDS epidemic. Again, yikes. 

I don't know what the story for this period of time is going to be. I guess the show has to go on whether or not the glass is half empty, half full, or completely full of caca. One thing is for sure: babies will come screaming into this world whether the world is deserving of their presence or not, and I'm willing to put $5000 on that. 

The Blues

It's very early, but I'm wide awake. I could be using this time to wash or paint my nails, but instead I feel like going outside on the porch to play a harmonica. I'm not sad or depressed, but I do have a bit of the Where is my life going?- I'm tired- I hope I didn't mess things up with a new guy I'm talking to- I'm tired of my vagina- I hope I'm not in perimenopause- Should I give up on my dreams? Blues. I'm trying to remain optimistic, but I am a little exhausted with life. I don't know what is to become of me sometimes. I wasted the first half of my life being a dreamer. Now I'm disappointed and don't know which end is up. I don't feel that my future is bright, and I'm very concerned about where this may leave me as a senior citizen. I hate even the idea of garbage. I'd do a very poor job dumpster diving or collecting cans. I don't see me winning the lottery anytime soon so I need to hustle. But until I figure out a game plan, it's just me and my metaphorical harmonica. 

Ozemp- Not

Like every other fat person with so much as two nickels to rub together, I have started taking Ozempic. You have probably heard of it by now. Ozempic, and other drugs like it, have been coined as weight loss wonder drugs. They first became famous when celebs started taking them, losing A LOT of weight in what seemed like overnight. Then the common folks like myself got a hold of it and reported similar results. I have been taking it for two months. Still fat. 

I can't even quantify how horrified I'm going to be if I go down in history as the only person that didn't lose weight on this drug! Admittedly, I have not realistically managed my expectations. By November, I wanted to be able to show up at my homecoming in rain boots and a thong. It looks like I'll be arriving in a "slimming" and modest trapeze top and mom leggings. 

"Do you know what those celebrities did to get such crazy results from this drug?" my doctor exclaimed during our virtual visit. "They have trainers that work them out three hours a day. A nutritionist. A personal chef. They dont eat sugar or carbs. Not even a sweet potato!" She assured me that I was on track and would see results as my dose goes up. 🫤. We'll see. 

My therapist swears my face looks thinner. I just think she's saying that to encourage me so I don't quit. I also think she may have been thrown off by the shiny, silky new bonnet I wore to our last session. 

Fat has been on me like white on rice since I was a baby, literally. Many people in my life think I've never tried to lose weight but I have, I'm just not excited about admitting my failures. The summer I became a vegetarian I actually gained weight! Water aerobics classes. Sleeping a lot so I'm not awake to eat. Weight loss shakes. Skipping meals. I feel like if this doesn't work I'm doomed! Plus I'm scared that new health guy in office is coming for the fatsos next. I could spend the rest of my life in a chub work camp in the mountains, making flip flops in a room with no air conditioning. Lets hope it doesn't go that far. Lets hope this works. 

Post Traumatic Nephew Syndrome

I have been having weird dreams lately that take place at my high school. In them I am being taunted and jeered, just like the bad old days. In one dream, I am walking down one of the hallways alone singing: "I am Holly. It is just me. I am so far behind, I should just be." I figured that these dreams were a result of my general anxiety and damage from high school. Now I think that my nephew is causing them.

Lately, he has been getting bullied on the school bus. Some little girl calls him names, hits him, and most recently ripped his report card that he was so excited to show us. Then some other boy just straight up hit him in the face! As a result, the bus driver gave my nephew an assigned seat near her, as if he was the issue. I think that this has triggered me and is causing my subconscious to go spiraling back to when I was in school. 

One reason why I never wanted kids is because I didn't want to relive how hard being one was. My weight was a constant source of ridicule, all the way up to my young adult years, but being in school was the worst! My whole existence seemed to be a joke for everyone, and no adult ever stepped up to help me. Being a kid was a very lonely experience. 

So when I see my nephew pouting over someone hurting him, it pisses me off and sends me free falling back to adolescence. My brother said he is going to teach my nephew to fight, but why does that even have to be the solution? Wouldn't it be easier for parents to teach their kids not to be a$$holes? 

When I was a kid, I used to fantasize about a world where I could be my binge-reading, fat self without other kids having something to say. That was over 30 years ago and it seems that things have only gotten worse. I guess that warm, accepting world only exists in my dreams. 

The Big 'Don't Care'

With the help of my therapist, I am coming to a huge, epic, life-changing conclusion: people don't care. Many don't care about themselves so how could they and why would they care about me? Since I'm empathetic (gross, I hate that word) this reality hurts me more than it would others. Me and my therapist are navigating understanding this without allowing it to break my heart more than it already has.

As we've discussed, I've been holding space for people in my life that don't want to be in it, making excuses for people's absences. The married people in my life can't call me because they are busy with their kids. Nope! They just don't care. One of my dearest friends that hasn't reached out must really be struggling for me not to hear from her. Nope! She just doesn't care. People may be adjusting to a new job, unpacking after a move, going back to school, healing from a break up, etc., but people care about what they care about despite what they have going on. So sadly, these people don't care! 

I feel like someone has given me a sh$t cake without a fork to eat it with. How do I not allow the cloud of dontcareism that has been thrown at me cause me to lose my ability to care? Because let me tell you, when you find out no one else does,  it's hard to hold on! The first step is to invest in those beautiful people who invest in me. Done! The second part is addressing the emo part of it all and that's going to take some time. To be continued...

Mammogram Part 2

The day of my mammogram, I prayed that God decrease my anxiety so I could go, get it done, and not reschedule. I was feeling antsy seeing that I'd had a weird dream that I was afraid could be a foreshadowing. I dreamed that me and my grandma were at the park and I was telling her how I was afraid of my mammogram results. She then reached over, squeezed my left breast, and a thick, red, waxy material came out of it. I woke up, not believing that could be a good sign. 

As the time rolled around to go to my appointment, I felt oddly calm. I credit this to my aunty and nephew coming with me, even though they stayed in the car. The doctor's office was oddly quiet. It was towards the end of the day. I was apprehensive, but my anxiety was at bay. 

Let me just say thank you to the sweet Jamaican woman who performed my mammogram. She was patient and kind to me as my anxiety eventually showed up and took over the show. With my left breast awkwardly compressed in the mammogram machine, I started crying and had the urge to rip my boob out of the machine (which would have been painful and possibly would have left me maimed) and run. 

Once it was over, I was told my results would be available in a week. So I was shocked to get an email the next day saying my results were available online. I immediately rolled over and called my gyno office. 

"I can interpret your results, but moving forward,  we probably aren't the appropriate place to call to get your mammogram results," a doctor who wasn't my doctor said before putting me on hold. Uh, okay. After about 30 seconds she popped back on the line and told me everything was fine and to get a mammogram again in a year. That's when I started crying. 

You want to talk about literal tears of joy?! I was so grateful to God. I truly didn't have the bandwidth to deal with more bad news or another health issue. I'm already overwhelmed trying to lose weight and keep my marbles.

A few moments later,  I dried my eyes and took a deep breath. Another fine crisis avoided to be readdressed next year. 

Mammogram

I'm scheduled to get my first mammogram today. Am I scared? Well, I'm up in the wee hours of the morning blogging about it. You tell me. 

I don't want to go. I may cancel depending on high my anxiety is. I'm told it's going to really hurt. I'm beyond nervous and petrified something may be wrong. Listen, my who-ha has already put me through the ringer. I just found out I need gum surgery. I'm not losing any weight, and my grandma had dementia so when I forget something, I panic. Now I have to worry about my boobs? Being a grownup is ghetto. 

Not long ago it felt like this milestone was a way down the road, now it's at my doorstep. And having watched all those breast cancer horror movies on Lifetime growing up didn't help. Man, I thought I had worries as a kid because other kids made fun of me. I didn't know what worries were! I just want to read my Babysitter's Club books and watch Nickelodeon, not live in fear of my own breasts! 

I don't want to talk about this anymore. Wish me luck. 

The Dentist

My mouth hurts. I need to go to the dentist. 

GEEZ! Just for one day I'd like to have a task on my to-do list that doesn't involve me spiraling into a frenzied panic attack. 

I don't like going to the dentist. In elementary school, most of my life was spent at the orthodontist dealing with my braces. After they were removed, I foolishly thought my dealings with my dental hygiene were over. Please. 

My wisdom teeth came in very slowly and I felt every micro movement. From college to quite recently I nursed my dental whoas with warm water and salt or oil pulling. I'm beyond that now. I'm scared the dentist is going to tell me I need my whole jaw removed. And that wouldn't be surprising. Growing up, my grandma had dentures and by her mid 50s, after years of smoking, my mom's teeth were falling out nearly daily and she kept them in a Ziploc baggie. Needless to say, I'm not expecting good news from my dental visit. Just more b$lls&t to be worried about🫤

Cowardly Custard

People talk a lot about traits they don't like in other people. Mostly everyone would agree that they don't like liars, people who steal, mean people, etc. I am finding that I don't like cowards. 

Believe it or not, I had not had much experience with cowards in my life. Growing up in the city going to public schools, kids seemed to be in your face and never afraid of anything. Honestly, the most cowardly person I knew was me. I was afraid to get in fights and afraid to speak up. I was a true scaredy cat. But what got me to thinking about cowards of late in my tanked relationship with Big Bae. 

Big Bae was a man I met on a dating app that I was with for 8 months before he ghosted me in the New Year. I, like a simp, was scared he was dead, seeing that he has heart disease. I sent texts, inquiring about his well-being which went unanswered. I feared the worse, only to notice him changing his profile pic on his socials. I guess he was just over me and didn't care enough to at least tell me so. I see this as cowardly. P disagrees. 

"He's not a coward. This is just the way people operate," he informed me. Well, I find this mode of operation to be cowardly. 

Then there was my friend of 20 years that didn't want to be my friend anymore. She didn't feel like telling me and used our mutual friend as a middle man to deliver the message. Now if that's not cowardly, I don't know what is! 

I find that cowardly behavior has become an encouraged way of life. Social media life coaches across the board agree that everyone should avoid the hard conversations and uncomfortable words to preserve their peace, turning us into a happy-go-lucky race of yellow bellies, oblivious to the pain our cowardice rains on others. 

I was a mentor to teen girls for 15 years, and the slogan for mentoring is "First, do no harm". This was why if a mentoring relationship needed to end for any reason, we encouraged closure meetings where the mentor would tell the mentee why the relationship had to end. You wouldn't believe how many folks skipped out on those meetings, leaving the mentee to carry the load. Again, cowardly. 

What seems so bad about this unique brand of cowardice is that it's not based in fear. Child Holly who hid from confrontation would understand that. It seems to be based in this I-don't-give-a-f$ckness that is devoid of any empathy or respect. It just rubs me as low, but what else would you expect from a coward? 

Ladylike

When I was a kid, even during my tomboy years, I would see older women who weren't all dolled up and wonder what happened to them. It wasn't that they presented as masculine, but more like gender neutral beings that gave up on makeup and any type of form-fitting frocks. They would tend to have on varying combinations of clothing that gave them the potato sack look. Many had even traded in stylish sneakers for colorless, drab foot coverings with no laces. I realize now that at some point these women had just given up. For some reason, keeping up appearances can register as just too much for some women as they age. 

All the way up until my grandma was diagnosed with dementia, she pressed her hair daily and wore pressed powder. She was in her '80s. I find it difficult to find the strength to paint my nails, which I always loved doing, and I just turned 40. Before Beyonce made it popular, my grandma used to tell me that being pretty hurt, referring to the figurative and literal pain of keeping yourself up as a woman. Now that I get the full scope, I have to applaud women who put in the effort because it is a lot. 

My closet is full of dresses. Pretty ones I used to love to put on and literally spin around in. Making sure I had a nice collection of summer dresses used to be my thang. Now I have to stop myself from Googling where I can get some potato sack gear. I don't want to lose my desire to be feminine, but I've been hearing the sound of men's sweat pants calling my name. I see married women with kids and jobs on social media who still put forth the effort. Amazing! I'd be rocking back and forth in a corner wearing a bedsheet. 

In an effort to keep it sexy I have decided that today I will put on chapstick. Maybe staying connected to my feminine self starts off with a series of baby steps. 

The Compliment Collector

I have to say, being on a plus size dating app is fun. It's nice to chat with men who are into me for a change. Plus, I am a sucker for a good story. So I love to hear the men talk about their jobs and past relationships. And, ashamedly, I love when they pay me compliments. When these guys message me sweet words about my smile, eyes, and figure, I light up like a Christmas tree! 

You see, in high school I could not have paid a guy to say I was pretty. Then, in college, I was overlooked for BEAUTIFUL thin girls that literally looked like models. I was also ignored. I could have done the banana dance in the middle of the cafe, and no man would have noticed. As a young adult, men who said nice things to me wanted sex or gas money. Finally, in middle aged, men are waking up to see what a dish I am. 

I wish I was one of these women who didn't need male validation and could solely exist off of my self esteem alone. But I'm not, so give me more compliments for 200 Alex! There are things I am admitting out loud at my big age. I like when men make me feel beautiful as pathetic as it is. I am hopeful that one day my confidence will be enough to get me through. It just won't be one day soon, lol. 

Empathic

This weekend, my therapist diagnosed me with being an empath. I frowned. I do believe that being empathic is a a real thing, but I also believe it's a diagnosis that has become overused. It seems like everyone with a sad face is calling themselves empathetic. However, my therapist says this is why I feel things so deeply and can't move on from life's hurts and cruelties. A part of me wishes my grandmother and elementary school teachers were here to hear this. They long ago diagnosed me with "being too sensitive". But that's only because I spent kindergarten through 5th grade in tears. Now look at me! I am emotionally o-fficial! Empath out. 

The Big Mourn

For the past few years, I have felt stuck on repeat in my life; having the same issues and not making any progress. So many of my friends have started businesses, traveled, and just done big things, whereas I have felt frozen in time. Of late, I have been forcing myself to really meditate on why and try to make myself accountable. The long and short of it is I'm hurt, sad, and don't know how to move past these emotions. 

I'd say that the biggest issues that I deal with are grief and abandonment. I feel that these things go hand-in-hand because they both are behind this baseline feeling of loss and needing to mourn. 

Yikes! No wonder no one wants to do self-work! It sucks and it's draining. I'm telling you now that it's more fun to get a tooth pulled than it is to really have to grieve your mom's death almost ten years later. But it has to be done. 

I also have to change my mindset when it comes to the abandonments. I have to get real and just acknowledge that I don't feel like I was abandoned, I was. Once I can put the period at the end of some of these friendships, I think I can go from missing people to mourning them so I can move on. I know what you are thinking: But Holly, your old friends aren't dead!" Believe me, the way some of them have vanished, it feels like they are.

Yesterday, I attempted to start the work on Friend X. I was crying five minutes in. It was like trying to slowly pull duct tape off a wound, which was taking off skin as you did it. I considered this person a sister. But she is a huge emotional owie that has to go. I think my psyche agrees. I had a dream that I grabbed her hand and we were running with her trailing behind me. This feels like my mind's way of trying to dispose of these emotions. 

I do believe that it was the great H-Town that told us that emotions make you cry sometimes. Hopefully, on the other side of this mountain of Kleenex, I'm unstuck and ready to make moves. Friend X is in active mourn mode. My mom is a bit too heavy but I will get to her, which would leave a trillion more owies to address. Here's to progress! 

Dirty 2: The Dumb and The Fearless

Early this morning, as I was texting with phone-mance man, let's call him HaiBae, some rando texted me a full-frontal naked photo that was apparently intended for someone named Jessica. Wow! Not only had he sent out an intimate photo of himself, but he'd sent it to the wrong number! I couldn't decide if he was fearless or dumb. 

I would be asking myself this same question as I transitioned to speaking to HaiBae on the phone. Let's just say that when it comes to being physical with someone, he's a speed racer type of guy and I'm a hay-covered wagon type of woman. For him, this equates to me refusing to be spontaneous or live life. And I get that. This is a man that told me early on that one of his favorite things is exercising on the nude beach where he's from. In response, I'd told him I like to read. 

Early this morning, our naughty talk crashed into me learning more about his personal doctrine. To say that he goes with the flow is an understatement. According to him, we are put here to enjoy lives. They are already mapped out for us. He believes in a higher power but not really an afterlife, because energy never dies. For me, if you don't believe in an afterlife, life gets easy and fun quickly, because there are no postmortem consequences. If you are never going to have to pay for things you've done that are against a doctrine you don't recognize, everyday is a party! Have another shot of vodka while you ride another wiener. Who's going to check you boo?! 

As I listened to him talk about his whimsical life, one centered on exploring, living, and satisfying desires, I could not decide if he was fearless for living out loud or dumb. I was hearing him say a lot of stuff, but nothing about guard rails. I'm assuming those come from God. But if God is a homie riding shotgun in your so-called life and not a heavenly disciplinarian, who needs rules? You'd just do what you want using your own ideals as a compass, which is what I think is happening with HaiBae. I just can't decide if that's low-end crazy or high-end genius. 

He knew without me even saying that I am someone who operates out of fear. I was a goody two-shoes kid which has translated into an overly cautious adult who secretly craves the freedom of being reckless. But is that really freedom? Since God is my judging father and not my high-fiveing roommate, I'm going to have to say the answer is no. 

HaiBae wants to "f*ck me" as he so eloquently put it. Nastily, he has a way with words that I like. However, we've reached the point where I have put up or shut up. He's over our spicy convos. HaiBae has made it crystal clear that we either need to do something or not because just talking about it "bores him". For some reason I thought of James 2:17, "Faith without works is dead." As hot as he is, I just can't let go enough to engage in a hookup. As fearless as hooking up with a man I don't know well would be, putting out my thirst for danger, I just couldn't. That would be dumb. 

Dirty

I have tasked myself with finding joy wherever I can get it. Recently, I found it in having inappropriate conversations with a man I met on a dating app. I'm ashamed to say that I was hypnotized by his dirty, nasty, sexual talk. I was also intrigued by the fact that he was out here living much of what he was saying while I was sitting at home moping. 

By choosing abstinence (I'm not sure how choose-ish it is at this point) I am realizing that I have missed out on a huge part of the human experience which has isolated me from the rest of the world. How messed up is that? 

This phone-mance didn't last long.  Long story short,  I made him upset. Now all his texts have an aire of irritation in them. What are you going to do? Apparently, I irritate people. 

The fact that I so easily slipped into this hotline bling of naughtiness is just proof of how desperately I need to get back into church and my Bible, but that's a post for another time. 

Abandoned

Turning 40 has brought with it hours of reflection which is exhausting, seeing that I'm already a reflective person. Mostly, I've been trying to do some self work on being abandoned. Oddly enough, my last shrink diagnosed me with being abandoned before abandoning me herself. Oh, what is life without these painful, cosmic jokes? 

I feel abandoned by the brightness, will to live, and optimism of my younger self. I feel abandoned by family I miss that has died. I feel abandoned by my most intimate goals and dreams. And these things I am trying to carefully unpack. Yet most of all, I feel abandoned by my friends and people that have claimed to love me. I feel like my full name should be Holly "Out of sight, Out of mind" Clay. 

Facing the fact that I have been abandoned in some of my friendships, some I'd even considered life-long, has been excruciating. Addressing this abandonment also comes with this severe, overwhelming sense of loss, sadness, and even betrayal. It's a wound that I can't fully tend to, because just looking at the band-aid sends me into a spiral. 

"You are going to have to save yourself Holly. No one is coming to save you," my gyno told me during our last visit. She was speaking in regards to me losing weight, but she had no idea how much the comment hit home. 

Save me? I thought. I can't even get people I love to call me! 

I guess the hardest part is creating closure from folks that don't give a sh$t. I'm trying to map out how to do this without everyday being overwhelmingly emotional. I will keep you posted. 

Malfunctioning

The other day I attempted to watch The Barbie Movie. I didn't finish it because I got annoyed when Ken tried to boss up. Hopefully you have seen it, because this may be a spoiler alert. 

There is a part in the movie where Barbie loses her Barbieness. She isn't so happy and loses her foot arches. And she tells her friends about this and one of them says, "You're malfunctioning." BINGO! There is a word for it!!

Depression. Anxiety. Exhaustion. Negative self talk. Deep sadness. Endless loneliness. Torrential crying. I'm malfunctioning! Surely if it can happen to Barbie it can happen to me!

I guess I have to finish the rest of the movie to figure out what to do next. Until I get the energy to roll over and turn on my computer, I think I will take a 7 hour nap. It's just good to finally have a diagnosis. 

Snow Job

Child. 

It's that magical time in Atlanta where there is a threat of snow. And by threat of snow, I need you to know, that there only needs to be the threat of one snow flake for the city to lose it. You have probably seen the coverage of our grocery stores wherever you live. Shelves are BARE as if we live in Colorado and are expecting an avalanche. My Doordash delivery lady had to make some hard decisions yesterday. There was hardly anything left at the store, especially when it came to the off brand stuff. However, I am excited to try the that $8 bread I've been wanting to try for so long. There was no other bread on the available!!

It's in the winter when I am most grateful to live in the South. I saw some downright outrageous videos of Northerns literally snowed into their homes and cars sliding and crashing on expressways. There were women, WOMEN, wearing pounds of coats and scarves, attempting to shovel their driveways with snow coming up to their knees! No ma'am! 

There is a 90% chance of snow today. Don't get too excited. Our snow rarely sticks. The most determined kid can hardly make a suitable snowman. That doesn't stop the city from shutting down like some type of NYC apocalyptic ice storm is upon us. School is cancelled. People are buying gasoline like they need enough to drive to the moon. We've discussed the over shopping. You would think the world is ending. 

And it's not. Not today anyway. Like every other ATAlien, I will be locked in the house watching Netflix, nibbling on snacks. If you are here, I suggest you do the same. There will be inevitable drama outside. Y'all be safe! 

Hopes and Dreams

I'm a few days into being 40 and I have to say that I am adjusting into it like a pair of church shoes three sizes too small. Some women hit 40 and it's just another year, but it really is a milestone for me. I am now in the perfect position to look back and see clearly all the mistakes I have made and all the things I didn't get done. And in doing so I now find myself wondering if I should continue to try to make my dreams come true or just give up, cut my losses, and try to make some real money before I end up retiring with nothing. I could become one of those unfortunate seniors who has to get a roommate and move into an extended stay motel. At some point, is it just best to let your hopes and dreams go?

I want to say yes, but I'm not so sure. My dreams of becoming a world famous author have kept the lights on in my heart since I was 6! How do I now transition into trying to figure something else out? The thought is exhausting and pressing now that I'm old enough to be a victim of age discrimination. I look forward to the day where I'm told I'm too old to file papers or pick up trash on the side of the expressway. Devoid of the teaspoon of energy and optimism I had as a younger woman, I can't imagine the mental fortitude it's going to take to make it now. 

On top of this, writing is dying. Pretty soon, everything written that we read, down to the subtitles on a commercial, will be written by AI. I will be the first to say I can't compete with a computer! 

As I need to find a way to make bigger money, I can't imagine my life without trying to fulfill my hopes and dreams. It's a get published or die trying type of deal. How fun it's going to be trying to make it with the ticking of a grandfather clock in my ear. The Arthur theme song says, "Believe in yourself! That's the place to start!" We'll see. 

Happy New Year!!

2025 is here y'all, and I am proud to announce that I did not go out. Nope! Once upon a time, a 20-something year old Holly would have weighed paying a bill on time with buying a ticket to some stuffy Atlanta hotel party with no guaranteed seating. You know the type. A standing room only affair with no food and a DJ no one has heard of. Tonight, you could not have paid me to go out. I had a sparkling grape juice toast with my family, watched The Peach Drop on TV, talked to Haynes, then went to bed. Funny, the last time I went Downtown to see The Peach Drop, gunshots rang out before the concert started, and everyone ran. This was after a man dressed like Jesus with a homemade cross on his back told my gay homegirls they were going to hell. Ah, memories. Anywho, Happy New Year!!