Family No Fair

Today, I got into a huge argument with my brother. We are six years apart. At what age is this nonsense supposed to end? And to think, I was super excited when he was born. Now, all he does is yell, complain, mope, and bark. I guess this argument was all my fault for not allowing him to strong-arm and overrun a conversation he was not even a part of. I will not be bullied by my kid brother. My bad. 

Family, am I right? When I used to get into tween spats with my mom, my grandma would say, "Well, you don't get to choose your family." I'm not so sure. I have heard that there are cultures that believe that the spirits of babies choose their parents or that the family you are born into is all a part of some type of divine plan. This evening, I wanted to dropkick my brother. How's that for divinity?

My mom had four siblings, and now three of them are gone, including her. I know the importance of valuing your brothers and sisters better than the average Joe. I know a lot of people who are only children, so I also know how lucky I am to have brothers and sisters. I love and appreciate them. That doesn't mean that I don't often fantasize about stomping on my brother's foot. He thinks I don't hear him, and I know he doesn't hear me. At times, he can be truly unbearable. I didn't choose him, so I guess I should just love him, even though that is easier said than done, and I would much rather love to elbow him in the ear. Little brothers, am I right?

41 going on 14

Earlier today, I had to talk a friend down from the ledge. She was crying and very emotional over a man that she met online that was no longer talking to her. Tiesh has been ghosted by her friend group because she fell out with Wadley. I am looking for a job with the same gusto I had that summer when I got my work permit. I can't help but feel like I have been here before. What is it about middle age that has me feeling like I am reliving life as a tween? Breakups. Petty friendship disputes. Being broke. I am half expecting a friend to call me tomorrow and tell me her signed Immature poster has come in the mail and, if she keeps her room clean, her mom has promised to get her Aaliyah tickets. 

I have concluded that either life happens to you in a series of loops that feel familiar as time goes on, or me and the people I know have experienced no growth and still have the horrible communication skills of children. Neither idea is comforting. I didn't want to be a child when I was a child, but the way that I have been feeling of late and the situations that I have been witnessing my friends fall into has me looking into my purse to make sure that I have my Lip Smacker and my Lisa Frank notebook. With all that has been going on, I half wonder if you can be an adult and a kid at the same time. 

I have long said that I feel that you are who you are by the time you hit a certain age in elementary school. Everything you pick up along the way either adds to or takes away from your personality. With that being said, perhaps me and my girls aren't experiencing the same situation over and over again, but rather we are essentially the same people we were at 14, so we are handling all situations, no matter how serious or grown up, the same way we would have in the 99s and 2000s. Again, not a great conclusion. 

In my friends' defense, there is no great way to handle breakups or friend loss at any age. Having to deal with them leaves you feeling just as dumb and vulnerable as that kid on the couch, waiting for "All That" to come on while waiting for life to happen. How many ways can life happen the same way? Am I going to be 80 upset because a friend did not return my text? Who knows. All I can do is try to be there for my friends. They all need support. 41 can be a very hormonal, difficult age. 

The Prom Post

 

If your social media timeline is anything like mine, you have been flooded with pics of family members and the children of friends going to the prom. These pics have made me nostalgic and a little sad, as everything does these days. I tell you, I think I have cried more this month than I have my whole life. I'm either in perimenopause or depressed, a conversation for another time. 

Anyway, my senior prom was shrouded in drama. My friends didn't want to go so I had to go with some other classmates, my date pulled out of the deal, my dress had to be tailored, I had drama with Lisha (which would later kickstart our friendship), and my big grown up night out ended in me and my friends falling asleep before midnight in a fancy hotel. What a night! 

I hated high school. I didn't have a lot of friends. However, for some reason, I was super stoked to go to my prom. I think I really wanted to get in a limo and wear a cute dress. But when I got to the prom at the Fox Theater, I just kind of swayed awkwardly and talked to folks. I was too shy to dance. 

Of late, I have thought a lot about what a me today would tell a younger me. Old Me would show up to my prom in the ratty old summer dress I am wearing as a night gown and scream at Young Me to dance. I'd tell her in a little over ten years our mom and grandma would be dead. DANCE! College would leave us in boatloads of debt. DANCE! Depression, loss, anxiety. DANCE! Knowing Young Me, I would have still wallflowered it, but Old Me would take the opportunity to shine. I see myself breakdancing, back flipping, and moonwalking while Young Me sulks in the corner. I always ease out of this fantasy with a smile on my face. It feels good to dance again. 

Show Improve

The other night, I mentioned to Coffee that I don't know how to walk in heels. He told me that when he was hiring an etiquette coach for his daughter, the first thing she asked was if his daughter could walk in heels. He suggested I consider hiring a woman like that to teach me to walk in heels and help me with any other things I may want to improve. 

This may sound a little negative, but I don't often think of improvement probably because I am not really sure anything changes. I have always felt kind of doomed and stuck where I am. Early on, once I realized that I'd never be small or anything resembling petite, I just figured there was no point. I'd never be cute. I'd never like my body and neither would anyone else. I'd never be ladylike. I would always be a bull in a China shop, and that was just the long and short of it. As weird as it may sound, I never took the idea seriously that I could actually improve myself, even on little things, to get as close as possible to the me I told myself I'd never be. It was all or nothing, and since I was never going to be all, I'd have to settle for nothing. This attitude has spilled over to most aspects of my life, and if you are thinking that this can't be a productive way to live, you are thinking right. 

If I'm being honest, general low self-esteem, energy, and motivation have also played a part in my stagnancy. I went to college with this AKA that really had it together. I mean, she always looked so polished and feminine and professional, even in jeans and a t-shirt. I secretly idolized this girl, and she was a vivid example of what my grandma was talking about when she would preach to me about being presentable. I mean, she was elegant, even at 19! So, in an attempt to improve myself, I revaluated everything; hair, hygiene, makeup, my walk. All of it. And I came up with an honest and ambitious plan to make some changes. However, when it was time to execute this plan, I lost the teaspoon of juice in my battery. What was the point? I'd just be a lipstick wearing version of the mess I already was and everyone would see through my attempt at self improvement. I canceled my new me plans and sank comfortably into my old me, cuddled in sadness, disappointment, and functional depression. 

Now, I'm middle-aged and still daydreaming of a better version of me because it feels so far away. Where would I even start now? Why would I even start now? Maybe to enjoy a brighter type of me before I die and clock out for good. I guess I'd have to muster up the gusto to get my one pair of heels out the back of the closet. Does anyone know where you can get cheap gusto? I'm on a budget. 

Where's The Love? (Another Risky Business Story)

Spring is here, and romance is all around us, even in the hookup dating apps. 

Risky Business sent me a screenshot of her messages with a potential gentleman caller, where they were having a lovely exchange about meeting up for sex. They were going back and forth about their recent STI screenings. Risky was happy because the guy gives plasma regularly, so he is automatically tested for many of the sexually transmitted greatest hits. Because of this, she suspects that they may be having some fun together sooner than later. 

Don't get me wrong, I am glad that there are still people out here who are still interested in being safe, especially with STI rates going up faster than the cost of living. Yet, the messages left me wondering where the love is? Where is the romance? The conversation felt so mechanical and sterile. Is there no more amour? I guess getting tested to make sure that your potential partner doesn't end up ill is as sweet as it is going to get out here. It seems like a cheek swab and a blood draw are the new flowers and candy in these streets and, as disappointing as that is, with the state of the sexually active world, it is definitely not a bad thing. 

I guess I still fantasize about romance the way it was deceptively described to me in romance novels. I still see lit candles and slow dancing. I still hear a soft saxophone playing in the background. Bubble baths. Eskimo kisses. I know that I have to accept that today's daters, especially those my age, have moved past these things. So, at some point this spring, Risky and her beau may hold hands as they go over each other's MyChart results. This may sound like a sad thing, but as it was explained to me, if you find a guy brave enough to take such things seriously, it's actually enchanting. 

With The Quickness

Has anyone else noticed that the older you get, the quicker the big issues come up in those first getting to know you conversations? I don't think I was on the phone with this guy Ted for ten minutes before he demanded to know my stance on abortion. 

"I wouldn't respect any woman who did that!" he declared. 

"Well...I believe women should be able to get the healthcare they need," I said, wondering how we ended up on this topic of all topics. 

"Really?! I know girls back home who have had four or five abortions. What do you think about that?" he demanded.

"I think men are pretty pro-life until they get the bill," I said, dryly. Oops! There I go again accidentally telling a guy my true feelings. You would think I'd know better by now. 

I guess past a certain age you don't have time to waste on pleasantries. You have to find out how looney someone is quickly. Many of us would probably be better off if we would have done this from the start. The Gen Z girlies aren't playing around about getting to the heart of matters expediently. My Gen Z buddy Tanya told me all about it. 

"My friend Jess went home with a guy she met on Tinder," Tanya began, "and they were about to hook up, but she asked him who he voted for President and he didn't want to answer."

Not a good sign, I thought. 

"She didn't like his answer so she got up and left!" said Tanya. 

Sigh. If so many of us elders would have got up and left, but we didn't, now we are having cringy conversations about abortion with men we met online. 

Here's the thing they tell you but that you don't believe until your back is against the wall: time is of the essence. This is especially true in today's piss poor dating landscape. The key is to find a way to take your time without wasting it, but I'm almost at a point where I don't know if that's possible. Everything in the dating world just feels so rushed and somehow overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time. I kind of want to clock out of the whole thing, but no can do when you have to hurry up. 

Seeking Charles Christmas 4: A Crush No More

I'm sad to report that my secret obvious love for Charles Christmas is no more. The thrill is gone. The fantasy is broken. 

Last night, I was scrolling on social media and came across the profile of a girl we will call Lizzy. It looks like she is a fitness/bikini/foodie influencer. She is petite with an impossibly small waist and a full, perfect booty. She is very pretty and has a lot of hair. Much of her content includes her crossing intersections with a close-up on her jiggling behind, and it looks like Charles Christmas has liked a number of her posts. Talk about getting a needle stuck in your balloon. 

Part of having a good crush is the dream ( or possibly the delusion) that you and the other person could one day be together. That hope was dashed today when I saw his manic liking of a good deal of this girl's posts. She is clearly the type of woman he would be in to. They are both incredibly fit. I could see her loving his crazy gym where people bear crawl across the floor and run with weights on their backs. 

"He may have liked her posts because he knows her," Lisha offered. Possibly. Or, more likely, I simply witnessed a case of like attracting like. As much of a hater as I want to be, it does make more sense that he would be into a woman that meal preps and works out daily. 

With that being said, I must bid ado to Charles Christmas. I'm hurt I'm not his type, but what can anyone do about that? I will continue to watch the videos of him pumping iron though. I don't have to have abs and a good weave to do that. 

Oh God!

The country is at war. There are rumors of more. Threats of bombings. Healthcare disparities. Mass layoffs. Murders. Addiction. Environmental injustice. Racial tensions. The other day, I was watching a clip of a conservative influencer on Instagram where she said that Jesus was White. Yes, that Jesus...of NAZARETH! The current state of things has me wondering what God must be thinking. I mean, nothing is new under the sun, and He knows all things, but he has to be like, "What is wrong with these people?! I gave them my only son and a book for guidance, and they still can not get it together!" I hate to be morbid, but I even think about judgment day. P is Muslim, and he says that the judgment starts as soon as you die. I imagine going up to the Heaven line and hearing God yelling at souls, saying things like, "I never said that!" "Now you are reaching!" "Your skin color is just your skin color! How were you judging folks off of it?!" "Duh! What did you think I meant when I said you were all my children?" I bet the fear and shame will be thick enough to cut with a knife. 

I guess nothing will get you thinking about the afterlife like social decline and unrest. My old minister once asked what we would do if we came to church and our lives were being shown on a big screen, even our private moments? If I get to the pearly gates and God has a big old flat screen and a remote, I am going to scream! 

No one in my circle is unimpacted by the current state of affairs. Yet, it is easy to feel helpless because it feels like there is nothing to be done, and we all have to wait out the crazy. You can't think about all the bad things all of the time, but you can't ignore them either. So what is the verdict for the God-fearing girl who has high anxiety about the afterlife but who also enjoys a good little white lie every now and again? I guess all that is left is prayer. I'm so desperate to see a change in what is going on that I may even pray to White Jesus as well. 

The Mixed Signals of Male Responsibility

If I'm wrong, correct me, but wasn't it not that long ago that men were talking about how much they wanted an independent woman? Didn't Ne-Yo even make a song about it, "Miss Independent"? I swear it wasn't even 10 years ago when men pushed women into the world of going dutch on meals and half on rent. Men were literally saying that having any responsibility towards women was making their booties itch, and the word "provider" became up for interpretation. Boy have the tides changed!  Now, a growing community of men want a housewife who gives them full control over their lives. They now not only want to be your man, but your dad as well! This realization hit me like a bag of bricks during a conversation with Coffee. He discussed very eloquently how a woman's real value is in being a wife, and he would exercise full veto power over anything she may want to do. I mean, parts of the conversation were out-and-out jaw dropping and no, he wasn't kidding. He even said that he'd refuse to marry a woman who ever told him he couldn't tell her what to do. According to him, a woman with that attitude would rather be single. He even seems to hold great disdain for Miss Independent qualities like wanting to travel or have a say. I mean, what's going on??

The word on the curb is that the Boss Babe era is over and now the younger generation of women would rather be trad wives than CEOs. This may be true for some, but I suspect these things come in cycles. 10-20 years from now, those women will be complaining about feeling suffocated in the home, financially deprived, and wanting to get out and work. I guess it's a testimony to how well women fought for rights that today's younger girls don't even remember forced home life to the point that they want to return to it. Whoever said history repeats itself wasn't joking, but can we return to a time of gaucho pants and not to one of female suppression? 

P made a good point the other day: I'm old. He said hopefully, as the old women die off, the world can get back to a point of female obedience. I resent this idea that women have to be Stepford Wives for men to feel powerful, but that's where we are.  As the women's right to abortion has been revoked and our right to vote is now up for discussion, it saddens me to see women eagerly walk off the side of the cliff and siding with this extra toxic form of patriarchy. I guess I should be excited about this as a feminist. If feminism is about making your own choices than these young trad wives are making the choice to be incredibly dependent on a man independently. 

A Wrinkle in Face

Today, a nurse told me that I have a baby face. This is something that I have been told my whole life. I guess that is why I was so dramatically devastated when I found my first wrinkle in the corner of my mouth. 

"That is not a wrinkle, that is a crease," my aunt said, observing my face closely. Isn't that what a wrinkle is? A disgusting, unwelcome crease?

I have discussed before how full of myself I was in my 20s. I thumbed my nose at any type of plastic surgery. I felt sorry for women who would permanently change their faces. I even got holy with it, saying that it was a sin because we are all made in God's image. Getting so much as a nose job was like telling God that you thought He was ugly, or at the very least, could have done a better job. My tune has changed over the past few years. If my looks begin to fall off, I want every plastic surgeon in Georgia with even an ounce of talent to tap dance on my face! 

Years ago, I saw an interview with the late, great Joan Rivers. And she said that the only thing that mattered was looking good. I won't say that it is the only thing that matters, but it is important, and admitting this is a testimony of the world's vanity as well as our own. I am very realistic with myself. Some may even say that I am harsh with myself. I know that I am very overweight. I know that some changes have to be made there. But I have always thought I was pretty, even when others made it clear that they did not. I even find that my prayers are changing. I pray that God protect the world and bring peace, and also bring peace and protection to my face. Amen. 

Like many middle-aged women before me, I have begun to research facial products and what would work best for me. I am finding myself on the side of any snake oil that says anti-aging right in the title. There's no time to play, gotta get to work. I committed to letting this first wrinkle be the last. 

NO!

I am proud to report to you that my 2-year-old niece is a tough cookie. When she doesn't want to do something, she stomps her little foot, crosses her arms, and shouts no at the top of her lungs before running off. This is obviously a behavior that needs to be corrected, yet when she does it, I feel a sense of jealousy. Her response is the response that I want to have to just about everything in my life. 

You see, I find myself in a consistent state of shock over how overwhelming adulting is. Being grown is nothing like how I imagined it as a child. Every day was supposed to be like some version of a Living Single episode. Only, my version was going to include more money and sex and travel. Surprise, this Khadijah is not living that life at all.  But I am single. I guess that is a small win. 

I think of this when I see my niece acting out, and I often wonder what it would be like to respond to the world as she responds to me when I say she can't have another cookie. 

The World: Holly, apply for more jobs that will not call you for an interview. 

Me: No! 

The World: Holly, do something with your hair before you end up with an enormous dreadlock. 

Me: No! 

The World: Holly, please complete all tasks in a reasonable manner so that you don't have to rush. 

Me: NOOOOOOO! 

Instead of stomping out of the room, I tend to roll over and take a good nap, then wake up and stream a movie. There is no solution other than doing what I need to do, you know, adulting, so sometimes, I rather just clock out and dream about my once dreamt about sitcom life. But you can't stay asleep forever. Believe me, I've tried. So at some point (you'd think it would have been before middle age), I am going to have to get up and pull up my big girl undies and do something about my life. But don't ask me to be excited about it because the answer is no! 

Revelations and Realizations

The older I get, the more I get to know myself. I guess that should go without saying, but this may not be the case for everyone. And I find that the things that I am realizing about myself are things that I should have realized years ago. For example, I used to think that I got seasonal depression during the holidays, but I now realize that I get a version of it before every season change, and it manifests as deep mourning. I have been thinking about my late grandma a lot, and experiencing sadness over lost friendships. Risky Business called me this morning and told me that she realized today, at 40 years old, that every man she has been in relationship with, both serious and otherwise, has come out of her friendship circle. You would think that she would have noticed this two decades ago, but I guess it is never too late for a lightbulb moment. I think that as long as we are having these lightbulb moments, we still have an opportunity to change and make ourselves better. In my case, I can continue to work on ways to deal with loss until it doesn't feel as heavy. Maybe Risky can go out on a limb and find a date that isn't a bestie. In my mind's eye, we will continue to prune ourselves until we are finally complete...or close to it. I can't wait to see what that will look like. 

A Change In The Side Tide

Coffee has lost his favorite woman in his rotation. She got a new gig and she's headed up north. He said he's okay with it, that nothing ever stays the same. But I found myself thinking, Man. I wish there was a condolence card for this. 

I love sending and receiving cards, which is pretty much a dying art. Outside of Christmas cards, no one really takes the time to buy cards and make them personal anymore. But what if the cards addressed more modern issues like getting laid off, having to sign up for the draft, or losing your favorite rotation woman? I think a revamp of cards in this way could be encouraging! 

Your favorite side got a new gig

She moved up north and hit it big 

And although she's no longer yours in this way

I'm sure you will find a replacement any day. 

Befriending Coffee has shown me the blood, sweat, and tears that goes into keeping a steady, healthy rotation. It's not some easy, breezy process. A lot of time and skill is involved, so a loss in the stable should be addressed with kind words and top notch stationary stock. Shouldn't we support our friends in all phases of life? Just an idea. 

The Purity Culture Gag

I have unintentionally dipped my toe into Christian purity culture twice. The first time, I was in high school and a co-president of a club that was big on waiting to have sex until after marriage, even though kids were totally hooking up at our regional conferences. I was too young to know better. The second time, I was good into my 30s and totally old enough to know better. Yet again, I was seduced by the idea of monogamy and the promise of a place in heaven. Luckily, both times I have been snapped out of my goofiness by the facts of the world. I am all for dating with intention, but the primary intention should be learning how to deal with the opposite sex's BS so you don't want to pack up your bag and go home every time the crazy presents itself. I mean, my God, I'm a 41-year-old woman who does not know how to healthily deal with the stress and anxiety of not having my text returned immediately. 

Purity culture is all about keeping your cookies in the jar, but what I am hearing out in the world is less about cookies and more about not having the mental juice to even deal with dating at all. Every person who is single and ready to mingle, from 18 all the way up into the golden years, is being bombarded with ideas and information on the opposite sex, most of which are ridiculous. The podcast bros think women are whores who shouldn't vote and ladies think that men are useless liars. What is the intention supposed to be under these circumstances? Finding someone to couple with that doesn't make you physically ill? I think everyone is leaning into sex because it's all they can agree with. Somehow, Christian values have confused the situation instead of make it better. I guess that's because the idea of what a Christian is has changed socially, which is a conversation for another post. 

Ah, if I would have had the confidence and the knowledge to date full force when I was young. It could have been a beautiful thing. With my head held high dressed in the armor of God, I could have kicked losers out of my way with authority and could probably be coupled now. But there is no need to focus on the past. At least I'm going to heaven (I think). 

Curly and the Pee

Something is afoot in the dating world. I am not into the Zodiac or anything like that, but are the planets realigning? Is the sun shifting? Something is wrong in the divine order of things. I don't know what to call it technically or medically, but it seems like many single men have lost their minds, and because I can not make any sense of it here on Earth, I guess it is time for me to take my questions on the matter into the spiritual realm. Recently, a man flashed me his junk "on mistake" during a video call. Risky Business was stood up for four dates in one weekend. And now, Curly has even been taken for a pretty gross ride, meaning that the crazy is even going on in the gay community. I mean, are we all screwed?

Over the weekend, Curly went on a dinner date with his guy friend, Todd, which went pretty well. Then afterwards, they decided to hit up a couple of bars. All was well until they hit up the last bar, a gay bar that seemed pretty niche from the word go. 

"I walked into the bar and literally every guy there looked like different versions of George from Seinfeld," he said. This made me laugh. I mean, how many Georges could there be in one place? According to Curly, it was a whole house full. He went to the bar and ordered a drink, then asked Todd to hold said drink while he went to the bathroom. Todd gremised. Apparently, this was a bad idea.

"The guys here are really into piss play," he informed Curly. "They pretty much pee on each other in the bathroom."

Who takes their date to some type of pee palace piss kink nightmare club on a date?! Curly didn't have time to think about it. He really had to pee. He went to the bathroom, and what he saw was horrifying. First off, the floor was pretty much saturated in urine. And there were no uninals, just some type of group pee troft and a stall with no door. Listening to him describe it, it sounded like a bathroom in some type of overseas men's prison. There was only one man in there at the moment, and he was visibly disappointed when Curly left the bathroom after he relieved himself and didn't stick around for a pee party. On the ride home, Todd seemed a bit confused by Curly's attitude. I mean, what's the big deal about taking someone you like romantically to some type of open diaper den? 

The moral of this story? These guys either openly don't give a sh$t or they are setting you up to get peed on. Now, if that doesn't sound like an awesome, swingin' dating scene, I don't know what does! 

Down With The Dusty (Another Risky Business Story)

Risky Business got stood up for four dates in one weekend. You can't make this up. Her two Saturday dates stood her up and so did her Sunday dates. I mean, how is a woman supposed to bounce back from something like that?!

I think the problem lies in the caliber of guy she talks to. They are all from this dating app known for securing hookups and the guys seem to be total flakes! A couple of them would not come to the restaurant until it was confirmed that sex would be guaranteed afterwards. The conservative community would blame feminism on the rise of male dustiness. I think that some guys are prone to dustiness and there is nothing that can be done short of round housing them in the face and kicking them out of the dating pool. By early Sunday morning she'd given up and decided to drown her sorrows in chicken wings. Who hasn't been there, am I right ladies??

My prayer for Risky and my other single friends is that they find love. But how can one make it to love when these guys can't even make it to confirmed dinner plans? I don't know. What I do know is it is only March. I'm positive that there is more dustiness on the horizon. 

Liar, Liar

The other morning was a very difficult one with my nephew. I am finding that getting him ready for school is playing out more like peace negotiations these days, but today he was really in rare form. Although he had new and clean shirts to wear to school, he tried to wear the shirt he wore the day before, knowing that was not okay. Then I told him to brush his teeth. He went in the bathroom then came back out, claiming he did it. I asked to smell his breath, then he tells me he didn't do it because he couldn't find his toothbrush. This is lie two or three if you count the stunt with his shirt. I gave him a new toothbrush and he comes back saying he brushed his teeth again. I ask to smell his breath. He then reveals he didn't brush because he can't find the toothpaste, three or four.

I know that he is just a kid and that none of this seems like a big deal, but I am concerned with his need to lie about even the smallest, most unimportant things. If not handled now, I see this only getting worse with age until he inevitably hot-wires my aunt's car! I remember these little white lie mischievous boys from when I was a kid. In middle age, the reports are not good. One of them is in jail. I'm mortified! 

He marched out the door to get on the school bus, upset because I told him that if he keeps trying to skip brushing his teeth, I'm going to brush them for him. He turned his back to me to leave, and I got a glimpse of him at 17, flipping me off and saying something smart under his breath. It was bone-chilling! You know, the consensus is that boys are easier to raise. Please! Whoever said that is a liar, liar pants on fire. 

The Customer Theory

Yesterday, I went out on a coffee date with a Black Republican. He has a lot of interesting views, many of which I don't share. However, he did discuss something with me that I think deserves some unpacking. I'm referring to it as "The Customer Theory". 

Let's call this man Coffee. Coffee said that, once upon a time, he was striking out with women. So, he researched what women want and took steps to become that. He refers to this process as "understanding the customer". He found that female customers didn't like lanky guys, so he gained weight. They liked professionally dressed men, so he changed his look. He basically changed himself to be what women want, now he has better lucky with ladies. He then challenged me, and women in general, to understand who their customer is and make changes. 

I think I have always understood this without giving it a name. The issue is that I felt that things my customers wanted I couldn't achieve. I couldn't be petite. I couldn't temper my opinions. So, I guess somewhere a long the line, I gave up on pleasing my customer because doing so was over my pay grade. How was I going to become Beyonce over my? Yet, at my big age, this something I'm willing to revisit. Maybe there are small things I can do to present myself as more of a contender. But I'm not dying my hair blonde or something. That would be stupid. 

The Case of the Declarers

Of late, I find that men that I refer to as Declarers have made themselves more present in my life. These are men that make some type of grand declaration, without provocation, then don't follow through. A great example of this are the two guys this week that proposed going on dates then didn't follow through. I was good with us getting to know each other by phone and had not applied any pressure to meet. They did that on their own then, for reasons unknown, dropped the mission. The actions of Declarer men really hurt my feelings. Then they annoyed me. Now I am realizing that single women of any age can just expect this type of liar- liar sassiness out of many of today's men. Not all, but many. 

My research has found that many Declarers also end up being Block Circlers. So, after they make their declaration then flunk, they go ghost then circle the block and come back when they feel you have forgotten their last fumble. At first, I thought I was missing something. I mean, what type of guys would be so icky? Declarer Block Circlers, that's who! 

P often says that women can't take accountability for anything. With that being said, I take accountability for their being something about me that keeps attracting these sad sacks; that makes them feel safe. So, I guess there is more self work on my end that needs to be done. In the meantime inbetween time, be safe out here ladies. 

Sex, Lies, and Video Calls

Guys, I don't know what to say about this late in life dating. Talking to these men, you don't know what to believe, and they are also openly and incredibly sexual to have just met you. Everything is rushed. They want to call you Monday then meet up on Tuesday. It's overwhelming and disappointing. This week, during an introductory video call, a gentleman "accidentally" flashed me his bro bits! I couldn't believe it, but one of my homegirls said that she had a video call where a dude tried to play off showing his whole behind. Men are literally showing their a$$es out here! What is left to do after you make this realization? I guess I just thought men from 35-50 would be different than the guys I met who were 18-30. I thought they'd be more gentlemanly and more mature. I think what they've done is acted up during their youth and now they have perfected their crazy! As I march on in the Find A Man parade, I am constantly reminded of how old-fashioned I am for this new age dating landscape. Maybe I am an old lady. Pardon me for thinking that during a get to know you call, a guy would keep his bits in the bag. 

Soft

The other night, Lisha, again, pointed out that I am not "soft" in my delivery and interaction with men. She has declared that she is in her "Soft Girl Era", and that men are attracted to softer women. Hm. This sounded familiar, and I began to have flashbacks of my grandma begging me to wear more dresses and stop being so loud. I know that no situation is black and white, but I sadly tend to operate in extremes. When I think of myself being softer, I imagine myself wearing rags, cooking over an open-fire stove, while whispering to passersby that I detest my right to vote. 

Lisha then began to coach me on talking to guys. I need to ask more intriguing questions because guys like feeling like they are telling you something. She said a bunch of other stuff that very well may have been the key to the game, but after a while, she started to sound like Charlie Brown's mom. It seems like being softer just means playing dumb so that he can feel like a big, smart stud muffin. In return for inflating his ego he'll treat you like a lady. I could be wrong here, but I don't think so. 

I have never, ever been good at playing dumb. I find it's best to let a guy know I'm smarter than him right from the jump. I tried the clueless routine once, but it came to a screeching halt the day I could no longer listen to said guy's flagrant incorrectness. 

"That's not true," I said as sweetly as I could. 

"What?" he asked confused. 

"There is actually a huge difference between womanist and feminist thought," I chirped politely. What ensued was a very unfortunate exchanged which nipped us in the bud fast. It was then that I learned how rough being soft can be. 

So I won't be making that mistake again, even though Lisha claims the results could be life changing. What is the point of dating if you have to be someone else? 

What?

I was chatting with a man on the fatty app and he told me that he is looking for a woman who would be okay with never seeing him because he works a lot and is trying super hard to get rich🫤 Who would be okay with that?! It has become more socially acceptable to say how you really feel, but it feels like people are doing this despite how looney they sound. I mean, is no one listening to their inner voices anymore before they speak?? As I have gotten older, my ear has gotten sharper, and of late I have been hearing a lot of open delusions, contradictions, tall tales, misrepresentations, misunderstandings, miseducations, and falsehoods. They all sound loco and they are leaving me in a constant state of bewilderment and confusion. Does anyone know what they are talking about?? I cannot go a full day without hearing some eye-crossing gibberish. I am a naturally talkative person, but the state of things has caused me to silence myself and really listen. What I have concluded is that there is a lot of talking but next to no thinking on even the simplest of matters. I'd say this is a new normal, but I don't think that's the case. I think it has only gotten worse and we will continue to speed towards a decline until we are only communicating in animal grunts. I don't know. Maybe that will be better. 

Half

At the moment, my life is in a silent chaos. I can not seem to finish anything I start. My Netflix account says it all. I am greeted by movies and shows I have yet to finish. I don't seem to have the desire or the attention span. Everything is half done. My hair is half combed. My room is half clean. I can only seem to be half awake during my phone conversations. I have fallen asleep on the phone with my friend Curly twice now. I am generally half engaged in life. This is no bueno, seeing that there are things going on that need my full attention. I just don't have it, whatever "it" is. I'm choosing to blame the time and season changes, but I'm only half sure that's even a thing. 

Tales of the Unrequited 3 pt 2: Twinkles

I did not like the Elephant Person that Twinkles ended up marrying. I don't know if I disliked her because she was worthy of disliking, or because I was jealous because she was dating someone I believed I was in love with. The lines can be blurred. All I know is that I thought she was just what the doctor ordered in the beginning. She was making him be serious about school. Then there was a sharp turn when they got serious-serious, and I could feel Twinkles pulling away from me as a friend and it freaked me out. Harsh lesson three million and six: when you think you are in love with someone who doesn't love you and they find someone they do love, brace yourself for the heartache and disappointment. Remember what Sweet taught me: the one he wants to f&$k will always come first, even for the guys you think are "different". Take it from me, there is no "different", not deep down. Originally, I thought I was imagining the pullback until our mutual friends' wedding. He showed up with the Elephant Person which was shocking. I didn't even know he was coming to Atlanta. How could he be my friend and not even tell me he was coming to town? I guess the same way he himself could get married some time later and not invite me to his wedding.  

"Hey, it's Twinkles," one of my friends announced. 

I wanted to wave but it was clear he was making a conscious effort not to look at me, even though he and the Elephant Person literally sat in front of me. 

I could have reached out and thumped him in the back of the neck he was so close. After the wedding, I went into the reception hall and stood at the bar, contemplating if I wanted a drink, when Twinkles took a spot right beside me. 

"Hey!" He exclaimed as if he hadn't just ignored me for like an hour.

"Hey?" I looked over his shoulder and around the room, but I did not see the Elephant Person. 

For about two minutes, Twinkles was his old self, chattering about nothing, then the Elephant Person came out of the bathroom and he raced from the bar and away from me while I was in mid sentence. You can't get much clearer than that. 

After he got married, we still talked, but I noticed he was only calling me when he was not around Elephant Person which made me begin to feel like a secret friend. Sigh. When is it appropriate to call your platonic male friend that is married? I had this same issue with Country after he jumped the broom. All I know is that I got scared to call Twinkles. I didn't want to get him in trouble, for he had insinuated once that the Elephant Person didn't like me. Overtime, he would stop calling me, and just like that, one of my favorite people had vanished from my life. This should have been good practice for the Brownie Nightmare, but it turns out that there is not enough practice to prepare you for losing a good friend. 

I texted Twinkles about homecoming late last year. It was a very short and sterile exchange. He has kids now, a good job, and as far as I know is living the life with his family. I wonder if he ever wonders what I'm up to. Not hearing from him in almost ten years would indicate that he doesn't, which is sad because, when he was able to be, he was a good friend. 

Tales of the Unrequited 6: The African Prince

The whole thing with The African Prince wasn't even a thing until my then friend, now ex friend, Wadley (who friend dumped me through a third party by making our mutual bestie a middle man, a story for another time) came to visit me at my grandma's apartment and showed her his picture! "Look Ms. Ruth," she said, getting up from the dining room table with a picture in hand, "this is the boy that Holly likes." It really isn't her fault. She didn't know the firecracker that she was lighting.  

Let's start at the very beginning. This boy in my graduating class, the one from the dreaded pen pal incident, declared one day that his younger brother was coming to visit the school and would potentially be attending the next year. I didn't think much about it. Then, not long after this announcement, I walked into the university center and saw him with his brother's friends. I didn't know whether to laugh or to scream. WHO ON EARTH HAS A YOUNGER BROTHER THAT GORGEOUS?! It was bewildering! He had to have still been in high school, and he looked like some type of African James Bond! It felt like a joke! For one, if my younger sister were that hot, I probably would have allowed her to slip on a banana peel. To give this moment context, it felt as incredible as if I had announced my kid sister had come to visit and then Nia Long walked in the room! He was tall and chocolatey and had a beautiful smile. If I were him, I would have skipped college and tried my hand at male modeling or something. 

The African Prince did end up coming to my college. He was younger than me, but every girl knew who he was. I will say that he is different from the other unrequiteds because I can honestly say we don't know each other. I never even had a chance moment with him, which would have been enough to get the love ball rolling for me. We just know each other, like everyone who goes to an HBCU knows each other. Like I said, he was younger than me. We didn't have classes together. We didn't have the same friends. We never really talked. But I saw him all the time, and when I saw him, I made sure to get in a good, long, really long, super long, look. I thought he was hot then, he is even hotter now, respectfully of course. He is married with kids. 

Now fast-forward to the Wadley debacle. I literally watched her in slow motion walk that picture over to my grandma. Poor Wadley. She didn't know the history of my grandma being disappointed and hurt that I went through the entirety of my college career uncoupled. She was mortified that I was gay. When I went to the homecoming events in Memphis during Hurricane Katrina, she was excited to hear that I was getting a dress and even bothering to go, but was devastated when she heard I was going with Big Homie Saans. "Grandma, I may never, ever have a boyfriend," I said to her over the phone. Her disappointment in my not going on the boat ride with a guy had put a pin in my balloon about the whole thing. "Guys don't like me, I don't know what you want me to tell you." This is probably why she took the photo out of Wadley's hand and studied it like a rare jewel, then she waved the picture in my direction, relieved. "See, I knew there was someone," she said, excited. 

Yikes. 

Not too long after that incident, my grandma was officially diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease. If you read this blog often, you know I am mortified of getting it. If you have never dealt with this disease, you have no idea the pain of watching the mind of someone you love crumble. She often could not remember me, my aunt, or my mom's names. She referred to the three of us collectively as her daughters. The doctor told me that her short-term memory was toast, which was crazy to hear. I had known her my whole life, and I was in her short-term memory? Ouch. Anyway, during one visit, she looked over at me and asked, "Where is Holly? I think she is mad at me."

I looked into her eyes and could tell that my grandma was there. You see, with this disease, the person you remember can come back in flashes. 

"I am Holly," I said to her from her bedside. "I could never be mad at you."

She smiled. Yep, she was in the room. I wanted to tell her so much, but I didn't want to overload her. You see, these flashes of normality can be fleeting. I just wanted to sit with her in it. 

She took a deep breath and took my hand. They were cold, even though she was covered in blankets. 

"Holly?" she said again. 

"Yes, Grandma? I'm here."

In that moment, she looked so excited. "So, how are things with you and Femi?"

Tales of the Unrequited 5: Golden Boy

The story of Golden Boy has a lot of arms to it. We will skip the part where my grandma wanted me to marry him the moment she saw him my freshman year, and we will save the tale of how he almost killed me on Halloween 2006 for another time. I will stick to the details pertinent to the whole unrequited theme. The most important thing to understand is that if you questioned Golden Boy today about "our" story, he would not be aware that there is one, and I guess there isn't one outside of my own mind. It's funny the role you can play in someone's life, both real and fantasy, and not even know it. Funny or scary. I guess it depends on who you ask. 

Out of all my unrequited loves, his was the shortest lived, only because my infatuation with him morphed into a desire to solve the case of him. A life long fan of the show "Ghost Writer", I found myself observing him from a distance, keeping track of his clues in my metaphoric composition book. Yes he was fine. Yes he had a commanding presence. Yet, those things were not what drew me to him. 

In school, I never missed an opportunity to talk to Golden Boy not just because he was hot and to collect clues, but also because he has an AMAZING voice! He has truly missed his calling narrating erotic books for Audible. During one conversation, I felt something radiate off of him that knocked the air out of my lungs. I'm no tree hugging crystal kisser, but I guess I'd call it an energy. I now know that I'm empathetic, but back then I didn't, and this "energy" I contracted from him stayed with me for days. It was familiar but felt heavy, and made me feel like I needed to use my inhaler. 

"Maybe he just gave you a cold," one of my smart a$$ friends suggested. Maybe, but no. I didn't feel sick. I felt sad. And then I realized what he put down that I picked up and couldn't shake: it was pain! Who knows pain better than me?!

GIRL!!! If you want me to really fall for a man, bring me a man that needs to be fixed! Golden Boy showed me in vivid color this disease I have of wanting to heal a broken man, or a man I conclude is broken because remember, I don't know him, at least not well. What could the cause of the pain be for a man this gorgeous and this popular? I nearly jumped out of my skin thinking of the possibilities. 

What ever the issue was, I knew I could fix it. All I needed was to know something about him. 

Spoiler: no one knows anything about him. I have asked casual questions about him over the years, and the answers have been vague. Very vague. Three years of investigating and all I know for sure is that he's in a frat and of Caribbean descent I think. No one has confirmed or denied this. My grandma thought he was African. Maybe🤷 He is also married to a woman no one has ever seen or met. The brotha is a mystery! 

When I saw him recently, I didn't feel what I thought I felt before. He just felt sexy, per usual. Perhaps I had imagined the "energy" all those years ago, or maybe his M.I.A wife loved the energy out of him. If so, good job. I doubt I would have been able to do it even if given the chance but I tell you one thing: I would have tried. 

Tales of the Unrequited 4: Country

I met Country in a useless university course that was intended to teach freshmen about the school and get them in the habit of waking up early. A no-credit course at 8am on a Friday. How ungodly. Country sat in the back of the class with me. He was tall and handsome and self-assured and had a country accent that was so deep at the time that it almost sounded fake. He was my first official college love, and we had a ball together. We could joke all day. And he was super nice. When I think of being into him back then, I just feel really innocent and excited. Aw, to be excited about someone. Bring back those days. 

Let's be clear: I was not the only one into Country. He was literally tall, dark, and handsome and girls way hotter than me were interested, yet I never saw him with anyone. I thought he had really high standards. I found out later that he was just secretly hooking up with chicks without my knowledge. Yikes. 

My love for Country could have possibly become a forever love if I wouldn't have been confronted with the fact that he had a girlfriend head on. Early sophomore year, I got off the elevator in my dorm on my friend Laya's floor. I was going to visit her when I was ear accosted by the sound of Country and some girl having sex. It was like a bucket of cold water to my face. I don't know. Wading in my love for him I had convinced myself that he wasn't interested in dating. After that day I would find out that he and SheWhoShallNotBeNamed had been in their situation for a minute before I found out. Surprise, surprise. 

The good part about this bad news and the way I found out was that it caused my bubble to pop quick and bring me back to life, back to reality. Country and I would never, ever be a thing. Ever. But if I could get over that, I could have a bestie, which ended up being awesome. We are still close to this day. 

The Country situation showed me that you can be friends with someone you once really liked if you can get over it. I'm glad I did, since I'd never been able to before. In the long run, I got to witness him get married and have a family, which has been super dope! If only my other unrequited nightmares had similar endings. My next two years of school would be littered with them. Not all of them ended in a Country fashion. But then again, not all of my unrequiteds were as nice as Country. 

Tales of the Unrequited 3 pt. 1: Twinkles

If the purpose of loving someone is to learn lessons, the lesson I learned from my unrequited love for Twinkles was a hard one about what happens to an opposite-sex platonic friendship when the male in the group gets married... to someone you don't like and who doesn't like you. 

Twinkles came out of nowhere. It was like, one day I didn't know him, and the next day I did. It was like he just appeared! He wasn't gross and crude the way that young guys can be. I think it was because he was older than me, but even today, I cannot tell you by how much. He was funny and kind, with a childlike spirit. He kind of put me in mind of child Simba or Winnie the Pooh. He was like a big, tall kid. And he was spiritual. Like for real. I had witnessed him pray for things, and the prayer be answered in real time! It was crazy! Being around him made me happy, and that is saying a lot, because I just may be the most negative person that I know. He just radiated positive energy. And much like the other unrequiteds, I am sure that he was pretty aware of how much I liked him. I have never been good at hiding my real feelings on anything. Yet, he still hung out with me. 

One of the worst things about being friends with someone you love is that you most certainly will have to watch them like someone else. Twinkles had a huge crush on our friend Trina, who, although sweet, was a bit of an airhead. She was skinny and pretty with long hair. Again, I was confronted with someone I liked liking someone who I could never be, which will break you if you let it. However, Trina didn't like him. Isn't that the way of the world? I guess you could say that situation should have prepared me for the one that would like him back, the woman he would marry. 

When you are young, you don't know things until you know them, and what I didn't know in my early 20s was what it would be like to maintain a friendship with a guy who was getting married, especially to someone outside of your friend group who really isn't in to you. You see, I graduated college and Twinkles went on to pharmacy school and that is when he met the Elephant Person he would marry. She too seemed to come out of nowhere. I had never heard of her until he called me to tell me he was torn between two girls, the tall chick with the pretty Afro and the Elephant Person. This made me nervous seeing that right before graduation, one of the Elephant People had threatened to kill me, but that is a story for another time. Regardless, I was on the side of the Elephant Person because she was making him be serious about school. As fond as I was of Twinkles, he could be a slack ass. He was the type that would pay attention in class just enough to get a C instead of study hard to get an A. I imagine she was the one that also introduced him to the incredibly slow ghost technique, because our friendship simmered down to a drip until I wouldn't hear from him in years. More to come. 

Tales of the Unrequited 2: Sweet

People can break your heart and not know it; and not mean it. This was the unfortunate takeaway I took from Sweet. 

I met Sweet on one of the greatest nights of my life. I was a sophomore, and I won $100 twerking at a basketball game. Big Homie Saans had snuck us down to the good seats, so I had to get my money and literally run before they asked to check my ticket stub. Later that night, we went to a party at The Municipal Auditorium. Me and Saans got some drinks at the bar and turned around to see a very thin Sweet in an oversized red Dicky's short set. He asked if we could buy him a drink because he wasn't old enough to get it himself. Not too long after, Hurricane Katrina would happen. Upon return to school, he would play a major role in the greatest year of my life...before it went south. 

There are some things you should know about Sweet. He moves to the beat of his own drum. He is unusually cool. Nothing seems to shake him. Always happy. Unbelievably confident. This guy would wear things that you could never imagine a guy his age who was concerned about fitting in would wear. People had remarks about his avant-garde style of dress. He didn't care. Sweet was incredibly confident. I was so attracted to confident guys because I lacked confidence, and Sweet had enough to spread around. 

Here is something else I learned from Sweet: never tell a friend you like a guy. My friendship with Bells almost collapsed during my junior year because I told her I liked Sweet, she said he was corny, then a few weeks later, she told me she had made out with him. I felt like I was dying inside for months after that. And as if that wasn't enough, Brownie broke the news to me that the kiss wasn't a one off. Apparently, after we'd all stop hanging out for the night, they would meet up and make out. Oh, the messy betrayal of it all! 

All has been forgiven now. That was over 20 years ago, and Bells and Sweet both are my forever friends. But the biggest part of this heartbreak was not the behind-the-back stuff; it was being confronted head-on with what I already knew but didn't want to say aloud: I would never be Sweet's type. Bells was petite with a really nice body. I was not. The end. My feelings for him were also pretty obvious. How could he make out with my friend and not care about how it would hurt me? Let me tell you something about even the sweetest guys: they typically don't care. Your feelings will always come after their gratification or desire to satisfy an urge. Yes, every time. 

My romantic love for Sweet would last far into my 20s. It became too heavy, and I had to put it down. It didn't make sense having such deep feelings for someone who would NEVER return them. Plus, I wanted to try putting some of that energy into a man who could possibly like me back. Spoiler alert: that ended in disaster as well. 

Today, Sweet and I talk pretty often about life, politics, and college memories. I tell him I love him at the end of every call, and I do, but as a friend. And I'm good with that. He's a good friend. He's super sweet. 

Tales of the Unrequited 1: Workman

Meeting guys in college would play an important role in my life because growing up, boys were not nice to me. They made fun of me because of my weight. I didn't grow up with my father, my stepdad was a bum, and I never felt like my uncles particularly liked me. Any attention that I got from a male was negative. I always felt that since guys didn't want to be with me, they felt comfortable being themselves, and those selves were mean. The them that bought girls flowers and opened car doors was an act. The them that made me feel like sh*t was the real thing. It was in college that I would fall in love with amazing guys that didn't love me back, but somehow found a way not to treat me like crap either. Introducing Workman. 

I originally saw Workman at a club meeting for people from Atlanta at the beginning of my freshman year. He was handsome and tall and dark and walked around with some type of lizard on his shoulder. The lizard didn't last long, but I would find out through the grapevine that he had a love of animals, which is crazy, because to the untrained eye, he looked like a "thug". He wasn't. He was super smart, sped through campus in his truck, and got high with his friend group of merry potheads. He also spent a lot of time at my dorm because he dated a girl who lived there and was friendly with the dorm mother. 

I would not get to know him myself until I had a class with him in my junior or senior year. I literally would follow him around by pulling his shirt like an annoying kid sister. I was surprised at how nice he was to me. He used to give me rides places when I needed them, even though he was super busy with his new girlfriend (who he would marry) and the many jobs he had. Unlike a lot of the rich boys I went to college with, Workman had to work his way through school. He was also handy, and girls would often ask him for help with really anything when they needed it. Never underestimate the importance of knowing a guy who can fix stuff. 

When I think of college, I think of freedom, but the freest I ever felt was riding shotgun at night in his truck, listening to Outkast, while he sped through the streets of New Orleans. Oddly enough, I never felt scared even though he was driving REALLY fast. Workman wouldn't let anything happen to me. Sometimes he would talk to me about his family. I liked when he did that. I love hearing about people's home lives. Still waters run deep. This is an expression that I feel would apply to him. I found myself staring at him often, wondering what he was thinking. 

Workman has an amazing family and has traveled the world for his job. My friend ran into him not too long ago and he looked responsible and older, like we all look older. But even older, I see him in my mind's eye as 20 behind the wheel of his car with a wife beater on. There are just some people you are happy you got to know, even if you only knew them a little bit for a little while, you know? That's Workman for me. 

Bald

It is that time of year again when I seriously consider shaving my head. 

Even typing this seems like a betrayal of the hair gods because it took so long for my hair to grow. However, sometimes I just get the urge to chop it all off, down to the scalp, which is funny, because one of my most traumatic experiences as a kid was a hair stylist telling me that I needed to cut my hair to a fade and start over again after a series of bad home relaxers. 

This girl, with whom I went to college, cut her hair all the way off. She is now totally bald and wears her makeup super pretty. If social media is telling the truth, it looks like she spends her spare time going to cocktail parties and dancing with her husband. With my luck, I will cut off all my hair and still be unmotivated, taking to the bed. I am also afraid that I have hotdog neck, and that can't be hidden if I shave my head. 

Truth be told, my hair is now one of my better qualities, and it has been a struggle getting here. I think that my desire to shave it sometimes comes from my desire for something new. What is newer than going bald? I don't know, just something to think about. 

Late Nights/ Emo Thoughts

I have officially entered my emotional reflective lady years. Anything can make me cry now which is hilarious, because I am a naturally emotional person. Today's tear jerker came from reflecting on my grandma and Mommy. 

My grandma was a sweet, petite, soft-spoken, prayerful women. Very feminine. Very kind. I always felt so loud and aggressive compared to her, and she was constantly trying to get me to lower my voice and put on a dress. As different as I thought we were when I was a kid, I see bits of her in me now. I always keep my purse near me. I keep stamps in my wallet. I write my name in every book I own as she used to do for me as a kid. I call folks to check in on them. I mostly only where dresses. 

Me and my mom had disagreements what felt like my whole life. She could be a tough cookie. I was always getting my feelings hurt. These things are true, but we have same hands. Sometimes, I just sit and stare at them just to see her. Its wild. 

Today, as my baby niece sat and played on her tablet on my bed, I wondered what traits she would have that she would one day say, "This came from my Aunty Holly." Maybe she will write people letters randomly. Maybe she will keep gummy bears in her purse. Perhaps she will journal. I promise you I will cry later at the thought that I won't be here to find out. 

Late nights are for emo thoughts. 

The Gabe Factor

In another post sometime I will tell you how my search for Patty, my 8th grade best friend who used to date Charles Christmas, led me to having a mistaken conversation with Other Patty, another Patty I went to school with that wasn't my Patty. 

The convo was fruitful. She told me what she was up to and she also confirmed that Gabe, this boy we went to school with, somehow got involved with drugs and died. I recently even talked to my aunty and cousin who knew him and his family. His death shocked everyone. 

Honestly, I can't even invision Gabe smoking a cigarette. He was cute. He was funny. He was bright. He could sing. He and some other boys were in a singing group. I remember they sang  "All My Life" by KC and JoJo at a middle school assembly. We were not good friends, but we once did a project together where we had a spirited discussion on when it's appropriate to use an acronym which, oddly enough, is a debate I've had many times over the years. Other Patty said she felt he turned to drugs because his music career didn't work out. 

I'm not sure if this is true, but the thought it might be led me to have a conversation with Lisha about how we don't express to kids the importance of having a reliable and attainable plan B. No one knows better than me how hard it is when your dream life doesn't work out. How can we prepare kids for this without crushing their goals? I say kids because this definitely isn't something you want to start considering at 20 when your back is against the wall. 

Honestly, I'm not sure doing so would even matter. Telling me I should have a solid plan B would not have caused me to stop striving towards being a writer. Like I said, I didn't know Gabe closely, but I'm sure that having a plan B would not have stopped him from singing. The hard truth is that you have to take life when it comes how it comes, prepared or not. That's pretty much a golden rule. There's no acronym for that. 

Holly Clay and the No Good, Very Bad Day

Long story short, I am losing at life. 

I just started a contract gig and I'm not getting the hang of it while everyone else is being recognized for doing an amazing job. 

I have a toothache that is making my whole jaw warm. 

I had a health emergency and could not reach my doctor. I had to talk to another doctor who, although nice, is not familiar with me or my issues. I'm sure my actual doctor will tell me something completely different when I talk to her in the morning. 

My niece had multiple tantrums that felt like they were taking place on my brain. 

I feel like my whole household is annoyed with me for needing some space today. 

I called one of my favorite people and he didn't answer the phone which made me feel alone, ignored, and stupid. 

At the end of it all, all I could do was lay down and cry. Again. Some more. 

I want to talk to someone but I don't care to spread my misery so I think that I will listen to some Toni Braxton and try to regulate my anxiety. Pray. Nibble on dinner. 

Nights are my favorite but they are also hard. It is when all my life choices come to haunt me. It is also when it becomes even clearer that I will always be by myself and have to tread the merky waters of my life in solitude forever. 

Getting emotional. I think it's time for Toni. 

Priorities

Call me a big baby, but for once, before I leave this planet, I would like to be prioritized by someone. These guys I have been talking to have jobs and kids and parents and house plants so I am last with them. My friends only call me on their way to a date or in the line at Wendy's. I'm just a good laugh on the way to doing more important things. People respond to my texts when they f*$cking feel like it. The world is on fire and I am the lady people push to the side so they can loot TVs. This used to make me sad. Then it made me angry. Now it's just a fact. The sky is blue. Pu**y is pink. I am ignored. I've heard of disregarded middle-aged women buying prioritization from YNs from TikTok. I'm not mad at it for those women that want it, but can't someone prioritize me without my having to take off my underwear? It's looking more and more like the answer is no. Oh well. You can't get your way all the time. 

Nervous

Has anyone else been feeling nervous lately? I've been watching YouTube videos about having an unregulated nervous system and I think I have one. I have been feeling unusually uneasy. I just can't shake this feeling that the world is ending, the aliens ARE NOT coming, and we're all gonna die. Not really been feeling optimistic. It has been suggested I need sunlight and exercise. I think I need a cookie. If I took all my anxieties out of my head, I think there would be enough of it to reinforce my roof. I don't feel like it. Suggest a task and I will tell you with confidence that I don't feel like it. Tired. Nervous. 

Seeking Charles Christmas 3: Approaching an Ayo Moment

I follow Charles Christmas now on both Facebook and Instagram and have concluded that he is one cool cucumber. This nerd from middle school has grown into a fun, active man who works out a million times a day and goes to outdoor concerts. He seems to have a real thirst for life that I admire, and I want him to be my friend. I guess more accurately, my friend again. For some reason, I feel like I should ask him about this, but I am forever scarred from when I asked this guy Ayo from college, who I thought was cool for the same reasons, to be my pen pal and he said no. I felt so stupid. Of course he would say no! I could just imagine him making fun of me with his friends. There is a price to putting yourself out there ladies, even platonically. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. 

"Stop feeling like you gotta be everybody's friend!" Lisha yelled in my ear when I told her how I want to reach out to Charles Christmas about being buddies. She just doesn't want to see me embarrass myself but honestly, if I'm not embarrassing myself, what am I doing? 

I brainstormed how I could reach out to him without looking thirsty and I concluded sending him a message similar to this one:

You have been chosen to be a friend of Holly Clay! Follow the link below to a Google questionnaire to be further considered for this position.

Once he got to the questionnaire, he'd have to answer the following questions:

1. Do you like burritos?
2. Do you like talking on the phone/ texting?
3. What are your views on the color blue?
4. Is Teyanna Taylor a girl?
5. Where do you stand on canned meats?

I can feel the embarrassment 'abrewin, can't you? As usual, I will keep you posted. 

Pix and the Coconut Oiled Elder Jay-jay

Pix is in love y'all! He has found this magic woman who is selfless, listens, and checks all the boxes I could never check off because I question everything and, according to him, like to "go back and forth," with men. He is on cloud nine and called me to talk about it. I was happy to hear that someone is having relationship success. It's beyond dusty out here. 

I like Pix because he always has a story for me and last night didn't disappoint. He started this story off with a question. 

"Do you think that older women dislike women in their 20's because they can get wetter than them?" he honestly inquired. 

"Uhhhhh..." The question even caught me off guard. I said something about perimenopause and hormone levels. 

"I ask because I have been with young women and older women and sometimes, younger women get so wet that they are wet even outside their lips."

Yes, before you ask, I am aware that this convo is going off the rails, but this is par for the course when you have platonic homeboys that have friend zoned you. 

"I don't think that older women dislike younger women because of this. It is what it is," I offered. "Plus, there is like lube and vitamins for women that need real wetness help."

He then proceeded to tell me a horror story about a past relationship with an older woman who was a resident of the dry side. He snuck and used coconut oil on her and got great results. They were so great, in fact, that they became a coconut couple and the oil was very present in their love life. I shuttered, looking at the container of coconut oil on my nightstand I use on my hair. If I'm ever in a situation where a man has to sneak and oil me up, it's time to hang it up, flat screen. I told you all I am already worried about my aging hands. I guess I have to add my girl becoming a dust pan to the list. 

"Ah, intimacy and its many humiliations," I said, shaking my head. 

He laughed. "It was humiliating until it wasn't. We had a good time!"

I accept that I have to age. I even accept that I will one day die. Just please, let me be close to the end when my coconut oil days show up. Men have embarrassed me a lot in my life, but having one feel he has to covertly baby oil me is where I have to dry the line. 

Hands

There is a lot to worry about in the world today.  Politics. Climate change. Food scarcity. And as a woke person, I try to stay abreast and worried about everything. However, I find that lately, I am most worried most about my hands. I fear that they are prematurely aging. 

When I was a kid, I used to watch infomercials like they were actual TV shows, especially ones where old White women talked about mail order beauty treatments. And I remember one lady talking about how important it is to make sure that your hands remain youthful. According to her, you could look like The Crypt Keeper, but if your hands were wrinkle-free, people would assume you were 22. I recall looking at my own plump, juicy 2nd grade hands that still had some baby pudge too them, wondering how ones hands get old. Easily apparently. 

I already have man hands, so I'm not excited about having old man hands, but this is all my fault. In college, my roommate and I used to clean our shower with this really strong cleaner. It was the only thing that would get our dirty foot prints from walking in flip flops around New Orleans out of the shower floor. One day, I recall looking at my hands after a cleaning with a raised eyebrow. My hands looked about two years older. Now I'm 41, scared I'm going to wake up with granny hands. 

If that is my future, it is what it is. I'm scared to use any hand products out of fear they will make things worse. This could be a great opportunity to consider some chic glove options. 

Midlife Men

I do believe that the men that I am chatting with on the dating app are having midlife crises. One of them messages me about how he doesn't know where his life is going. Another is experiencing grief from losing his job, has to move out of his house, and is lost as to what he is going to do when he gets back to Atlanta. This other guy is refusing to get back surgery even though it would surely return him to his former quality of life, and another is going back and forth ad nauseam about coloring his beard. They seem pretty frazzled, and I am trying to be understanding because I hear that is what men like, but their complaining is lowkey making my anxiety rise. I don't really know what to tell them. My life is also a hot mess! 

Listening to these men discuss their problems makes me wonder if I am really ready to be in a partnership. I mean, I am 41. If not now, when? However, upon reflection, I think that I am ready for the hugging and snuggling, not the part where I need to provide emotional support and be a light in someone's life. Truth be told, I am happier with the lights off. I feel the calmest in the dark. I also feel calm when I am not juggling 110 balls in the air. Changing that number to 111 to account for someone else's issues could drive me to the edge! 

One could argue that the whole point of having a partner is having someone to walk through life with you; to pick you up when you are down and help you to work through things. I mean, that really sounds beautiful. I am not sure how beautiful my version of this would be. I can't stand dealing with life, especially not someone else's life. Maybe what I am looking for is not a traditional partnership. We all know what a friend with benefits is. Do you think I can find a man interested in that minus the sex and emotional drain? Perhaps a friend with no benefits? I am fully aware that I type this as I inch closer and closer to my personal deadline to find love. I would call it quits now, but what would be the benefit in that? 

The Solution

So, it has been about two years since I made the decision to try to date before I get too old to even care, and I have just this to say: I have no more energy. Out of all the men I have met on the dating app, I have only gone to the conversation stage with about five of them, and I really don't know what else to say. I do not have it in me to ask another man what he does for a living and what his hobbies are. I feel like I know the answer before they answer. He works in a warehouse someplace and he likes to watch movies and play video games. At what point is it okay to just be like, "Look, you seem clean and mildly attractive. Do you want to just get together and see if we can stand each other enough to make something out of this?" I mean, that's the question, right? That is what we all want to know. So why not just cut to the chase and save some time? If I have learned anything from this process, it's that men can be misleading over the phone. Let's just meet up somewhere, witness the real deal, and decide after coffee and cake if we just want to start dating from there. I am estimating that 3-5 pointless conversations could be eliminated in this process. And I say pointless because even though I love talking on the phone, I am finding that these guys have almost nothing, NOTHING to say. Maybe they will be more chatty in person. I don't know. I am just spitballing here. I am trying not to complain, but find solutions, and it seems that if I want to be in a relationship, the best thing to do would be to just jump into one and figure out the deal later. Just an idea. 

Doesn't Pass the Sniff Test (Another Risky Business Story)

"Has anyone ever told you that you smell?" Risky Business asked me during our last conversation. 

"Uh..." I didn't know how to answer the question because it felt like it was leading to something else, and it was. Honestly, you never know where the call is going to go when you are talking to Risky Business. 

Apparently, one of her new boyfriends thinks that she stinks. She knows this because he has told her so several times. So, naturally, she began to pay more attention to her hygiene routine when it came to showering and washing her clothes. She even only wore a fragrance he said he liked when she went to see him. This did not work. The last time they met up, he declared that she still smelled. Can you imagine?

"It is not me," she assured me.  "I shower and do all the things before I go to see him. I think that he thinks that I smell because he just doesn't like me."

I didn't know what to say. I was too busy having an anxiety attack on the other end of the line. No woman wants to be told by anyone, especially an intimate partner, that they are not fresh. NO WOMAN! Smelling good is something that most women take pride in. When I was a teen working at a fast food restaurant, there was a homeless drug addict who used to lock herself in the bathroom and take baths in the sink. It was even important to her, in the state she was in, to be clean. I also had a flashback to when boys in elementary school used to tell girls that they smelled like fish. Somewhere, somehow, they discovered that girls were serious about smelling good and found a way to dish out the ultimate insult. It was up there with telling a girl she needed a perm when it came to being mean. 

After the call, I  just sat on my bed in shock. Is there no low to the things that men will say to us to bring us down? I remember a while back on the Love and Hip Hop Reunion where Ray J declared that a female cast member had a "stank p**&y". I was horrified! P even told me once that he told a female co-worker that her feet smelled, then had the nerve to be shocked when she stopped talking to him. 

Savannah once shared with me that one of her best male friends stunk, and his now wife fixed all that when they got together. She reminded him to take showers and helped him with his hygiene. I know more than one woman who has had to do this in a relationship. Apparently, this is not the route that a man will take in the same situation. He will just bark at a woman that she smells and leave her feeling gross and unfeminine. 

I guess I have stumbled upon yet another unpleasant part of male/female relations/ sexual health. It would seem that the road to intimacy can not only be paved with so-so intentions but also humiliation. Risky Business is no longer seeing this guy. She stopped talking to him, obviously. I mean, what other choice did she have? I am hopeful that she finds love, but also hopeful that she leaves the next guy too, if she gets a whiff that he is an insensitive jerk. Telling a woman she smells. Unbelievable. 

A Whole Person

Recently, I have been making an effort to stay in touch with my 91-year-old grand cousin. He was my grandmother's favorite cousin, Larry. He has been married for about 70 years to his wife, and they are retired, living out west. I have enjoyed our conversations because he has told me so much about our family history. Tonight, he told me that when my grandma was younger, my great-grandfather used to yell at her. 

"I think he was just afraid he was going to lose her," he informed me. 

When we got off the phone, I burst into tears. I know that no one is perfect, but my grandma came pretty close. She was kind and she was sweet and she was always thinking about everyone but herself. I couldn't stand the thought of someone being mean to her, no matter what the reason. I then began to think about the tantrums I used to throw as a kid and how ungrateful and bratty I could be. I pondered on something that we don't realize until we are older: the adults in our lives had whole lives before we got here. My grandma, who got on me for not wearing dresses and insisted that I press my hair, loved me and took care of me and also had a dad who could sometimes be mean to her. She liked to dance and play the guitar when she was younger. She sang with her friends in a jazz band. She was more than just the old lady that got on me for sitting with my legs open in skirts. She was a whole person. How did her life influence the kind of life that she tried to point me in the direction of having?

If nothing else, big questions like this are signs of getting older. When my niece and nephew become teens, and I am grounding them and putting them on punishment for being obnoxious, I wonder if they will be wise enough to know that I am not just their cruel aunty. I was a whole person before they got here that liked chopped and screwed love songs and books. Perhaps they will take this into account when they are mature enough to create a full picture of me. 

Seeking Charles Christmas 2: It Doesn't Go Down In the DMs

Let me just start off by saying that only I can turn what should have been an innocent request for pics into what could possibly lead a man to getting back with an ex. 

The same day that I blogged about Charles, I reached out to him in a Facebook message. I just told myself to do it and did it. I said hey, and told him I was thinking about a kid who died of cancer in middle school, and wondered if he knew his name since they were friends. To my shock, he replied. He told me his name. Then I asked him if he married Patty when I knew that he hadn't. He told me he didn't, but said that she used to wish him a happy birthday every year before they lost contact last year. That made me feel sad and guilty. Requesting pics from a friend's ex, what is wrong with me? I don't know why I have gotten so tacky lately. I am basically a good girl. 

I then went on to ask him about what he has been doing since the 8th grade. There was some talk about gun charges and jail time. I asked him to go into more detail, but he said that since he has done way more than what he got clipped for, he couldn't go into any more detail. Yikes! Yikes and sexxy. What woman amongst us hasn't had a thing for a street gun enthusiast in the past? However, he isn't that anymore. He has a job and a kid. 

The chat ended on a good note, minus the fact that I chickened out on the pic request. I really didn't want him to think I was skanky, which is funny, because this is my first time chatting with him in almost 20 years. What do I care if he thinks I'm a skank? Sigh. I care. It's just that he works out crazy hard, and I want to see him naked! He does those intense borderline dumb workouts at gyms where they jump off of cinder blocks and hang from the ceiling. 

Riddled with guilt, I found Patty's number and sent it to him. If she is single, maybe they will hookup again and fall back in love. Undoubtedly, I will be on the dating app having pointless conversations with a guy that I won't be talking to in a few weeks. He will most likely disappear, leaving me with nothing to hold on to, not even some pictures. 

Feet

I was talking to a man from the fatty app not too long ago, and he asked me, "Do you have pretty toes?"

"Yep," I lied, looking down at my feet. For some reason, I feel like it was the easiest lie I've ever told. 

My toes are pretty in the sense that I have ten of them and they work. I mean, I trim my toenails, don't I get points for that? I have seen feet on Instagram that will make the hair raise on the back of your neck. I'm not there yet. I'd say that 9 of my toes are okay, but one of them needs SERIOUS attention and is bringing down the rating for both feet. I want to care about it, but I don't, similarly to how I don't care that, if my grandma is any indication, I am about five years away from having chin hairs. 

"So you have pretty feet?" he asked, excitedly. 

Wait. Nobody said anything about feet. My feet are feet. They are sausagey, as to be expected for a woman of my girth. The biggest issue is that they are ashy. I have had a lifelong issue with foot ashiness. The assumption is that I don't lotion my feet. Not true. I lotion them, they look good at home, then I get to church, and it looks like someone played tic-tac-toe on my foot with chalk! In college, Rudith gave me some heavy-duty African oil to moisturize my feet with that popped like sizzlean on my skin in the New Orleans heat and temporarily turned my feet black. Since then, it has been a struggle. I tried cocoa butter, which worked well, but I walk around the house barefoot, and when I got up to go to the bathroom, I nearly slipped and did a complete Jean-Claude Van Damme split between my bed and bedroom door. It was one of the scariest moments of my life! 

"So you have pretty feet?" he repeated. 

I thought about it for a moment, then started coughing and hung up. There was no way I could lie my way out of that one, cocoa butter or no cocoa butter. Here we go again. We have found yet another disqualifying factor regarding my finding a partner. Please tell me that this is something that cute fuzzy socks and boundaries can fix. 

Seeking Charles Christmas

When I was in the eighth grade, I had a major crush on my good friend Patty's boyfriend. I know, scandalous. His name was Charles Christmas, and he was the cutest little blerd that you ever did see. He had chocolate skin and glasses and wore polos and khakis. He was annoying as most boys are at that age, but I remember thinking that he was super smart and handsome. I like-ed him for real, for real, but had to keep it under my hat because I didn't want to be a bad friend to Patty, and I was in a relationship with a boy who, in another year, would come out as gay.

I lost touch with him after middle school, except for one conversation when I was on a college break. I saw him out some place. He gave me his number, and I called him. He was pretty rude, which was not how I remembered him to be. I found this to be very disappointing, especially since he was even cuter. Unfortunately, he had traded in his polos for tall tees. I don't know why people can't be themselves. 

About a month ago, I went on Facebook and saw that he had posted a video of himself working out really hard, which, of course, led me to do a deep dive. It looks like he does something having to do with real estate. He works out a lot, and he has a daughter. He must make good money because his pictures indicate that he has traveled the world from corner to corner. However, he is hardly ever with anybody. He seems pretty lonely. Tiesh reminded me that someone has to be taking the pictures on his vacations. I imagine this could possibly be a sexy, equally fit girl. Yet he looks and feels pretty single. He is bald now and has a super hot salt and pepper beard. If he truly is single, I am not sure why. 

Studying his pictures on Facebook makes me think about the movie Our Souls at Night with Jane Fonda and Robert Redford. In the movie, Jane asks if Robert would spend the night with her so that she wouldn't feel so lonely at night, and that blossoms into a love affair. I say that to say that a guy I met last year told me that I need to learn how to straight-up ask for what I want. Hm. I thought about what would possibly happen if I asked Charlie to talk to me three times a week on the phone. This would put a masculine presence in my life and give my friends a break from me. I don't think that we would fall in love, but this would add a spice to my life. 

As you have probably guessed, I am really nervous to put myself out there like this. What if he makes a Facebook post about how desperate I am and tags everyone we went to school with, including Patty?! I would be mortified! Or he could give a simple no. Or he could say yes. Or he could not answer. As the guy who I met last year had warned, you don't get anywhere being scared. I will let you all know if I get some guts to reach out anytime soon. 

New Year, New Love?

It's a new year, and everyone has that all-too-familiar energy targeted at finding love. It happens every year, but I am finding that even my friends who had sworn off finding anyone are popping up with a new burst of optimism. If you want to find a partner, or at least a V-Day date, you have to put in the work (que the tight smile). My divorced friends are starting dating profiles, my friends who have experienced breakups are accepting lunch dates, and the single ones among us are leaving no stone unturned. 

I am sure that being old has something to do with it. Time hits different when you start getting text messages about helping to plan for your 20-year college reunion. Honestly, there is no way to avoid the pressure. When you are in your 20s, you want to find someone before you are the last man or woman standing. In your 30s, you either convince yourself that it is not important or that it is of the utmost importance. Either way, you are setting yourself up for disappointment and failure. Now, in your 40s, the rush is back, either in a more frantic or relaxed way. You have to find someone or you will die, or you are happy to find someone, but you are keeping it cool, no rush. Something about the new year puts everybody in any group in a mood good enough to try again...or one last time. 

I would like to find someone myself, but so far, things are not looking too hot. That is okay. I am keeping my birthday state of mind and not letting it get me down. I am happy cheering on my friends from the sidelines. They are Googling speed dating events and asking friends about the availability of other single friends as we speak. 

If history has taught me anything, this fresh take on love has an expiration date, which spans from the week before to the week after Valentine's Day. Ugh, what a horrible holiday. It is during this time that people inevitably fall back into their pessimistic slumps. However, this year, unlike in years past, I will be pushing my loved ones over the line, not leading those in the line into a depression as I have proudly done in the past. This year is going to be different for the love-lookers out there, I can feel it.