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, cocoabutter or no cocoabutter. Here we go again. We have found yet another disqualifying factor regarding my finding a partner. Please tell me that this isn't something that cute fuzzy socks and boundaries can't 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. 

The Not-The-One One

When I was a kid, I didn't like the song "The Wheels on the Bus". I remember we would sing it in kindergarten, and everyone in the class would really be into it, but not me. I just couldn't stop thinking of being on a bus that wouldn't stop or that you couldn't get off of. I guess even then, I didn't like the idea of being taken on a ride. The Block Circler is taking me on a ride. 

Our first ride, I guess you could say that he kicked me off the bus. I wasn't open enough. I think we all know what it means when a guy says that. It's right up there with not being adventurous enough. Get my drift? After what I thought was a conversation where we made up, he left me waiting at the bus stop for three months. To my shock, he reemerged, and I was skeptical. But then he started texting me a lot and showing me a lot of attention and telling me not to give up on "us". We had what I thought was a great conversation. Remembering what happened after our last convo, I asked him how he was feeling, and he said he too thought it was a great convo. That was over a week ago. After promising to text me he has gone completely silent. Now I feel like he was driving our bus, randomly jumped out of the driver's side window, leaving me on the bus screaming because I don't know how to drive! 

AGAIN, I am left feeling stupid. If Maya Angelou was right, and you have to believe people when they show you who they are the first time, then how does that leave any room for forgiveness or change or reconciliation or any of the things? Are we always supposed to assume the worst? Can't we try to have optimistic hearts and minds? Considering how I just took another lap on a bus going nowhere, it looks like the infinite wisdom of heavenly Mother Maya has rung true yet again. How disappointing. 

What About Your Friends?

At my big age, I can not believe that I am still having to ask myself what true friendship is. For some reason, I have a problem with simply diffriciating my friend-friends from acquaintances, or recognizing when people need to be moved from one box to the other or erased altogether. I have had this same issue since grade school, and at this point, I am categorizing this as a mental illness. Apparently, I can not separate what things were from what things are. When I think of someone in my life, I often think about the good old days and not what the situation currently is. For example, when I think of Blinky, I think of all the laughs we had in high school, when she was my dearest friend, and not the fact that she evades me now, which would mean that we aren't as close, but in my mind, Blinky is still my A1 Day 1, even though the proof is not in that pudding. 

I have to say, I have been blessed when it comes to friends. There are people in my life so amazing that it is clear that God has put them within my reach, and I am so grateful for them. Yet, there are also people that I pour energy into that I suspect wouldn't find out if I died for about two years from now if I dropped dead this morning. They come in and out of my life and consistently leave me hanging. But I show up ready for duty for them. I told you, mental illness. 

I no longer make New Years resolutions, but I am making it a point to do better when it comes to this once and for all. If I can better streamline where my love and attention needs to go, I think I will have more energy and be a lot less stressed. I will keep you posted on how things go, but if current behavior is a predictor of future behavior, I am not expecting success. 

41 and Done?

My birthday was the other day!

Over the years, I have had boatloads of emotions surrounding my birthday. Once I turned 30, I began to have a lot of anxiety around getting older. I would also get sad if people didn't reach out to me with birthday wishes, although such is always the case with holiday babies. People get so busy during the Christmas season that we are often forgotten. This was not the case for my birthday this go 'round. Tiesh called and sang me the birthday song and bought me lunch. Bells dropped off flowers and homemade cookies. Lisha got me a soap and perfume set. My aunty got me a cake and ice cream. People called me and sent me well-wishes on social media. I ended the day feeling really loved. Yet, one thing that I noticed is that I wasn't having my usual sadness about not bringing in my birthday with a boyfriend. I really didn't think about it until towards the end of the day, and even then I didn't care. I'd had a good day, and considered my not allowing my birthday to revolve around not being partnered to be a sign of growth. This morning I reconsidered this. Was it a sign of growth or a bigger and more telling sign that I have given up?

Since the inception of Facebook and any other site where you can upload pictures, I have been tortured by fancy pics of my friends out on the town and dressed to the nines with their boyfriends on their birthdays. I have been so jealous and wanted to know what it was like for someone with a romantic interest in me to do special things for me on my special day. I generally have taken my birthday into my own hands. In my 20s, I would throw myself parties because I wanted them and knew that no one was going to surprise me with one. There was no guy in my life going behind my back to make arrangements and inform friends of secret plans. The birthdays of my 30s were filled with free trips to the aquarium and tears. Last year, I was healing from an injury, so this year it was nice to have a fun, stress-free birthday. However, not worrying about not having a man for once has me wondering if I am officially entering into my cat lady era. I am either maturing and realizing that I am loved beyond my desire to have someone in my life, or I am deciding that I will always be alone and to just move past it. If my Googling of knitting classes is a telltale sign, I will have to go with the last choice. 

When I think about the time I have spent bellyaching over not having a man, I am truly embarrassed. I could have used that time to start a business or, at the very least, get some great sleep. For this last birthday, I just didn't have a spirit of bellyacheness on me. I didn't feel over it, I just felt at peace. 

I am choosing to believe that I am merely experiencing the peace before partnership. And even with that being said, I'm not afraid to break out my knitting kit at any time. If wisdom comes with age, allow me to put on my wisdom wig. This birthday showed me what I have always known: I am truly cared for. I will be okay. 

Qualities

My nephew is 7. It's interesting that I'm not his mom, but at times, when I'm interacting with him, I feel like I am dealing with a male, child version of myself. He is a sensitive kid, full of emotions. He cares too much about what his peers think. He's stubborn. These were not qualities that suited me well when I was a kid. I feel that they actually made me a target which I guess still stands true because he sometimes deals with bullies on the school bus, just as I did. 

I can't stand bullies, but I often wonder what my childhood would have been like if I was more gangsta and had more confidence. I could have gone on to be the next Oprah or Wendy Williams. Even now, I deal with second guessing myself, which I feel is rooted from when I was a kid. I remember times when I thought I looked pretty, a mean kid would tell me I didn't, and my whole day would crumble. My moods were dependent on how I was received. I don't want that experience for my nephew. 

Remember when they used to talk about "designer babies"? These were babies where the parents could choose the physical aspects they wanted their kids to have somehow through tampering with DNA. For the most part, people were against the idea. I think it would be cool if we could choose the other qualities we wanted our kids to have. I would have hounded my sister to make sure my nephew didn't have my qualities. I'd tell her to make sure they sprinkled some tough skin and bravery in the baby juice, because these are things I lacked that I am still trying to obtain. 

Even so, I still find that I bask in the sweet, childlike nature of my nephew. I just want him to be able to kick a$$ and take names when need be in life. As I said, I want him to be brave. I don't want him to have my qualities.