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. 

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.