Scared Stiff

So, what we know for sure is that God doesn't put us through anything we can't handle. I then deduce from this that there is a reason for everything we endure. I am choosing to believe that God is going to petrify me so thoroughly with life stuff that at some point I won't be able to be scared ever again. That day, however, was not the other day.

Sitting in the doctor's office waiting room, I am scared. Very scared. I'm so scared that I was not even having my usual pity party I'm-so-alone-in-this thoughts. I'm was just sitting here calmly, scared.

Waiting to be called for my appointment, I thought about a big museum, the types they show in movies. I envisioned children on a field trip being led through a dinosaur exhibit until they make it to me. I am frozen, immortalized in a maxi dress and ballet flats, sitting against a piece of wall from my room. 

"This is Holly Clay from 2024. As you can see, she has been fully preserved. The pressures of going through life a lone and panicked literally left her scared stiff. Her family donated her body to science as a warning to future generations about going into middle age un-partnered."

The kids and their teachers would take pictures before moving on to a display called "Obsolete", where they would get to play in a pool of old phone books. 

At some point once I got home after my visit, I found myself hysterical. What else is new? I called my doctor, some friends, my mentor. Just when I thought I couldn't feel more alone, another situation proves me wrong. I didn't feel like I had anyone in the world. After three hours of tears, I finally went to sleep. My headache was splitting. I can't say I'm trying to be strong because I don't think I have any strength left. I'm totally pooped. As my medical team told me, I need to pray. More shit storms are on the way; this is the dinosaur in the room. 

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The Kicker

Have you noticed that people in relationships or in a marriage or partnership never encourage you to find a mate? I used to think that they all wanted to be a part of this exclusive club. Now I think that they are trying to warn single women to consider other options. I have told some people in my life that I want to have a boyfriend, and these have been their responses:

Friend 1: "Get a cat."

Friend 2: "Get a dog."

Friend 3: "Get real."

Friend 4: "Get one of those professional cuddle buddies you can pay by the hour."

Friend 5: "Get a weighted blanket."

Friend 5 was my favorite because she elaborated on her response. She has also been in a committed relationship for 300 years. She says, "Boyfriends are a lot of work." She seemed so exhausted when she said it that I thought she was going to drop to the floor and take a nap right then! "Like, a lot of work. But you can get a weighted blanket on Amazon!" She said it as if she was five minutes away from placing an order of her own. 

Candy is nothing if not proactive. She sent me the link to what I thought was a dating app for men who like fat chicks. It ended up being a Facebook group for bony men who like to see hearty women in lacey thongs. I have not worn a thong since my sophomore year in college, so I don't think that page is the space for me. 

So sadly, I think that this is going to be another cold, cuddle-less winter. I have no idea where to find a man, and I attempted to give myself a big hug and it hurt my back and shoulder. That weighted blanket may be the move though. I saw some very affordable options on Amazon. 

Black Doug Funnie and the Fight for Love

I have been dreaming a lot about men lately. P says it is because I am horny, but I don't think that is what it is. In these dreams, I am just talking to these men on some getting to know you, getting to know all about you type of stuff. Last night's dream was no different. 

Do you believe that God communicates with you through dreams? I do. So as a single woman dreaming about men, I am trying to pay extra attention to what God may be trying to say. I am in no way a dream interpreter, but I am going to try to figure out what He was trying to say in the dream that I had last night. 

Okay, so in the first part of the dream I am some type of Fear Factor death match with zombies and Jason and Freddy kinds of characters. After fighting tooth and nail, I make it out victorious. And I mean, I was fighting; punching, kicking, clawing, and even roundhousing these monsters. I think that this is representative of being single in Atlanta for over 15 years. I mean, can you think of anything scarier?

After I won the battle, I ended up in the lobby of my grandmother's old retirement home. I think that this is representative of my fears of being old and alone. There was a group of people hanging out in the lobby, and I was waiting for the elevator to go up to see my grandmother. I think that this represents how I often wish I could ask her for her advice. 

While I was waiting, a man taps me on the shoulder and asks me if I'm single. And I am like, "Yeah." He asks me how old I am and I tell him. Then he tells me how old he is, and I don't recall the age, but I know he was younger. Sigh. What I think God is telling me here is to not disregard the tenderonies even though He knows that I would like a man my age or older but hey, you can't argue with God. 

Talking to this man, I felt very happy and loved and at peace. He got on the elevator with me and my aunt, who appeared out of nowhere, and he was talking to her. I think God is reassuring that whoever this mystery man is, he will get along with my...interesting family. 

The thing that I remember most about this guy is that he looked like a Black version of Doug Funnie from the hit '90s Nickelodeon show "Doug". He even had on the same outfit and everything! And in my dream, I just felt like he was so adorable. 

P once told me that your dreams are not about what they seem to be about on the surface. I don't think this is true for me because God knows that I am not good at riddles. If He wants to give me a message, He knows He has to give it plain and simple. Hopefully, God is saying that my man is a loveable nerd, possibly born in the '90s, who will love me like Doug loved Patti. So now, my eyes are super peeled for this dream lover. If you run across a big-nosed Black man in a sweater vest and khaki shorts, send him my way. I'm trying to see something...

Scary to be Single

I saw a lot of awesome, life-like, terrifying costumes on Instagram this year for Halloween. However, for me, the scariest thing about Halloween was being single. Single and 36. Single and 36 at a church single's ministry Halloween mixer. Single and 36 at a church single's ministry Halloween mixer where 90% of the guys there were under 30. Everyone was so young there that they didn't understand my costume or lack thereof. I wore my camouflage maxi dress and told people I was a No Limit Soldier. No one got the joke. 

For about an hour I sat in the corner nibbling on a zebra cake, wondering where I went wrong. The music was good. I mean, you haven't lived until you've seen young Christians two-step to Kendrick Lamar. And God knows I love a good Little Debbie cake. But sitting in the corner alone, away from the comfort of my blanket and space heater, was just too much. I wanted to go home so badly that for about five minutes, I sat with my eyes closed, attempting to teleport. Spoiler alert: it didn't work. I quickly and discretely left the party, stood by the church sign and cried while waiting on my Lyft ride. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what I call a fun Friday night. 

You know what else is scary: I still have hope in finding love. I am nearly 40, I own nothing, I'm overweight, and it has been so long since I washed my hair that I'm afraid that if I take off my bonnet, a long, Rapunzel-esque deadlock will fall to the ground in a midst of dust and caked up Shea butter flakes. Yet I still can not shake this very real desire to share my life with someone who will think that my turbo-dread is cool...before doing me the favor of cutting it off in my sleep. The eternal optimism of the stressed-out mind: it's a real thing. 

When I got home, I took off my dress, slipped into an old tunic that I wear as a nightgown, laid down and stared up at the ceiling while sucking on a jolly rancher that came in the goody bag from the party. At least I had candy to get me through the night which was the best Halloween treat of them all, word to Mia X. 

The Last Single VDay

Yet another Valentine's Day is coming up and I don't have a valentine. In all honesty, I haven't had a good V-Day since I was 19. At 19, I don't know what I would have said if someone would have told me that that would be my first and last Valentine's Day ever. How pathetic! This is truly the stuff that depressing romantic comedies are made of.
I guess the good news is that I am not alone this year. Even some of my smart, gorgeous, professional girlfriends will be spending February 14 with Mr. Netflix. And they are all saying that it's alright, that they are actually looking forward to a good, quiet evening alone. I'd believe them if they weren't saying this through clenched teeth and tears. Even my aunt asked me if she should send herself flowers to her job. I told her that that was a stern no, but I may take it back. Someone should get roses on the most romantic day of the year, even if said person has to mail them to herself.
You would have laughed at me if you would have seen me this weekend going to my writer's group. I was dressed as if I had a Valentine's Day date that very afternoon with Idris Elba! I mean, I looked gorgeous! But I wasn't being hot just to be hot: I was trying to get Ryan's attention. I got there too late to sit next to him, so I was literally trying to mentally and spiritually connect with him during the meeting. The prayers went over his head. He did, like everyone else, comment on how cute I looked. That made me smile for a second until I realized that his compliments did nothing to change my state of valentinelessness.
Why is this so hard? I'm not looking for love, just a free meal and a cheek kiss! For some reason, I want to blame social media.
Next year I will be 35 and I will have a V-Day date even if it kills me. If the past years are a prediction of the future, I better get my final affairs in order.

Friendsgiving

Amanda invited me to a Friendsgiving cookoff that the single's ministry from our church was putting on. There was going to be tons of food and fun so, of course, I was excited to go. Now I know, I know. The last time the single's ministry had an event I was desperately overdressed and disappointed. But that is only because I had expected to become engaged while I was there.
I had never been to a Friendsgiving before, but this one was awesome! The house was packed with young singles eating and having a good time. There was even a high-stakes game of Jeopardy. I was surrounded by people who were enjoying being single.
Years of having watched a trillion of my friends get married, of taking myself on Valentine's Day dates, and of attending baby showers where you have to play that stupid toilet paper game had me convinced that being single was an affliction. You know, like a lazy eye or a clubbed foot. And the only cure for this affliction was to try to find someone to love you as fast as possible. It's kind of like a game. The winners get the possibility of a life of bliss with a mate and the losers, like myself, get to plan their own birthday parties and tape pictures of Idris Alba on their vision boards. While watching everyone mix and mingle it dawned on me: maybe being single isn't a terminal illness. Maybe it's just the life you live while you're waiting for love or while you are in between romances.
I have decided to adopt this way of thinking, especially as the holiday season rolls around. Nothing reminds you you're alone like wrapping Christmas gifts to yourself. But maybe next year there will be a boy toy sitting next to me, listening to me complain about the ever-increasing price of wrapping paper. Oh, to finally be in love.

No Room for Love

Tuesday night was one of those nights that just felt sexy in Atlanta. I looked super cute in a black dress and peach jacket and sat with my girls Keleche and Kaye at a chic downtown hotspot enjoying soul food and live music. But at the skeleton of the scene, which included laughs and cocktails, was the usual story: three single Black women trying to figure out why they are single.

"My guy friends have told me that I can't get a man because I go out too much," Kaye explained. Wow. In college, it seemed like guys liked girls who liked to go out. Now, having a social life is a minus?
"What are we supposed to do, sit here?" I demanded. At that moment, a 40-something-year-old single woman got up to dance to the music...alone.
Apparently, that is exactly what single women are expected to do: sit pretty and look available. Kaye said that her male friends told her that because she is such a social butterfly, it looks as if she doesn't have time for a man in her life.
Unfortunately, this is not the first time that I have heard this. My friend Amanda from church told her brother-in-law that she can't wait until she gets married one day and he was shocked. According to him, her life is so full, that she seems content and not looking for a man.
So now for the new equation for love: too busy=no interested.
Of course, I discussed this with P. He didn't disagree and had more to add.
"Black women are single because they don't want men to lead in the household," he began.
I turned my ears off. Finding out that I have to be a homebody and a pushover to get a man in the span of three days was overwhelming.
I choose to believe that no matter how often a woman goes out or what she is involved in that the right man won't care. I'm choosing to believe this, I have no idea if this is the case. I guess we will know the answer if we are in our 40s, dancing alone. 

Single, No Mingle

Kyndra invited me to the church singles ministry's July 4th BBQ, and I was excited to go. My past few July 4ths have been lackluster, so I was eager to get dressed up cute and meet some eligible bachelors. Imagine my surprise when I got there and realized that most of the men where 24. I didn't want to date a 24-year-old guy when I was 24! But that isn't even the biggest jaw-dropper. Dating isn't the primary focus of this singles ministry. Huh?
"It's not all about dating," Kyndra explained. "It's about singles coming together and encouraging each other in their walk with God."
That's cool I guess, but I assure you if I would have known that, I wouldn't have worn a dress.
I talked to another woman at my church today about the barbeque. I told her it was fun, but I had never heard of a singles ministry where no one was dating.
"Before you find love with a man, you need to understand God's love. Only after that can you even begin looking for a good man."
I frowned. That sounds like work. It also sounds like a long time coming. I'm 33. The last thing I have is time.
This same woman said that the good thing is that the singles are getting to know each other as friends.
"Take it from me," she assured, "you want your mate to be your friend."
I smiled and nodded, but I have always found that school of thought to be a complete load. I have friends. I need a man that I can tolerate to keep me company for the rest of my life.
This is all new to me. I am just really trying to better understand it all while attempting to grasp the concept of being single with no mingle.

The Leftovers

A few nights ago I had to say something very difficult to Tortilla. It was so difficult that I knew that there was a chance that she may not be my friend after I said it. It was also so difficult that I knew that I wouldn't be being a good friend to her unless I told her.
We were having a conversation about how busy she is with her new job and how hard it is to be going back to school while trying to date when I said, "Tortilla, you are a Leftover."
There was silence on the line. I could feel her heart palpitating.
"It's okay, I am one too." You like that? See, here I am connecting to Tortilla as to help her better digest the bad news, but there was still a cold silence on the other line.
"The good thing is that I have realized from Instagram that there are a lot of man Leftovers in your graduating class."
"Really?" she asked, hurt but interested.
Oh, let me explain: Leftovers is the fun, happy-go-lucky name that I have given women that went to college with us that are not married.
You see, the college I attended was pretty cliquey. Sometimes, the cliques intermingled, and it was hard to tell who belonged to what group. However, social media since then has very exactly and harshly divided us into the marrieds and the not marrieds. It's pretty obvious: the marrieds are taking pro photos of themselves with their families in the park, dressed in their Easter bests, while the Leftovers are taking pro photos of themselves at the gym, breaking in their new Fabletics leggings.
"Ricky Ticky is a Leftover. I see him on Instagram all the time. He looks like a lot of fun."
"Do you think that Ricky Ticky would date me?" she asked.
"Of course! What else is he doing?"
By the end of the call, we had identified three other man Leftovers that may be viable options. I hung up the phone, feeling all good friendish. I think that I will be able to eliminate the Leftover problem, one single girlfriend at a time.

Homecoming Post 9: Living Single

Let's go back to fall of 2003. My grandma, mom, aunt, and I stood to the side as one Lauchland Roberts carried my stuff to my dorm room at Katherine Drexel Hall. I was openly ogling this man as he, and this is not an exaggeration, carried my mini fridge to my room with one hand. He had pretty dark skin and had an earring in his ear. A boy with an earring. That was very hot to an 18-year-old me. Today, I see a young man with an earring in his ear and I clutch my purse and cross the street.
After everything was moved in my grandma summoned me outside to speak to me privately. She had been getting on to me all day because I'd had an attitude all day. I figured she was going to say something to me for staring at Lauchland. And she did...sort of.
"I saw you staring at that boy."
I said nothing.
"You know, most people find who they are going to marry in college," she continued. I squirmed, nervous that my ultra-conservative grandmother was going to say something about sex or condoms. "So, get your work done, but be aware."
"Aware?" Was she trying to tell me to marry Lauchland? I'd only known him for twenty minutes, but done! I mean, he had an earring!
My grandmother, who was nothing if not prepared, knew I would need a little help getting the attention of these potential suitors. So, she let me know that she had packed me a Ziplock bag of foam rollers and some Blue Magic Hair Grease in my trunk. Seeing that I had micro braids at the time, I had no intention of using those old-school rollers or that hair grease. But I smiled and nodded. Not for nothing, I would later serve on a homecoming committee for Lauchland's girlfriend at the time who happened to be Ms. Xavier. I used to wonder if she rolled her hair and if that was how she got Lauchland's attention. Maybe, maybe not. But she's married now and I'm not. Draw your own conclusions.
Obviously, I didn't take my grandma's advice which was why I had anxiety about attending homecoming. I was afraid that I was going to be the only person there that was single. Social media had led me to believe that everyone from my class was hitched with kids, living The Cosby Show life. However, upon arriving at school, I realized that ten years after graduation, life for many of us gals is less like The Cosby Show and more like Living Single.
All my single friends at homecoming looked amazing. They are all a lot of fun and have cool jobs. They look really cute in dresses and they smell really good. They like to dance and they travel the world. These are the super dope girls! It baffles me as to why they are single. They are babes! Bosses! And they all seem to be enjoying the frick out of life.
It wasn't until I hung out with these girls, twerking on the stage barefoot at The Masquerade, that I realized that being single isn't scary, but the rate that time is flying is. Ten years have felt like ten minutes! It could have easily have been junior year! I don't want to take a nap, wake up ten more years from now, and be in the same romantic situation. If I understood the concept of time when I was 18, I would have done as grandma suggested, I would have been more "aware". Who knows? Maybe I could have snagged one of those hot nerds from the engineering department.
Here in Atlanta, so many of the single women in my life are taking active steps to no longer be single. They are exercising because men like fit women. They are repairing their credit because men don't want a broke woman. They are going to shrinks to work out their childhood stuff because men don't like angry women. For me, all this legwork sounds exhausting, and I haven't seen proof that it works. The most I am willing to do at this point in my life is put my hair up in some foam rollers.

Loveless Distressed Mess

Today I talked to Curious George for like an hour.
It was refreshing talking to a boy, seeing that Sorta gave me the kick after Mardi Gras (which sucks by the way, because I had been planning for how long to kick him first?) and the boy that I was kind of crushin' on gave me the "let's be friends" line. Sadly, after not talking to him for so long, I feel like he is not as smitten by me as he once was. What is the point of talking to him if he is not 100% taken away by me anymore?
So back to single, lonely, depressing square one. Grossie-Rossie, I really do not want to be here again. My grandmother told me when I was in college that if I did not find a man there, I would probably never get married. Now, almost a full three years after graduation, I am scared that she might have been right. And the daily Facebook updates announcing engagements from people who met in college is more evidence that Granny was on to something. This saddens me. At 18 I was too drunk to see that I was on stage to meet my other half! If I would have known, I might have done my hair!
I am just feeling hopeless in the realm of my love life. I don't want to go on another dating site. I don't want to meet another one of my friends' male friends who evidently is in love with my friend but is playing along to be a good sport. I don't want to pretend to be flattered by boys I meet in the streets who "like big girls" and whose conversations circle around those hard life topics such as whether or not Tupac is really alive, whether or not Niki Minaj has a fake booty, or if weed really does burn your brain cells until you become a genius.
Yes, I am emotional, and I can not tell if it is because I am on my period or if it is because I am as lonely as my body is telling me that I am. Either way, I think I will get to work on this pint of Edy's and watch The Golden Girls.

Y PDA?

Can I just say that I HATE public displays of affection?
There is truly, truly nothing more gross and disgusting and obnoxious to me than seeing couples kiss and hug in public. Call me a hater, but I could give two fricks about how in love some random couple is to the point that they have to stop every five steps and slob each other down!
My friend Chloe says that I am bitter, and I wouldn't enjoy hanging out with her and her Latin lover because they are a total PDA couple. Bitter? Whatever. It's gross.
Last weekend I went bowling, yes bowling, with the usual suspects: Tasia and Dev, and one of their buddies. She is a nice enough girl, but she and her boyfriend got on my nerves. Whenever she would get up to bowl, she would have to come back and sit on his lap, as if there was nowhere else to sit. Then, at the Waffle House afterward, they were all hanging on each other. Riddle me this: what is so romantic about the bowling alley and the dingy Waffle House that a couple can not give each other two inches to breathe? ANNOYING!
No, I do not have a boyfriend. But if I did, I feel that there would be other ways to let the world know he was mine, like holding his hand or even just talking to him, besides PDA. It is just tacky to me. Why can't displays of love be pushed into the bedroom with everything else that was once sacred in this society? Why do innocent and yes single bystanders have to be smothered by and subjected to the random love of passersby and even worse, friends?
I'm sure that this makes me sound even more bitter than even I intended, but hey, it's how I feel.

One foot in the grave, one foot at the alter

Ever since I was a little kid I wanted to be like my Aunt V.
She was never married and has a fulfilling job in education. She can come and go when she pleases. She can spend what she wants, which includes sending her nieces and nephews Christmas checks. In her 50s, Aunt V is definitely Ne-Yo's independent woman. Somehow, the strict cookie cutter mold of what a woman should be from her generation, a housewife or a secretary until she married, gave my Aunt V room to be what she wanted. I wonder if she has noticed how society has gone back in time.
My last beauless friend Bells now has a boyfriend. Every other woman I know might as well be engaged. This would not scare me if I wasn't only 24 years-old! It's like my generation is playing this game of checkers, and I'm the only little round, black piece that has not been kinged. All I can see is all the other paired up pieces laughing at me from either side of the board.
I even have friends who are dating guys who are losers or who have girlfriends that are only messing around with them because they can. Beautiful, strong girls who dream of being doctors and lawyers, but wouldn't dream of being alone.
My good friend Haynes has even gone out of her way to try to set me up with some guy that she found someplace. Who knows. Does it even matter anymore? People these days find "love" on Craigslist.
This is sad to me, but you have to remember who I am. I played with Barbies minus a Ken. It was Barbie, Skipper, my Cabbage Patch and Glow Worm, having Sex and the City-esque lunches where they discussed their individual divorce settlements on our old living room coffee table.
Another thing that saddens me is that the world has made a scary decision for its occupants with vaginas: you are either an Aunt V. or the 40-year-old woman at the teeny bopper club with the hair weave down to her ankles who thinks she looks good for her age.
I think I will stay on the Aunt V. side.