Sailing Love's Seas

It may be too early to say that the love boat that my friends and I are on is not sinking. I will say that it looks as if we have our life vests on. Whether we make it is yet to be seen. At least for now, it looks like there is smooth sailing ahead for the first time in a long time, but we know how quickly sugar can go to s&*t when it comes to these matters of the heart. 

Tiesh has a boyfriend now. It is crazy, because we have been trying to pray us up some boyfriends for at least the past five years. I remember mentioning it in my Christmas cards. I would say something like, "I pray that we find love this year." Well, "this year" has arrived for Tiesh, and she is so happy. She actually worked with him when she was a teenager. I guess there is some truth to the old idea that by middle age, you have already met or even dated the love of your life. I have gotten to talk to him on the phone, and he is super sweet. They have met each other's families, and he has visited her in New Orleans. I predict good things for them, and I am hopeful that their story leads to a chapel. Not yet, though! I need to lose about 900 lbs first and get on a better skincare regimen before I attend another wedding. 

Tortilla has a new boyfriend. They have only been together for two months, but they already have a bunch of trips planned. She says that he is very kind to her and even offers her some of his food when they go out to eat. To me, this is a good sign. If he will share his food, he will share your heart. 

Even old Nick seems to be on the right track. For the past 20 years, I have watched him carelessly and almost comedically fumble the ball when it comes to the women in his life. For all of his friends to be women, I just couldn't grasp how he seemed to show up as clueless about them in his relationships. However, at 40, he is getting his act together. He met a girl and said that he is going to ask her to be his girlfriend when they have their next date. It is around this time that things usually go south for Nick, but I am optimistic. He said that she is nice. He sent me a picture. She is pretty and looks like she has good sense. Good sense is a necessary quality for anyone Nick is going to be with, whether he realizes it or not. 

So if we all have on our life vests, Bells has on a vest, a parachute, and scuba gear. Bells is very cautious and frugal, interesting traits to have in today's dating climate. However, she is stepping out on faith and has purchased a month on a dating app. This is a big deal for Bells! She doesn't just spend money on anything. She can squeeze a penny until it turns white! But she has to see what is out there and both fortunately and unfortunately (depending on who you ask), dating apps are the best way to go. She has not had luck so far. That first round of guys is usually a dud. I am optimistic that she will get a few dates out of this. 

I, on the other hand, am simply messaging with men that I am meeting on the fatty app. This may seem pretty benign, but it is something I would not have had the guts to do even two years ago. There are no wedding bells going off, but it is nice getting to know people. 

For now, me and the homies seem to be on love's good foot and it's a nice change of pace. Hopefully, there are no icebergs ahead. 

The Gay Divorcee pt 1: The Sex Quest

Rudith is divorcing her wife Maria and currently dating and having sex with men that she has met on Bumble. Seeing that she's been married to a woman for years, I thought she was a lesbian. Turns out she's queer. I'm going to be honest, I'm not sure what queer means. As I've said over the years, queer sounds like something bad that happens to cheese.

I had no idea that she and her wife were having issues. I couldn't tell from their annual Christmas cards. However, according to Rudith, Maria's inconsistency brings nothing but chaos, confusion, and despair to everything she touches. Couples therapy didn't work, so Rudith has kicked Maria out of the bedroom and banished her to the basement. Rudith has also created an ancestral altar to combat Maria's negative vibes. 

"I suggested an open marriage, but she said no because she never wants to do anything that makes sense!" Rudith exclaimed over the phone. She was headed back home after a quick getaway she treated herself to since her wife is out of town. 

So Rudith did what we all do when we don't know what to do: she turned to app dating. She matched with a guy the day she created her profile, went on a date, went to the guy's house and hooked up with him which officially started her campaign to have the best sex of her life. 

"I'm just playing with these women's sons for a minute," she explained. And it's working. She is very honest with the men about her situation, and as we all know, men love nothing more than lesbians and a challenge. She is clear with them about wanting strong masculine energy which has brought men who have award-winning penis and no desire to go dutch into her life. She's even being invited to exclusive members-only clubs and taken on exciting dates. It all sounds great, but I was confused on how she could be intimate with anyone else when she is still married? 

"A divorce could take two or three years and I already haven't had sex with my wife for two! Do you want me to go without sex for like five years?!"

I sometimes forget how I am the only one dedicated to a dry, sexless existence. I also forget how most people don't identify with a black and white definition of relationships, not even in a marriage. I don't believe anything is over until it's over, so you should behave accordingly or risk BAD karma. However, Rudith swears that dating and hetero- sexing is just what the doctor ordered. Literally! Her therapist is on board with her technical cheating. Even her kids have noticed the pep in her step! 

If we are going to be adults, I guess we also have to be honest about what cheating is. Are you really physically cheating if you have emotionally separated from a person? My grandma would have said yes. Rudith's shrink and Rudith say otherwise.

Also, if we are going to continue being honest adults, we also have to admit that happiness can often be the theoretical butterfly that we can not catch. Is it really wrong to run towards it even if we are technically involved in something else? Hearing about Rudith's cool makeout sessions with military men in her car makes me want to say no but I don't know. Keep in mind that I have been told often that I'm a prude. I don't know if I'd go that far, but I will say that I'm relationship conservative which I'm realizing is quickly going out of style. Things often are not cut and dry. I guess the question is as simple as it was for Sheryl Crow in her old hit song: If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad. 

The Co-Sign Theory

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

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

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

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

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

Capricorn-ish

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

App'ed

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

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

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

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

The Dress

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

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

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

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

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

Starved

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

Special

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

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

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

NOT! 

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

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

Showers and the Blue Juice

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

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

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

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

13 Pounds

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eyelift

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

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

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

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

Wheeeeew! Crisis averted. 

Equally Backed

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

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

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

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

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

The New Cat Lady

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

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

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

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

Falling During The Fallout

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

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

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

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

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

Mammogram

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

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

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

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

Ladylike

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

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

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

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

The Compliment Collector

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

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

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

Dirty 2: The Dumb and The Fearless

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

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

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

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

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

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

IUDizzy

Who would have thought that me, who's about as sexually active as dry toast, would have to go on birth control? Sadly, it's not because I decided to have some type of a Hot Girl Winter as I skid on the banana peel toward middle age. Long story short, I have a condition and getting an IUD was the best way to treat it. Sigh. As if Frank, my ever-so-loving name for my vagina, hasn't been through enough. Now I have some contraption inside of me to keep things under control. And yes, my vagina has a man's name, obviously because it has given me nothing but trouble. Not to mention the bad haircut. 

Over the years, I have heard my fair share of birth control nightmare stories. You know the greatest hits. "Birth control gave me blood clots." "Birth control made me fat." "The morning-after pill didn't work for me." "My IUD dislodged and I got pregnant anyway." "The pill gave me a beard." "I missed one Depo-Provera shot and woke up with a penis." 

When I expressed my concern about getting an IUD to my gyno team, they shut me down pretty quickly. 

"No, no, we are doing this," the main doctor said. 

"But I have done online research-" I began. 

"Every doctor on my team has an IUD. I had one when I was young enough to have children."

"What if Donald Trump makes birth control illegal and comes to get it?" I cried. My anxiety was sky high, and I had heard rumblings about how The Donald was coming for contraception since that whole abortion thing was such a slam dunk. 

"He can't," they all said in unison. But I was not convinced. 

"Listen, there are a bunch of women happy with their IUDs that are not writing Yelp reviews," one of the student doctors said. Maybe so. 

About a month later, I have to say that it is clear that there is something inside of me. It's uncomfortable sometimes. I just move pretty slowly. I don't want to piss it off. 

At night, I imagine that it pops out of place and does a soft shoe on my stomach. Then it moonwalks across my kidneys and does the cabbage patch on my liver. I wake up right before it goes to my heart to poke holes in it. 

I guess I am not that great of a patient. I don't even know how long I am supposed to keep this thing in. I am assuming it is somewhere between three months and forever. Or until it gets carried away in my sleep, doing the Wobble in my throat before I wake up and throw it up. Honestly, I am preparing for things to go either way. 

The Chase

With all the health stuff I have been dealing with, I have found myself reaching out to my friends for support. And the truth of the matter is, some of them are not interested in being present. It just is what it is. Yet, on the other hand, my church family has been consistent, checking in on me and sending me prayers and well wishes. So, the other night while I sat in the dark groaning, I asked myself why I am chasing friends that aren't interested when there are people proving that they want to be a part of my life? Why is my default always trying to cling to the unavailable? Talk about trauma and damage! These and other questions to be answered as I try to navigate life. Stay tuned.