Second Chance Suzie

It's another Friday night, and I am alone, single, and feeling stupid. 

Do you remember New Man? The one who ghosted me? Well, I allowed him to hit me up with the "Hey Stranger" text when we both knew, good and well, that he was the stranger here. I hadn't heard from him in weeks! But the critique is that I am hard on men and I am not soft, so I told him, AGAIN, just in case I was not clear, how important communication is to me and how I have to hear from someone I am talking to. He said he understood, but that I can contact him too. He "claims" he didn't see my text or missed call. Okay. Now, it has been a week since that call, and he has gone ghost again! Now I really feel like a simp because I allowed him to convince me that what I knew was not so. JUST SO YOU KNOW, IN CASE YOU DIDN'T KNOW, EVERYTHING A WOMAN KNOWS IS SO! And what I did know was that this guy is a no-show. Now I really know this fact, fo' sho'. 

So what is the moral of the story here, ladies? Don't be a Second Chance Suzie. It doesn't pay. These Casper-a$$ men know what they are doing when they drop off the face of the planet. Don't waste your time ladies. Don't be a Holly. 

An Affair Not To Happen

David was my friend Carina's first boyfriend in college. She met him through a friend on Bourbon Street. He had just crossed Sigma at Dillard and looked horrible but happy. The two hit it off immediately. By the end of the night, they were holding hands and had a whirlwind romance until he eventually dumped her for an AKA. Over the years, they have kept up with each other. Now, fresh into his second marriage, he hit Carina up to tell her that he was coming to her town and needed a ride from the airport. So, Carina agreed to pick him up. They went and had dinner, caught up, and then she dropped him off at the train station to take the train to his hotel. I wondered if two people who used to be in love could casually be together after years had passed without any funny business. I mean, wouldn't the connection still be there?

"He looked at me the same way that he did 20 years ago," she informed me. "He was smiling at me, and he smelled so good. But girl, I dropped him off at the train station and sent him on his merry way."

I didn't doubt that Carina was going to follow her moral compass. I mean, David is married...again. However, I feel that putting yourself in these situations can set the table for trouble. I was happy that he was at his conference and that it all seemed to be over after a Rated G dinner. 

"Do you think he will try to see you before he leaves?" I asked. 

"No, I doubt it," she said. For some reason, I had a feeling that he would, and I was proven right the same day when Carina let me know that he had invited her to a concert. She agreed to go. 

She said that the concert was good, but that it was outdoors and people were drinking. David was one of these people, and he got a little tipsy. The performer on the stage was grinding on her female dancers, which got him all hot and bothered, and he began to get handsy. Carina politely shut it down. Afterwards, she took him to his hotel and headed back home. Again, there was no hanky-panky. She kept it cute and again, Rated G. 

When she told me this story, I thought about the arguments around adultery. A popular one is that it is not the other woman's fault, it is the husband's fault. I mean, he is the one who made a vow to his wife. That didn't stop David from rubbing on Carina's knee during the concert. I think that is why this argument is null and void. Life has taught me some things. I, like many women, have made my mistakes. But this story illustrates what many women don't learn until they are either in it, older, married, or divorced: women need to always be thinking of other women. Carina said that she thought of how disappointed she would have been in herself if something would have happened. She also thought about how hurt his SECOND wife would be if something had gone down. She was thinking of her even when he wasn't. Just sayin'. 

Not The Gram! pt 3.5

I wrote this live from the breast imaging waiting room:

The gown they gave me is musty. They don't let you wear deodorant to the appointment. I don't get a pretty pink gown. The ones in my size are gray. GRAY! I guess there is even size discrimination in the breast health community. 

The scene in this waiting room is grim y'all. The Latina lady across from me looks like she is about to cry. I'd like to hug her, but she looks like she'd scream. This would be a great time to practice my stand up. 

"So I'm here because they think they saw something in my left boob. Can you believe that? They think. Well I think when I get the bill for this sh$t, I'm throwing it in the trash!"

"I was recently ghosted by a guy who wanted our first date to be me coming to his apartment to chill. He said he wanted to watch TV. I guess there were some new episodes of '41, Single, and Dumb' coming on the Desperate Channel. Maybe I sent him mixed signals. When he asked me for a pic of my vag, I sent him a picture of a sad face emoji with a party hat on. "

"Hey sis over there giggling to yourself, you good? I'm not mad or anything. I wish I would have come here drunk too. Come on lady, sip and pass!"

I decide against doing my routine. Believe it or not, a breast imaging waiting area is the last place you want to make jokes. Nothing is funny. 

Not the Gram pt. 3

Yesterday, my mammogram results hit MyChart in the heat of the night. Maria told me to open them. She said that when test results are dropped on MyChart, they have already been looked at and they are typically good news because, if news is bad, they have to call you to discuss it. They can't leave you to try to figure out medical jargon on your own with a poopy diagnosis. This, my friends, is untrue. 

The first thing I saw when I opened my results this morning, against my better judgement, was a note that said the results HAD NOT been reviewed by a medical team. I attempted to read the first sentence, got scared, and got the hell out of there. I reached out to my doctor and she said that additional imagery was needed. This was super alarming because, after the the world's worst mammogram, I was called in again to have more imagery done. For those of you having trouble keeping count, my results suggested I come in for more images for A THIRD TIME. No bueno. Apparently, something is up with my left boob. The bigger boob. The problem boob. 

I wish I could tell you that I handled this with a level head, but I sprung into a panic and hysterical tears while my doctor patiently listened to me cry. I love her, she's a real doll. I let her know that I am broke, and if I have breast cancer, I will die of it because I have no money. I told her I just want my boobs removed but she said that was a fat chance if nothing is wrong. I cannot stress out like this annually. I'm not married. Not having a baby. Not desperate to keep my breasts around for bikini season. The anxiety is too much, take them! I can't live in this constant fear that something is wrong and that I'm going to die. I'm not ready to die! 

Winfrey allowed me to cry to her on the phone this morning about this as she drove to work. As is becoming customary with Risky Business, she was too busy to talk to me. P is not talking to me for reasons unknown and I am still dealing with that all-too-familiar sting of being ghosted. Once I got off the phone with Winfrey, I cried in between broken sleep. I gotta tell y'all, I'm over this s$#t!

Grown and Graphic

Once you hit aunty status, it is important that you allow the little nieces and nephews of your life, both biological and community-wise, to live their lives as young adults. This can be difficult, especially when you remember them as babies. Coming to terms with the fact they they are new growns can be hard, and even shocking. Let me explain. 

Admittedly, shamefully, I keep up with some "grown-up" accounts on socials. And I say keep up because I don't follow them because I don't want people to know I follow them. I don't want people thinking I am who I am😞🫤🤫🤐 Anyway, I was on socials this morning, looking at a post from one of these said accounts and saw that one of my children had liked one of their posts. I screamed and flipped my phone over! Why is one of my children online looking at filth?! I mean, my heart was racing! 

First off, the very idea that one of the 20-somethings I helped raise could be on the same type of naughty time I'm on is disgusting! It's like finding out that your stuffed animal has an OF account. Secondly, how did they find out about this social medialite? I hope they aren't being influenced in real life by people like secret me! If this particular son or daughter is out there making things happen like were in this post - out there consorting with freaks and loosie goosies - I am going to die! 

My first instinct was to call this person's parents, but I couldn't tell on their child without telling on myself. Plus, what was I going to say? Your kid is grown doing grown stuff? Just because you like a post about something doesn't mean you do it. Case in point, I like a lot of posts about cooking and cleaning. Also, I'm an aunty! Aunties don't snitch. 

Naw, we don't snitch but now I am keeping an eye on this rogue God child of mine. They better not be up to any mess, but I respect their right to be. Kinky recognize Kinky. 

3 Weeks A Ghost

I'm not familiar with the rules, but how long can you go without hearing from a guy before you can confidently say you have been ghosted? I have not heard from New Man in three days after talking to him consistently for three weeks. He just kind of poofed and vanished. He didn't rub me as a vanisher but at last, here we are. We hadn't had an argument or disagreement yet. All our convos and texts were cute and pleasant. We talked about meeting up. Now he's gone. My friend Maria says it may be too soon to declare a Ghosting but I gotta say, it sure feels like one. He went from checking in with me and sending me videos of his dinner to going completely silent. I asked myself all the questions women ask. Is he sick? Is he dead? Is he working some type of 24hr overtime? Is his phone broken? Then, of course, the questions went sideways. Did he get back with an ex? Was he married the entire time? Was he a government spy hired to make me fall for him so I would divulge my lemon pepper greens recipe? Let's be real, these are all valid possibilities! Man, I was starting to like him! Why do men do this kind of stuff? Do lesbians have to deal with this behavior? I have been advised to wait a few more days. Okay. But then, after that, I have to mentally send him to The Island of Misfit Men. I have to say though, I miss hearing his country accent and ridiculous, unbelievable stories. I miss receiving clips about his incredibly unhealthy meals. How unfortunate. 

Grown and Worried

Sadly, this may be a repetitive theme on my blog but I have to say it again: I am surprised by the amount of fear associated with getting older. I know that many people associate youth with freedom and to an extent, I do too. At 20, I remember feeling really free speeding through New Orleans in Workman's SUV, him a little drunk and me with no fear that we could crash. At the same time, the last 20 years of my life have been stuffed with anxiety around money and success and goals and love and so on. For some reason, I believed I'd feel more fearless as I got older. I'm finding the opposite to be true. It seems like everyday presents something new to be fearful about. 

Tonight's fear de jure comes from anxiety around my mammogram. The mammogram itself was such a nightmare that I'm fearful about my results. At 41, shouldn't I be planning a girl's trip or doing something else that a middle-aged woman secure in her existence should be doing? I guess not because it's midnight and I'm unnerved, blogging in the dark about my mammogram. And if it weren't the mammogram it would be something else. I'm ready for the footloose and fancy free period of my life. I am all cried out and all worried out. Where is the grown woman happy and fun? Let's get to it already. PLEASE. 

That is all.