The Rant

At about 3am this morning, I had a bit of a health issue, and I reached out to three of my friends. Two of them, I presume, were asleep. Risky Business was not. Of course she was not. She is my middle-of-the-night phone friend. However, she was busy, I guess, and said she couldn't talk but could text, and I found myself enraged! Not just with her, but with my overall, played-out, Saved By The Bell, Girl Scouty definition of friendship. Here is the short and tall of it- I am single and alone in my tears and my fears, and that is what it is, and it sucks, but here we are. There are other people I could call, I guess, but many of them sleep with their phones off, which is beautiful. I'm glad that somebody is out here getting their Zs because I am not. I don't think I have ever been unavailable to anyone that I love, ever! I mean, my phone is turned off now because what else can you do when you realize the lack of general f*&ks that are given about you? But for the past however many decades I have had a personal cell phone, I have woken up out of my sleep for a friend in need. When I think of all the time I have invested in friends on the phone for hours, talking them through breakups, heartaches, divorces, work drama, anger, and all types of stuff, only to be met with boundaries and voicemails and middle fingers in return, it makes me want to scream! I have asked this question over the years, but perhaps it is due time for me to ask this question one mo' 'gin: IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK TO BE A F&CKING PRIORITY TO SOMEONE, ANYONE IN MY LIFE?! The fact that I am typing this up and not crying to one of the homies tells us all we need to know, in my opinion. I cried for about an hour, and I will undoubtedly cry some more later, but my eyes are dry at the moment, and the situation is clear as day. I can feel a hard, armadillo-esque shell forming over me, and it's going to need to get harder if things are about to shake the way that I think they are. 

Disappointingly Disappointed

It's 2:42am and I am sad because I didn't get a text from New Man yesterday. Just in case you needed clarity yes, I'm 41-years-old, sittin' up in my room like Brandy sad over a guy. I ate my dinner leftovers that I was trying to save for breakfast, and the cherry on top is that my knee hurts, making every position I take in my bed uncomfortable. As I lay her typing this, all I can think about is how disappointing all of this is, and how I find myself constantly dealing with a lurking, shadowy sense of disappointment. I'm disappointed in everything and everybody. I called Boots to sing her a Toni Braxton song reflective of my mood. She didn't answer. I'm disappointed in myself for not being able to take life on the chin. Sigh. Time to try to sleep. 

Coffee Goes Cold

Coffee has decided to abstain. Apparently, being 50 and afraid that you have contracted Trich will do it. 

If you do not remember who Coffee is, he is the handsome Black Republican that I went on a coffee date with last spring. Upon getting to know him, getting to know all about him, I discovered that he had a harem of women that I nicknamed "The Honies" who he had wild sex with on a rolling basis. He was also on a Sugar Daddy site and admitted to once upon a time frequenting call girls. He told me that the call girl-frequenting life is dangerous. You could get robbed or beat up by a pimp, so he focused his scope on hot single mothers that were willing to do something strange for a little bit of change. I mean, this guy was pumping out CashApp payments to distressed mommies across the city, needing a helping hand after some wild nights. 

"You don't get it because you have support from your family," he had once told me. "But these ladies work two jobs and still need help with food and rent. The average woman in Atlanta only makes $20 an hour." So, as a 6-figure earner himself, what was $100 here and there to the moms from the threesomes? He was here to help!

I have to say, this lifestyle seemed extreme to me, an elder virgin who spends her days babysitting a 2-year-old, but it seemed to fit him like a glove until recently, when he had a couple of experiences. 

One of The Honies reached out to him for a donation to get surgery for her dog. 

"Sorry, I'm not tricking anymore," he told her. Apparently, today's economy has even made things tight for him, and he no longer desires to fork out money to chicks, especially if he is not sleeping with them. She got a major attitude and brought up some of their past acts together, which really pissed him off. 

"I had to remind her that I had given her almost $1000 this year already! I told her to block me," he said, annoyed. 

I understood why the exchange could help to lead him to a life of abstinence, but that wasn't even the cherry on top. The cherry on top was Cherry, an old friend he had recently been with that called him panicked because she thought she had Trich. She wasn't sure, but the doctor suspected it during the virtual visit and prescribed meds. Coffee sent her the money to pay for the meds, afraid he had given her the disease, only to go get checked out himself and not have it. The experience has soured him to the point that he has clocked out of sex, which is funny because, in the past, he has contracted more serious things, took the meds, and returned condomless back to the ring. 

Coffee seems so relieved to have given up his "Daddy" status. He reports a surplus of cash and a clear mind. Apparently, not being worried about payouts and positive test results will automatically take a lot off of your plate. 

"So, is this a forever thing?" I inquired. 

I could feel him shrug over the phone. "I will tell you like I tell the real estate agents who call my house, wanting to know if I am willing to sell. I'm good for now, but who knows what the case will be in six months?"

I guess we will have to see. 

New Man, Mixed Messages

Pardon me if I have been absent, but indeed I have been chatting it up with a new man. I don't want you to get too excited about him because it is very new, and I am trying not to get too excited about him because it is very new, but I do like him. I have shared my developments with New Man with a couple of my friends and, per usual, they have had a lot to say. 

You see, for years, these friends have told me that I was closed off and that I needed to be open to meeting someone. They encouraged me to go out more and join dating apps. These were the same friends who made sure to tell me, as many times as humanly possible, that I wasn't going to find my guy complaining at home, and that I needed to step out on faith and lead with my heart. Oddly enough, these same friends are encouraging me to now lead with suspicion. You guessed it, P is one of these friends. 

The other day, I told P about how New Man told me this fantastical story from his youth that had me on the edge of my seat! I really feel like it could be a movie! P, of course, did not feel the same way. 

"That story doesn't even make sense," he said dryly. "Man, you will believe anything these men tell you. Did you even ask any follow-up questions?"

Just to be clear, this is the same P that has consistently gotten on me about thinking that all men are liars and being a "man-hater". Now that I am trying to participate in the dating world that he encouraged me join time and time again, he seems to be annoyed that I believe even the most minute thing New Man, and other men, have said to me. He kind of makes me feel dumb about it. 

Lisha has been the same way; not about New Man but about Coffee. This is funny because she is Little Miss Soft Life, encouraging me to listen with my heart. Yet, when I would tell her interesting things about Coffee, she was clearly listening with a raised eyebrow. 

"I think this man is cap," she said flatly. "Sometimes, I wonder if he is legit or if he is just sitting over there lying to you."

I gotta say kids, I feel like I am receiving mixed messages. 

The running story for years has been that I am bitter and distrustful, and I do not want that to be my story. P and Lisha are prime examples of friends who, over the years, have been at the forefront of encouraging me to make changes so that wouldn't be my story. Now, it feels like they want me to wear an "I'm Trusting" hat at the same time as an "I Don't Believe You" hat. The thing is, I only have one head. They want me to have one head and be of two minds, which I know is possible but also difficult and consuming. 

If being the friend with no man watching everyone's relationships has taught me anything, it's this: suspicion is cancerous to the healthy cells of a couple. One minute, your relationship is healthy and vibrant, then BAM! The infectious dishonesty makes its way into the relationship and, before you know it, your relationship is terminal and on life support. I have seen what it is to second-guess everything a partner tells you, and it just doesn't work. I want my relationships to work. 

At their cores, I just think that P and Lisha don't want me to be a dummy and get played. I don't want that for myself either. I am deciding to not believe New Man only if he gives me a reason not to. I am not going to expect lies or look for them, but I will be prepared for them if they are to arise. Really, I think that is all I can do. 

Anxious As Nails

One way I have always been able to temperature-check my mood is by my desire to paint my nails. I know that sounds silly, but when I am happiest, for some reason, I like to see that reflected in my nails being painted pretty colors. However, of late, I have been painting my nails while still being incredibly concerned about the world around me. I mean, my anxiety is sky high! 

I know that somehow people are able to build their social media algorithms. Many of my friends go to their social media accounts and only see beauty tips and crockpot recipes. I see people building bunkers and talking about how we are going to run out of power and will starve to death unless we learn how to turn our urine into drinking water and preserve peppers. As scary as this sounds, and it sounds really scary, at least to me, I still have been painting my nails, excited about the variety of pinks and reds I have. 

What is the moral of this story? What, am I like happily worried or something? I think that in my old age I am finally digesting the fact that you can't change what you don't have control over. The world could end in a few days. So, I can either go into complete panic mode or pray that God has mercy on us while I oil my cuticles. If I am going to meet my maker, I am doing so with a full, polished set. 

Quit It!

My friend Chelsea called me seeking emotional and professional support. She quit her job last week because her manager sucks. I asked her if she was still tight with the president of the company. She said she was. I then suggested that she go to her directly and beg for her job back. Chelsea was very annoyed by my feedback, but I honestly couldn't think of anything more helpful to suggest. 

People are out her STRUGGLING! My other friend was out of work for nine months and her bestie was unemployed for over a year. Yet Chelsea was out her quitting her gig? What? Sometimes it's less about pride and more about pay your bills. 

She has ideas on what to do nest. I hope they all workout, but the market is cold out here. I'm still standing behind begging for her job back. 

HC Eye Spy- Another Risky Business Story

Risky is one of my top tier friends. She answers the phone when I call her crying in the middle of the night. We check in on each other. We have an understanding that I don't have with my other friends. But today, when she asked me to spy on her ex on social media, I didn't understand. 

"I just need you to tell me what is in his stories, and if he has any new posts with women in them," she instructed.

This was confusing to me, because to my knowledge, she and this guy broke up ages ago. Like, ages ago. She has dated other men, so I don't get why she would care. But you see, I am her friend. Her good friend. Who would I be if I wasn't helping her be crazy? 

When I went to his social media page, I got nervous. Looks like her ex likes to play with guns. Play with guns, drink beer, and smoke cigars. My neck tensed up. Why can't Risky ever couple with anyone normal? 

"New posts with women?" I asked. "I'm surprised this man was able to get with you!" I mean really, how many guns does one guy need?

Just in case you are new here, yes, Risky and I are both middle-aged, lurking on a man's socials to see who he is dating. No, we are not tweens and yes, we know better. 

I am not sure what Risky is thinking, but I do know what it's like to want to keep tabs on someone from your past. The thing is, doing this never, ever contributes anything positive to your future. You end up just feeding into a hang up instead of looking forward to whatever new thing that could be in the cards. However, this is a lesson every woman learns on their own. Until Risky gets her turn in the learnin' chair, I guess I'm playing 007 regarding a heavily armed guy I've never met. Come on, what are friends for?