Food For Thought

Hello, my name is Holly. I am an overeater who comes from a long lineage of overeaters who is now trying to teach my niece and nephew not to overeat. It annoys me that there are people who just get full, put their forks down, and go to bed. Even if I cut off my arms, I would find a way to get that last Pringle into my mouth. I have accepted that food issues are going to be my cross to bear, but I am hopeful that the tips I give my niece and nephew (that are obviously from offline, because what do I know about having consumption control?) will help them to avoid a fate such as mine. 

Everyone has issues, but why can't my issue be one that people can't see? Why can't I be a sex addict or a thief or a liar and still get to walk around skinny and cute with no one being the wiser? Why can't I be the adulterer that walks around judging overweight folks, telling them to "just stop eating" and to "get up and walk"? I would be just as good a hypocrite as the next guy. It's just not fair! 

I have gotten so upset with food that I have started to protest it. Even when I am hungry, I just find myself not wanting to eat. What is the point? I am just going to get hungry again, make bad choices, not feel full, then make the same overeater mistakes all over again. I need a break just as food, per usual, is breaking my spirits. 

The other day, I watched my 2-year-old niece eating a granola bar. Halfway through finishing it, she didn't want it anymore, threw it on the floor, and then walked away. I think the healthy people call that "portion control". Maybe there is hope for my bloodline yet! 

Angry and Awake

Today I woke up pissed, again. Is this going to be life in my 40s? Waking up upset? I was full of agitation and nervous energy. I didn't sleep well. I tried to go back to sleep and start over, but that doesn't work anymore. The thought of applying to more jobs just to get a Dear John letter in a week or so made me want to cry. I had so much to do today that I had no idea where to start. My phone didn't charge during the night. My skin is dry. My brain is toast. The good news is that I was able to get up and get in the shower before the downer mood took over and my whole day was shot. With these types of moods, if you don't act fast, there is a point of no return, and you might as well throw the whole day in the trash. I'm trying to learn how to be more optimistic. Perhaps tomorrow I will wake up in a better mood. 

Curly and the Conservative

I have to admit, I have been worried about Curly and his dating life ever since that nut job took him to that the pee-time bar. You know, the one where the guys participated in piss play in the bathroom😬? So, you can imagine how concerned I was when he told me that he'd had a day date with a Conservative man. 

"I have to admit, when he came over, I was a little afraid that I was going to get hate-crimed in my own home," he confessed. Even recalling this memory, he sounded nervous. I can understand why. I am sure that there are Conservatives who are allies to the LGBTQIA+ cause, but they don't seem nearly as loud as the Bible wavers on social media who have nothing but smoke for the community. Outside of being Conservative, what worried him was that the man didn't even seem gay. He looked like your everyday straight White man that you would run into buying some pre-creased khakis to conceal his dad gut. He didn't look like he knew anything about anything gay. 

However, the guy ended up being super nice, and they sat and talked for a long time about their interests and trending topics. They shared a really cool afternoon together. I guess you can't judge a book by its cover...especially when the cover is confusing. 

"We had a good time, but it is pretty clear that he is straight," Curly said, "so I don't think that there is much of a future there. I totally see him marrying a woman."

"For sure," I said, not quite understanding what he was saying. Look, I learned long ago not to ask too many questions when it comes to this type of thing, but admittedly, I am not quite clear how you can be into men and women sexually and not be bisexual, but instead somehow completely straight. Is this the fluidity that the Gen Z kids are always going on and on about, or just the title word play of a possibly closeted man? Either way, I am glad that Curly walked away from the experience having had a fun time and not with a sad story. Fingers crossed that his next guy friends is actually into guys. 

The Great Egg Scramble

Everywhere I turn, I'm hearing about women freezing their eggs! It's a topic of three reality shows I'm watching! I have some friends that are going back and forth on the idea, under the gun may I add. By 40, if you have a good egg left it needs to be on ice yesterday! I wish it was legal to run a nitrogen lab out of your house. If it was, I'd be making mad bank son! 

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm happy that God didn't put motherhood on my heart. If he would have, I'd probably be running around frantic like some of the other women in my life. Watching it gives me anxiety, but the fact of the matter is clear: you are born with tons of eggs but not with the love of your life. Sometimes meeting a man is not on the same timeline as your body. I get it, I just feel for the women under this stress. 

My girl Gail from church is 38 with no prospects in sight. She wants kids and is thinking about getting icy with it. It's expensive, plus she's not sure where God stands on the whole process. That adds a whole 'nother layer of stress to the situation. I find myself praying for her while Googling fertility clinics at the same time! 

I'm sad because I know that freeze or no freeze, motherhood is not going to happen for some of the women in my life. It's unfair, and I'm bracing for some of these women to go into a serious mourning over this fact. It's already sort of happening for people I know who can't afford egg freezing or didn't have any viable eggs left. If my eggs weren't scrambled I'd give one to whoever needed one. Whether I want kiddos or not, I really wish that all my friends that want to be mommies could be. 

Mop Drop

Today, I found a job that I think I would be a good fit for. I immediately went to LinkedIn to see if I had anyone in my networks that worked at this place. You know what they say: It's all in who you know. Imagine my dismay when I saw that the only person that I know who works there would be the one person that I am positive would give me a horrible recommendation. She's a girl that I got to know well in college: Mopsie. I call her this because one of my homeboys says that she has the personality of a mop. I don't know if I'd say that. What I will say is that she is very serious and straight-laced. I wouldn't say that she hates me because I think that would be a touch strong. However, she has always seemed a little irritated and exhausted by my very presence. I don't think she thinks I'm a serious person at all, and if she is anything like she was in college, she wouldn't dare recommend me to get hired and possibly make her look bad. Once, I went with her to a party and she gave me a stern talking to in her car, warning me not to embarrass her the way a mama warns her kid not to ask for candy in the grocery store before they go in.

I'd say I'd never done anything to her for her to have these feelings against me, but that's not entirely true. I once laughed out loud when she did something goofy and she glared at me. I could feel her committing the moment to memory for a time such as this. 

I'm also pretty sure she thinks I'm too much. In her defense, when she knew me, I was. Man, I was a ball of drama and emotions! Now I'm a ball of sleepiness and depression like everyone else my age. With that being said, I'd be great for this job! But I guess I will have to get it without Mopsie's blessing, which means competing against thousands of applicants nationwide. This is just more proof that God doesn't like ugly. This will teach me to laugh at an uptight nerd who will one day serve on the C-suite of a huge, successful company during a hiring slowdown. Lesson learned.

Dizzle and the Inmate

I don't know if you've ever had a close friend to pass away. If you ever do, you will find that it doesn't take much to drum up memories of them. Yesterday, I watched a movie called Clemency with Alfre Woodard where she played the warden of a men's prison. This made me think of my friend Dizzle.

Dizzle was not a warden; she was a doctor who, for a short period of time, worked in a men's prison. One of her patients was an inmate that was terminally ill and dying. It was so clear that he was going to die that Dizzle began to advocate for a compassionate release so he could die peacefully amongst friends and family. I mean, according to Dizzle he was so sick-sick that his death was guaranteed. It wasn't like he was going to get released then hop on a flight to Japan. 

It's important to note that the doctors were not to know what the inmates did to land themselves in jail. Knowing may influence the quality of care they gave them. So, Dizzle didn't know what this guy did. She just knew he was very ill and thought it would be inhumane for him to die behind bars and she was pretty loud and annoying about this. If you knew Dizzle, you knew she'd make a stink until she got results. Well, the result of this campaign was someone letting it slip that her patient was in jail for child molestation. Yikes. 

Dizzle was an only child who loved kids and wanted a trillion of them if possible, so to find out that she'd been advocating for someone who harmed them was devastating. I don't know if you know a lot of doctors but I went to college with a bunch. They can be a$$h@les. The other doctors took to giving Dizzle a not-so-nick nickname: Little Miss Compassion. It was a rough road for the rest of her stay. 

The thing is that Dizzle was a Little Miss Compassion, 100%, and I sometimes wonder if she would have advocated for him anyway if she'd known what he did from the start. I don't know. Anyway, the movie made me think of this story...

Aunty and the Bras

My aunt recently had a minor breast surgery and, as part of her recovery plan, she had to buy these granny bras that clasp in the front. Three days into her recovery she says, "I like these bras! I need to get some more of these!"

I frowned. You gotta see these bras. They only come in two colors: About To Die White and Elderly Tan.

"No you don't! These bras are too old for you!" I cried. "They are for 90-year-old grannies with Arthritis who can't reach their back bra clasps!"

"But they are sooooo cozy!" she said, doing a little spin. 

These bras are as unsexy as they come. They are perfect for the old lady who has confidently given up any type of cuteness for functionality. My aunt is only 60. Today's 60-year-old women are going on cruises, learning line dances, and dating guys half their age, not embracing the bereavement bra. 

Ladies: have you noticed that your commitment to comfort unintentionally correlates to the rate in which your sexy is slipping? I noticed the slip for me in my mid-30s. I didn't feel as pressed to paint my nails or put on lipstick when I went out. What for? By the time Covid had chewed me up and spit me out, I was as concerned with being cute as I was with learning to fly. 

No woman wants to be viewed as ancient and unbangable, but if that's coming down the pipes anyway, why not welcome it in bloomer panties, oversized night shirts, house shoes, hair rollers, and no-bang bras? Ideally, as a woman, you want to hold on to your hot for as long as possible, but if it can't be done, what are you gonna do?🤷 I know what I'm going to eventually do: lounge in my bonnet while I admire my unpainted nails.