41 going on 14

Earlier today, I had to talk a friend down from the ledge. She was crying and very emotional over a man that she met online that was no longer talking to her. Tiesh has been ghosted by her friend group because she fell out with Wadley. I am looking for a job with the same gusto I had that summer when I got my work permit. I can't help but feel like I have been here before. What is it about middle age that has me feeling like I am reliving life as a tween? Breakups. Petty friendship disputes. Being broke. I am half expecting a friend to call me tomorrow and tell me her signed Immature poster has come in the mail and, if she keeps her room clean, her mom has promised to get her Aaliyah tickets. 

I have concluded that either life happens to you in a series of loops that feel familiar as time goes on, or me and the people I know have experienced no growth and still have the horrible communication skills of children. Neither idea is comforting. I didn't want to be a child when I was a child, but the way that I have been feeling of late and the situations that I have been witnessing my friends fall into has me looking into my purse to make sure that I have my Lip Smacker and my Lisa Frank notebook. With all that has been going on, I half wonder if you can be an adult and a kid at the same time. 

I have long said that I feel that you are who you are by the time you hit a certain age in elementary school. Everything you pick up along the way either adds to or takes away from your personality. With that being said, perhaps me and my girls aren't experiencing the same situation over and over again, but rather we are essentially the same people we were at 14, so we are handling all situations, no matter how serious or grown up, the same way we would have in the 99s and 2000s. Again, not a great conclusion. 

In my friends' defense, there is no great way to handle breakups or friend loss at any age. Having to deal with them leaves you feeling just as dumb and vulnerable as that kid on the couch, waiting for "All That" to come on while waiting for life to happen. How many ways can life happen the same way? Am I going to be 80 upset because a friend did not return my text? Who knows. All I can do is try to be there for my friends. They all need support. 41 can be a very hormonal, difficult age. 

The Prom Post

 

If your social media timeline is anything like mine, you have been flooded with pics of family members and the children of friends going to the prom. These pics have made me nostalgic and a little sad, as everything does these days. I tell you, I think I have cried more this month than I have my whole life. I'm either in perimenopause or depressed, a conversation for another time. 

Anyway, my senior prom was shrouded in drama. My friends didn't want to go so I had to go with some other classmates, my date pulled out of the deal, my dress had to be tailored, I had drama with Lisha (which would later kickstart our friendship), and my big grown up night out ended in me and my friends falling asleep before midnight in a fancy hotel. What a night! 

I hated high school. I didn't have a lot of friends. However, for some reason, I was super stoked to go to my prom. I think I really wanted to get in a limo and wear a cute dress. But when I got to the prom at the Fox Theater, I just kind of swayed awkwardly and talked to folks. I was too shy to dance. 

Of late, I have thought a lot about what a me today would tell a younger me. Old Me would show up to my prom in the ratty old summer dress I am wearing as a night gown and scream at Young Me to dance. I'd tell her in a little over ten years our mom and grandma would be dead. DANCE! College would leave us in boatloads of debt. DANCE! Depression, loss, anxiety. DANCE! Knowing Young Me, I would have still wallflowered it, but Old Me would take the opportunity to shine. I see myself breakdancing, back flipping, and moonwalking while Young Me sulks in the corner. I always ease out of this fantasy with a smile on my face. It feels good to dance again. 

Show Improve

The other night, I mentioned to Coffee that I don't know how to walk in heels. He told me that when he was hiring an etiquette coach for his daughter, the first thing she asked was if his daughter could walk in heels. He suggested I consider hiring a woman like that to teach me to walk in heels and help me with any other things I may want to improve. 

This may sound a little negative, but I don't often think of improvement probably because I am not really sure anything changes. I have always felt kind of doomed and stuck where I am. Early on, once I realized that I'd never be small or anything resembling petite, I just figured there was no point. I'd never be cute. I'd never like my body and neither would anyone else. I'd never be ladylike. I would always be a bull in a China shop, and that was just the long and short of it. As weird as it may sound, I never took the idea seriously that I could actually improve myself, even on little things, to get as close as possible to the me I told myself I'd never be. It was all or nothing, and since I was never going to be all, I'd have to settle for nothing. This attitude has spilled over to most aspects of my life, and if you are thinking that this can't be a productive way to live, you are thinking right. 

If I'm being honest, general low self-esteem, energy, and motivation have also played a part in my stagnancy. I went to college with this AKA that really had it together. I mean, she always looked so polished and feminine and professional, even in jeans and a t-shirt. I secretly idolized this girl, and she was a vivid example of what my grandma was talking about when she would preach to me about being presentable. I mean, she was elegant, even at 19! So, in an attempt to improve myself, I revaluated everything; hair, hygiene, makeup, my walk. All of it. And I came up with an honest and ambitious plan to make some changes. However, when it was time to execute this plan, I lost the teaspoon of juice in my battery. What was the point? I'd just be a lipstick wearing version of the mess I already was and everyone would see through my attempt at self improvement. I canceled my new me plans and sank comfortably into my old me, cuddled in sadness, disappointment, and functional depression. 

Now, I'm middle-aged and still daydreaming of a better version of me because it feels so far away. Where would I even start now? Why would I even start now? Maybe to enjoy a brighter type of me before I die and clock out for good. I guess I'd have to muster up the gusto to get my one pair of heels out the back of the closet. Does anyone know where you can get cheap gusto? I'm on a budget. 

Where's The Love? (Another Risky Business Story)

Spring is here, and romance is all around us, even in the hookup dating apps. 

Risky Business sent me a screenshot of her messages with a potential gentleman caller, where they were having a lovely exchange about meeting up for sex. They were going back and forth about their recent STI screenings. Risky was happy because the guy gives plasma regularly, so he is automatically tested for many of the sexually transmitted greatest hits. Because of this, she suspects that they may be having some fun together sooner than later. 

Don't get me wrong, I am glad that there are still people out here who are still interested in being safe, especially with STI rates going up faster than the cost of living. Yet, the messages left me wondering where the love is? Where is the romance? The conversation felt so mechanical and sterile. Is there no more amour? I guess getting tested to make sure that your potential partner doesn't end up ill is as sweet as it is going to get out here. It seems like a cheek swab and a blood draw are the new flowers and candy in these streets and, as disappointing as that is, with the state of the sexually active world, it is definitely not a bad thing. 

I guess I still fantasize about romance the way it was deceptively described to me in romance novels. I still see lit candles and slow dancing. I still hear a soft saxophone playing in the background. Bubble baths. Eskimo kisses. I know that I have to accept that today's daters, especially those my age, have moved past these things. So, at some point this spring, Risky and her beau may hold hands as they go over each other's MyChart results. This may sound like a sad thing, but as it was explained to me, if you find a guy brave enough to take such things seriously, it's actually enchanting. 

With The Quickness

Has anyone else noticed that the older you get, the quicker the big issues come up in those first getting to know you conversations? I don't think I was on the phone with this guy Ted for ten minutes before he demanded to know my stance on abortion. 

"I wouldn't respect any woman who did that!" he declared. 

"Well...I believe women should be able to get the healthcare they need," I said, wondering how we ended up on this topic of all topics. 

"Really?! I know girls back home who have had four or five abortions. What do you think about that?" he demanded.

"I think men are pretty pro-life until they get the bill," I said, dryly. Oops! There I go again accidentally telling a guy my true feelings. You would think I'd know better by now. 

I guess past a certain age you don't have time to waste on pleasantries. You have to find out how looney someone is quickly. Many of us would probably be better off if we would have done this from the start. The Gen Z girlies aren't playing around about getting to the heart of matters expediently. My Gen Z buddy Tanya told me all about it. 

"My friend Jess went home with a guy she met on Tinder," Tanya began, "and they were about to hook up, but she asked him who he voted for President and he didn't want to answer."

Not a good sign, I thought. 

"She didn't like his answer so she got up and left!" said Tanya. 

Sigh. If so many of us elders would have got up and left, but we didn't, now we are having cringy conversations about abortion with men we met online. 

Here's the thing they tell you but that you don't believe until your back is against the wall: time is of the essence. This is especially true in today's piss poor dating landscape. The key is to find a way to take your time without wasting it, but I'm almost at a point where I don't know if that's possible. Everything in the dating world just feels so rushed and somehow overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time. I kind of want to clock out of the whole thing, but no can do when you have to hurry up. 

Seeking Charles Christmas 4: A Crush No More

I'm sad to report that my secret obvious love for Charles Christmas is no more. The thrill is gone. The fantasy is broken. 

Last night, I was scrolling on social media and came across the profile of a girl we will call Lizzy. It looks like she is a fitness/bikini/foodie influencer. She is petite with an impossibly small waist and a full, perfect booty. She is very pretty and has a lot of hair. Much of her content includes her crossing intersections with a close-up on her jiggling behind, and it looks like Charles Christmas has liked a number of her posts. Talk about getting a needle stuck in your balloon. 

Part of having a good crush is the dream ( or possibly the delusion) that you and the other person could one day be together. That hope was dashed today when I saw his manic liking of a good deal of this girl's posts. She is clearly the type of woman he would be in to. They are both incredibly fit. I could see her loving his crazy gym where people bear crawl across the floor and run with weights on their backs. 

"He may have liked her posts because he knows her," Lisha offered. Possibly. Or, more likely, I simply witnessed a case of like attracting like. As much of a hater as I want to be, it does make more sense that he would be into a woman that meal preps and works out daily. 

With that being said, I must bid ado to Charles Christmas. I'm hurt I'm not his type, but what can anyone do about that? I will continue to watch the videos of him pumping iron though. I don't have to have abs and a good weave to do that. 

Oh God!

The country is at war. There are rumors of more. Threats of bombings. Healthcare disparities. Mass layoffs. Murders. Addiction. Environmental injustice. Racial tensions. The other day, I was watching a clip of a conservative influencer on Instagram where she said that Jesus was White. Yes, that Jesus...of NAZARETH! The current state of things has me wondering what God must be thinking. I mean, nothing is new under the sun, and He knows all things, but he has to be like, "What is wrong with these people?! I gave them my only son and a book for guidance, and they still can not get it together!" I hate to be morbid, but I even think about judgment day. P is Muslim, and he says that the judgment starts as soon as you die. I imagine going up to the Heaven line and hearing God yelling at souls, saying things like, "I never said that!" "Now you are reaching!" "Your skin color is just your skin color! How were you judging folks off of it?!" "Duh! What did you think I meant when I said you were all my children?" I bet the fear and shame will be thick enough to cut with a knife. 

I guess nothing will get you thinking about the afterlife like social decline and unrest. My old minister once asked what we would do if we came to church and our lives were being shown on a big screen, even our private moments? If I get to the pearly gates and God has a big old flat screen and a remote, I am going to scream! 

No one in my circle is unimpacted by the current state of affairs. Yet, it is easy to feel helpless because it feels like there is nothing to be done, and we all have to wait out the crazy. You can't think about all the bad things all of the time, but you can't ignore them either. So what is the verdict for the God-fearing girl who has high anxiety about the afterlife but who also enjoys a good little white lie every now and again? I guess all that is left is prayer. I'm so desperate to see a change in what is going on that I may even pray to White Jesus as well.