I talked to Robin Mercury last night!
This is big news because I don't get to talk to her too often. She lives in California and she is super busy but let me tell you, she is one of the best friends a girl can have! She knows how to do hair and she won't charge you to hook you up! She will party with you on Saturday and go to church with you on Sunday. I mean really, she is amazeballs. She is also an artist and a really good dancer, yet she told me during our convo that she is no longer drawing or dancing.
"What?!" I cried when she told me.
"I know, but I don't have time," she said, braiding some weave into her hair. We were using that Facebook chatty video thingy.
Robin's story is not unlike many of ours. Bills and obligations have made work a priority and all those eccentricities that made us cool girls have no place in our lives as women.
I can connect with this. When I was younger, I LOVED to read. I mean, I could finish the fattest book in the world in a day. I had all the series. I would thirst for literature. But now I have no time to read the way that I would like.
Is this a strictly female issue? I ask because I don't have time to read because I am working, but my brother works, a horrible overnight shift at that, and he still makes time to play his PS4, even if this means he only gets mere minutes of rest before he has to clock in again.
Is this what Aunty Maxine Waters was talking about when she said she was trying to reclaim her time? Is she making time to meditate in between debates and interviews on Capitol Hill?
Maybe I can get in a few pages of a book a night before I go to bed. Anything to refresh my inner girl.
Thursday, December 28, 2017
Tuesday, December 26, 2017
The Secret's in the Sleeve
Then I went to IG and really began to investigate all of the weight loss bloggers that I really like and I now suspect that they are all sleeved as well. They are NEVER sweaty in those super cute gym pics. I felt duped!
So, confused and not sure how to feel about all of this, I referred to my moral compass: Haynes. I asked her if I should get the sleeve and she was all like I should do what will make me happy. Typical Haynes, encouraging me to think about my actions and how they affect me, as if that has ever worked! So I then went to Bells, who was all like do it!
Just thinking about it makes me feel like I'm cheating, even though technically, if I went through with it, the only thing I would actually be cheating is an early death. But it is cheating, right? I don't like girl cheating, which is why I don't wear foundation when I need it or fake eyelashes even though my real lashes are embarrassingly short. I know, I know, I have a lot of nerve talking about cheating. I was the first one to take biotin tablets to make my hair grow. Then, when people asked me what I'd done it, I credited prayer and my Shea Butter regimen. But you have to understand, I was tired of being bald and wanted my hair to grow already, and I felt super pretty with longer hair. Maybe that is what it is about; not whether or not you are cheating but how the said cheating makes you feel. I mean, isn't it about your health and how you feel about yourself?
I wish I was friends with Donnalyn Perriwinkle. She girl cheated big time and got some very, VERY, VERY, very obvious breast implants. And anyone who would say that she doesn't look Tony the Tiger grrreeaattt is lying! She looks gorg, and I would like to ask her what made her decide to go through with it. Did it bother her that people would know that they weren't hers? How did she feel afterward?
Sadly, a matter such as whether or not to get a sleeve isn't a purely cosmetic one like whether or not to get implants. One could consider it a matter of life or death. And I really need to consider it, even thinking about it is putting my nerves to the test, a test that, if you weren't reading my every move, I would totally cheat on.
Bring in NYE with Haikara Saki
Winter Rose
-2 oz Haikara Yuzu or Haikara Momo
-½ oz rum
-1 oz Lime Juice
-Dash of Simple Syrup
-Dash of Rose Water
-Dash of Lavender Bitters
-Ginger Ale for topping
-½ oz rum
-1 oz Lime Juice
-Dash of Simple Syrup
-Dash of Rose Water
-Dash of Lavender Bitters
-Ginger Ale for topping
-Cranberries or orange peel (for garnish)
Directions:
-Add all ingredients, except ginger ale, to a cocktail shaker, add ice and shake vigorously until the outside of the shaker is frosted and beaded with sweat.
-Strain into rocks glass. Top with Ginger Ale and garnish.
Created by: Nick Mautone
Directions:
-Add all ingredients, except ginger ale, to a cocktail shaker, add ice and shake vigorously until the outside of the shaker is frosted and beaded with sweat.
-Strain into rocks glass. Top with Ginger Ale and garnish.
Created by: Nick Mautone
Friday, December 22, 2017
The Andre 3000 Theory
Sometimes when it's late at night
And you have no one to talk to
Here's what you do, you go through that
Raggedy cell phone 'bout two or three times
Tracy ain't home, Tina ain't home
The love below starts talkin' to ya
-"Vibrate" by Andre 3000
The Love Below album
Well ya'll, 2018 is right around the corner. I guess it's time for me to tell you guys all these pie in the sky resolutions that I've created for myself that will never be achieved, thus setting myself up to feel like a loser by Valentine's Day. NOT!
This year, I am taking some things I have learned from watching Aunty Iyanla Vanzant to fix my life. It is time to get down to brass tax. I only have two resolutions this year. On the physical end: to lose weight. I have shared my weight loss struggles with you before and worry not, there are many more posts to come outlining my addiction to sugar and my emotional eating. But here, I would like to focus on my emotional resolution: to clean house, starting with my phone.
If you all have been reading me for the past few years, you know that I have dealt with some real losers romantically. The teens I volunteer with tell me that they are now referred to as "f*%k boys". Let me just tell you, my phone is a Rolodex of "f*%k boys". And really good ones too: ones that have disrespected me to my face, stood me up, demanded sex, ignored my texts, and the list of hurt goes on and on and on. But here is the thing: I no longer talk to most of these men, but I still have their numbers. Why?
This is where Iyanla comes in. Last night, after everyone went to bed, I sat up in the dark, hearing Aunty Iyanla telling me to breathe it out and really think about this. And after a few rounds of deep breathing, I came to the painful realization: I have kept these numbers so I could feel like I had a man. So when I got lonely, I could have some options of some guys I could cake with. These numbers are just tools I have created to sit comfortably in my delusions. I don't have a boyfriend and that's okay. And it really needs to be okay because, let's be honest, I have other crap on my plate that more urgently needs my attention than being single. As far as the caking goes, I better learn how to give myself a hug, because allowing a man that doesn't care to fill my mind with lies to help me feel better for a moment just sets me back on my journey. These numbers are weights around my ankles that are keeping me from accepting reality. I am single. I am going to be 33 TOMORROW. This is life. This is reality. I have to sit in it and start doing my work. BOOM! That's what you call a breakthrough!
Let it rain, now clear it out.
So today, I am deleting a bunch of numbers. This is significant for me, showing myself that I, like Aunty Iyanla would say, am willing to start doing my work. This also means that the next time I am lonely I am going to start texting inappropriate things to my female best friends. This can open up a bunch of issues in my friendships, but we will cross that bridge when we get to it.
Here's to 2018!!
And you have no one to talk to
Here's what you do, you go through that
Raggedy cell phone 'bout two or three times
Tracy ain't home, Tina ain't home
The love below starts talkin' to ya
-"Vibrate" by Andre 3000
The Love Below album
Well ya'll, 2018 is right around the corner. I guess it's time for me to tell you guys all these pie in the sky resolutions that I've created for myself that will never be achieved, thus setting myself up to feel like a loser by Valentine's Day. NOT!
This year, I am taking some things I have learned from watching Aunty Iyanla Vanzant to fix my life. It is time to get down to brass tax. I only have two resolutions this year. On the physical end: to lose weight. I have shared my weight loss struggles with you before and worry not, there are many more posts to come outlining my addiction to sugar and my emotional eating. But here, I would like to focus on my emotional resolution: to clean house, starting with my phone.
If you all have been reading me for the past few years, you know that I have dealt with some real losers romantically. The teens I volunteer with tell me that they are now referred to as "f*%k boys". Let me just tell you, my phone is a Rolodex of "f*%k boys". And really good ones too: ones that have disrespected me to my face, stood me up, demanded sex, ignored my texts, and the list of hurt goes on and on and on. But here is the thing: I no longer talk to most of these men, but I still have their numbers. Why?
This is where Iyanla comes in. Last night, after everyone went to bed, I sat up in the dark, hearing Aunty Iyanla telling me to breathe it out and really think about this. And after a few rounds of deep breathing, I came to the painful realization: I have kept these numbers so I could feel like I had a man. So when I got lonely, I could have some options of some guys I could cake with. These numbers are just tools I have created to sit comfortably in my delusions. I don't have a boyfriend and that's okay. And it really needs to be okay because, let's be honest, I have other crap on my plate that more urgently needs my attention than being single. As far as the caking goes, I better learn how to give myself a hug, because allowing a man that doesn't care to fill my mind with lies to help me feel better for a moment just sets me back on my journey. These numbers are weights around my ankles that are keeping me from accepting reality. I am single. I am going to be 33 TOMORROW. This is life. This is reality. I have to sit in it and start doing my work. BOOM! That's what you call a breakthrough!
Let it rain, now clear it out.
So today, I am deleting a bunch of numbers. This is significant for me, showing myself that I, like Aunty Iyanla would say, am willing to start doing my work. This also means that the next time I am lonely I am going to start texting inappropriate things to my female best friends. This can open up a bunch of issues in my friendships, but we will cross that bridge when we get to it.
Here's to 2018!!
Wednesday, December 13, 2017
Joel Says Hi
With the cold weather comes loneliness, and with loneliness comes a short memory. This is the only reason I can think of that Joel would text me.
I may not have told you about Joel because I was so humiliated. And I have told you all some pretty humiliating things, so that should tell you how humiliating this was. To make a long story short he stood me up for a date we had, leaving me crying in front of the train station in a brand new maxi dress waiting on him to show. After an hour and a half of waiting for him and not being able to reach him, I just sat on the bench in front of the train station, crying, IN THE RAIN! And no, this isn't a scene from a bad romantic comedy. This was me last spring! I was embarrassed because I didn't pick up that he was a dirtbag when we first met. I was embarrassed because I waited so long on him when it was clear after five minutes that he wasn't coming, and I was embarrassed that, again, I found myself crying over something stupid that a guy did to me. On top of that, I looked hella, hella cute. So I felt like everyone that passed me could tell that the only reason why someone as day-date adorable as me was crying was because I had been ditched. Again, humiliating.
So, being the emotional eater that I am, I gathered my purse and my emotions and crossed the street to the pizza place where my date was to have taken place. There I ordered a pizza while trying not to cry in front of the cashier.
"Do you want a cupcake?" the cashier asked. I frowned. I am a cupcake fan, but the cupcakes behind the glass at that place looked funky. And by funky, I mean vegan. I told her no and was about to sit down and wait for my pizza when I remembered that there was a new cupcake place around the corner.
So, emotionally beaten in cheap, wet shoes, I made my way to the new hipster cupcake shop that offers free wifi and cool seating. I walked in to be greeted by the curious stares of couples which, of course, made me feel more like crap.
I ordered my cupcakes but couldn't find my debit card, which I knew I'd just had because I paid for my pizza. I just couldn't keep it together. I started sobbing as I frantically searched my purse, and I have to say, I had never seen so many people look so uncomfortable at once.
Once I got my cupcakes and pizza, I stood across from the train station, waiting on my Lyft. And can we just say thank God for Lyft and Uber! They have helped me to escape a lot of horrid situations that I otherwise would have had to sit through.
The Lyft pulled up in front of the train station instead of where I was. I didn't want to go back over there because it was embarrassing but I did, ready to go home. Just as I was about to open the door the community wine-o approaches me out of nowhere. She had on a dress that reminded me of Joseph's technicolor dream coat.
"Hey big mama!" she shouted in front of the train station. Everyone stopped to stare. "Let me get a piece of that pizza. I'm hungry!"
I sighed, moving as close to her as her funk would allow and whispered, "Ma'am, I was ditched for a date today."
She nodded and opened my Lyft door for me, allowing me to get in. And that, friends, is what makes this story fantastic.
I came home and shared my food with my aunt and brother and later confided in my brother what happened. He looked at me confused. I was confused too.
But not as confused as I was today when Joel texted me, talking about how he missed my face and voice. Boy bye.
You will be happy to know that I didn't respond. Let this story prepare you. If the cuff texts haven't come yet, they are coming. Stand strong, and remember why you don't talk to the person to begin with.
I may not have told you about Joel because I was so humiliated. And I have told you all some pretty humiliating things, so that should tell you how humiliating this was. To make a long story short he stood me up for a date we had, leaving me crying in front of the train station in a brand new maxi dress waiting on him to show. After an hour and a half of waiting for him and not being able to reach him, I just sat on the bench in front of the train station, crying, IN THE RAIN! And no, this isn't a scene from a bad romantic comedy. This was me last spring! I was embarrassed because I didn't pick up that he was a dirtbag when we first met. I was embarrassed because I waited so long on him when it was clear after five minutes that he wasn't coming, and I was embarrassed that, again, I found myself crying over something stupid that a guy did to me. On top of that, I looked hella, hella cute. So I felt like everyone that passed me could tell that the only reason why someone as day-date adorable as me was crying was because I had been ditched. Again, humiliating.
So, being the emotional eater that I am, I gathered my purse and my emotions and crossed the street to the pizza place where my date was to have taken place. There I ordered a pizza while trying not to cry in front of the cashier.
"Do you want a cupcake?" the cashier asked. I frowned. I am a cupcake fan, but the cupcakes behind the glass at that place looked funky. And by funky, I mean vegan. I told her no and was about to sit down and wait for my pizza when I remembered that there was a new cupcake place around the corner.
So, emotionally beaten in cheap, wet shoes, I made my way to the new hipster cupcake shop that offers free wifi and cool seating. I walked in to be greeted by the curious stares of couples which, of course, made me feel more like crap.
I ordered my cupcakes but couldn't find my debit card, which I knew I'd just had because I paid for my pizza. I just couldn't keep it together. I started sobbing as I frantically searched my purse, and I have to say, I had never seen so many people look so uncomfortable at once.
Once I got my cupcakes and pizza, I stood across from the train station, waiting on my Lyft. And can we just say thank God for Lyft and Uber! They have helped me to escape a lot of horrid situations that I otherwise would have had to sit through.
The Lyft pulled up in front of the train station instead of where I was. I didn't want to go back over there because it was embarrassing but I did, ready to go home. Just as I was about to open the door the community wine-o approaches me out of nowhere. She had on a dress that reminded me of Joseph's technicolor dream coat.
"Hey big mama!" she shouted in front of the train station. Everyone stopped to stare. "Let me get a piece of that pizza. I'm hungry!"
I sighed, moving as close to her as her funk would allow and whispered, "Ma'am, I was ditched for a date today."
She nodded and opened my Lyft door for me, allowing me to get in. And that, friends, is what makes this story fantastic.
I came home and shared my food with my aunt and brother and later confided in my brother what happened. He looked at me confused. I was confused too.
But not as confused as I was today when Joel texted me, talking about how he missed my face and voice. Boy bye.
You will be happy to know that I didn't respond. Let this story prepare you. If the cuff texts haven't come yet, they are coming. Stand strong, and remember why you don't talk to the person to begin with.
Wednesday, December 6, 2017
Meet the Hollands
Recently, I met P's wife and sons.
I am not sure if I have updated you properly on P's life in some time, but here is the long and short of it: P now has a wife and sons. It is so crazy seeing this guy that I went to college with, a guy that used to smoke pot and try to be a player, now as a devoted Muslim with a family. I mean, it's really wild.
Since the day that he got married, I have pretty much been insistent on meeting his wife. And since the day he got married, he has been coming up with excuses as to why it would never happen. But it happened randomly and I was excited about the meet and greet...until I remembered The Miami Disaster.
I think most of you all recall the nightmare that was me meeting Brownie and his fiance now ex-wife in Miami. An evening of light conversation and drinks at the hotel bar ended in me being accused of having sex with him and him getting ditched on the curb while she stormed off in a tantrum. And then there is Quinny's wife. She has never told me to my face that she doesn't like me. I just got the feeling that she didn't when my invitation to her and Quinny's wedding got lost in the mail. As a typical rule of thumb, the lady friends of my male homies hate me.
This continued to run across my mind as I met P's wife. She is really pretty and nice and sweet. But the issue has never been me liking the girl. I felt like I was in a job interview. I really didn't want to mess up. Because if experience has taught me anything, it's that these dudes ain't loyal. I just knew if I said one off thing, I could kiss my friendship to P goodbye.
But everything went well. I really enjoyed meeting her. It went so well, in fact, that I wondered if I should try to get a redo with some other shakey situations I am in with the wives of my male bffs. I know, I know. Baby steps.
I am not sure if I have updated you properly on P's life in some time, but here is the long and short of it: P now has a wife and sons. It is so crazy seeing this guy that I went to college with, a guy that used to smoke pot and try to be a player, now as a devoted Muslim with a family. I mean, it's really wild.
Since the day that he got married, I have pretty much been insistent on meeting his wife. And since the day he got married, he has been coming up with excuses as to why it would never happen. But it happened randomly and I was excited about the meet and greet...until I remembered The Miami Disaster.
I think most of you all recall the nightmare that was me meeting Brownie and his fiance now ex-wife in Miami. An evening of light conversation and drinks at the hotel bar ended in me being accused of having sex with him and him getting ditched on the curb while she stormed off in a tantrum. And then there is Quinny's wife. She has never told me to my face that she doesn't like me. I just got the feeling that she didn't when my invitation to her and Quinny's wedding got lost in the mail. As a typical rule of thumb, the lady friends of my male homies hate me.
This continued to run across my mind as I met P's wife. She is really pretty and nice and sweet. But the issue has never been me liking the girl. I felt like I was in a job interview. I really didn't want to mess up. Because if experience has taught me anything, it's that these dudes ain't loyal. I just knew if I said one off thing, I could kiss my friendship to P goodbye.
But everything went well. I really enjoyed meeting her. It went so well, in fact, that I wondered if I should try to get a redo with some other shakey situations I am in with the wives of my male bffs. I know, I know. Baby steps.
Not Another Grad School Post
Sigh. Barf. Gag.
The end of the year is here and it's time to make those pertinent yet annoying resolutions that I am not going to work on that are going to make me feel like a loser this time next year.
Yawn. Yuck. Ew.
Since I graduated from college, the biggest thing that I have gone back and forth about in my life is whether or not I want to go to grad school. When I was 24, the answer was no, and three weeks shy of 33 the answer is still no. Just thinking about those GRE flashcards from hell is making me cringe as I type this. I am not a good test taker! But here is the thing: life isn't all about what you want to do.
You see, some things haven't panned out the way that I wanted them to. For one, I am not a rich and famous journalist. That was the Plan A. I am also not close to Plan B, which is marrying someone rich that would provide me with a lifestyle so fabulous that I would forget that I am not on CNN. So as these things are not happening, what am I supposed to do? Chill and wait for something amazing to fall out of the sky? I hate to get biblical here, but didn't Jesus say something about God helping those that get off of their lazy butts and study for a test that they'd rather not take to get into a grad school that they can not afford to become something that they don't want to be?
I wish I knew how to multi-task and plan ahead. When I was in my 20s and had the energy, I should have been doing my journalism thing while getting an advanced degree in something that could cushion me or further me along in some way. Unfortunately, I have always been an all-in dreamer type of a girl. I put all my eggs in one basket and crossed my fingers, hoping for the best.
The good news is that I think that I am still young enough to correct this. The bad news is that I don't have the energy to. Ugh, damn my dreamer spirit! I mean, I don't think I would be a bad social worker or kiddie shrink. I have this weird interest in urban planning that could probably take me places in a city like Atlanta if I applied myself. These careers would also provide me with the coin needed to get out of some debt and have a half decent standard of living. But I probably wouldn't write as much, and even though I'd be career-winning, I'd feel like I was emotionally losing if I wasn't living my dream.
Adulting is hard. A lot of thinking and decision making goes into becoming the macaroni with the cheese.
I think that it is best that I am practical and at least do some things that will provide me with some options. Sadly, this includes looking into grad school programs. If I get into some place by the fall I can be on my way to having a real adult life by 35. I'm talking zero balances and home ownership. Hopefully, my sell-out job will give me health insurance and enough time to update this blog on my lunch break.
The end of the year is here and it's time to make those pertinent yet annoying resolutions that I am not going to work on that are going to make me feel like a loser this time next year.
Yawn. Yuck. Ew.
Since I graduated from college, the biggest thing that I have gone back and forth about in my life is whether or not I want to go to grad school. When I was 24, the answer was no, and three weeks shy of 33 the answer is still no. Just thinking about those GRE flashcards from hell is making me cringe as I type this. I am not a good test taker! But here is the thing: life isn't all about what you want to do.
You see, some things haven't panned out the way that I wanted them to. For one, I am not a rich and famous journalist. That was the Plan A. I am also not close to Plan B, which is marrying someone rich that would provide me with a lifestyle so fabulous that I would forget that I am not on CNN. So as these things are not happening, what am I supposed to do? Chill and wait for something amazing to fall out of the sky? I hate to get biblical here, but didn't Jesus say something about God helping those that get off of their lazy butts and study for a test that they'd rather not take to get into a grad school that they can not afford to become something that they don't want to be?
I wish I knew how to multi-task and plan ahead. When I was in my 20s and had the energy, I should have been doing my journalism thing while getting an advanced degree in something that could cushion me or further me along in some way. Unfortunately, I have always been an all-in dreamer type of a girl. I put all my eggs in one basket and crossed my fingers, hoping for the best.
The good news is that I think that I am still young enough to correct this. The bad news is that I don't have the energy to. Ugh, damn my dreamer spirit! I mean, I don't think I would be a bad social worker or kiddie shrink. I have this weird interest in urban planning that could probably take me places in a city like Atlanta if I applied myself. These careers would also provide me with the coin needed to get out of some debt and have a half decent standard of living. But I probably wouldn't write as much, and even though I'd be career-winning, I'd feel like I was emotionally losing if I wasn't living my dream.
Adulting is hard. A lot of thinking and decision making goes into becoming the macaroni with the cheese.
I think that it is best that I am practical and at least do some things that will provide me with some options. Sadly, this includes looking into grad school programs. If I get into some place by the fall I can be on my way to having a real adult life by 35. I'm talking zero balances and home ownership. Hopefully, my sell-out job will give me health insurance and enough time to update this blog on my lunch break.
Sunday, December 3, 2017
30 something, single, with standards
There is this boy that likes my friend BLEEP. We will call him Dorkums. He has a good job and he is socially conscious. He is clean and funny and yes, a little dorky. He also isn't that hot. But he is a Black man who is employed and kind that still dates Black women. Too me, this makes him a prize! Yet, BLEEP isn't attracted to him. Plain and simple. I think that she should marry this guy, and I think that she thinks that I want her to lower her standards. I mean she's right, how can you date someone that you aren't attracted to? I don't think that she should lower her standards but she just turned 30. I think it is time for her, and many of us like her, to redefine attraction.
When I used to play in the pool at the gym with my elder shero Mama Mermaid, she would tell me cool stories about times past. She told me that she married the love of her life, but that she still got sick thinking of all the men that she and all her friends passed up because they were a little bald or a little weird. She was sure that many of them were good guys. Hot guys are a dime a dozen, but not good ones.
This is what I thought about while I was at homecoming. Honestly, many of the guys from my class still looked as hot as they did ten years ago to me. Sure, some of them are losing their hair, have man acne, or are a little thicker in the middle. Yet still, to some of my friends, they were no dealers just as they were when we were freshmen. This let me know that it's time for some of us sisters to accept some cold, hard facts.
For one, there is more to a guy than the way he looks or dresses. Dorkums looks like Baloo from Jungle Book and wears comic book tees. But he seems to have good sense. That's priceless.
Also, and I hate to say this, but it's true: as women get older, it is harder for them to find love. I think that this is common knowledge that many of us are choosing to ignore because we know that we are a catch. As women get older, they are considered dusty. As men get older, they are considered refined. And don't point out Tina Turner. She is not the rule, she is the exception to it. Someone told me that for women, the 30s are the prime of their lives. I suggest we utilize this time wisely because we don't have all the time in the world. After this, dudes will start dating girls in their 20s and 30s. We have to get it while the gettin' is good. For me, a biological clock is less about the time you have left to procreate and more about your shelf time. There is an expiration date.
I am sure that hurt you to read because it stung me to write it.
And hey, don't go thinking that I think I am any better than you. I once stopped talking to a perfectly normal guy because he said he wasn't a fan of Erykah Badu! But since then, someone told me the hard facts that I just shared with you. Take this information under advisement and at least give the Dorkums in your life a chance.
When I used to play in the pool at the gym with my elder shero Mama Mermaid, she would tell me cool stories about times past. She told me that she married the love of her life, but that she still got sick thinking of all the men that she and all her friends passed up because they were a little bald or a little weird. She was sure that many of them were good guys. Hot guys are a dime a dozen, but not good ones.
This is what I thought about while I was at homecoming. Honestly, many of the guys from my class still looked as hot as they did ten years ago to me. Sure, some of them are losing their hair, have man acne, or are a little thicker in the middle. Yet still, to some of my friends, they were no dealers just as they were when we were freshmen. This let me know that it's time for some of us sisters to accept some cold, hard facts.
For one, there is more to a guy than the way he looks or dresses. Dorkums looks like Baloo from Jungle Book and wears comic book tees. But he seems to have good sense. That's priceless.
Also, and I hate to say this, but it's true: as women get older, it is harder for them to find love. I think that this is common knowledge that many of us are choosing to ignore because we know that we are a catch. As women get older, they are considered dusty. As men get older, they are considered refined. And don't point out Tina Turner. She is not the rule, she is the exception to it. Someone told me that for women, the 30s are the prime of their lives. I suggest we utilize this time wisely because we don't have all the time in the world. After this, dudes will start dating girls in their 20s and 30s. We have to get it while the gettin' is good. For me, a biological clock is less about the time you have left to procreate and more about your shelf time. There is an expiration date.
I am sure that hurt you to read because it stung me to write it.
And hey, don't go thinking that I think I am any better than you. I once stopped talking to a perfectly normal guy because he said he wasn't a fan of Erykah Badu! But since then, someone told me the hard facts that I just shared with you. Take this information under advisement and at least give the Dorkums in your life a chance.
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