The Thirst Hole

Hello, I'm TheBGInTheCity, and I am writing you from my 6th consecutive day of thirst. That's right, I'm thirsty.
Oh, the thirst of it all! Last Thursday night, I was alone and lonely surfing Instagram, when I innocently fell into what has become a Thirst Hole. While liking pictures of interiors and Christmas cookies, I came across a picture of a good looking man. I clicked on it, then went through his page and looked at all his pictures. I should have stopped there. The thirst didn't completely set in until I looked at some of his videos. The moment he started gyrating to a Jacquees song, my thirst switch flicked on, and I have not been able to turn it off since! Every day gets a little worse. The other night I actually stayed up until midnight to watch his Instagram Live, where other thirsty, sad women like myself watched a 27-year-old topless male stripper roll a blunt and play with his dreadlocks.
For those of you that have never been in a thirst hole, allow me to give you the honest, non-exaggerated symptoms: increased libido, lack of sleep, vivid dreams.
I have taken small solace in not being one of the thirstbots that actually comments during the videos. You know, with water splash and heart-eyed emojis? These ladies are relentless. Some of them are hella out of order, asking for penis pics and kisses. Some even send him DMs of their vaginas. I know this because he thanks the ladies for the pics before he ends every video.
Guys, this guy is such a hunk. He is young, he has a sexy accent, he has muscles, he is tall, and he is LOADED with tattoos. And no, this is not the guy that I usually would go for, at all. But he has a certain something. He always seems so happy, grinding on the chairs around his house. Which is a pick-me-up for me, seeing that I always get sad during the holidays.
All and all, I think we all knew that I would end up here. Hopefully, I will get out of my hole soon and re-enter the real world where a have a chance, although slim, of finding a real man.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotifyless Mind

Poverty has taken a lot from me over the past three years. My apartment. My independence. My ability to maintain an above negative balance in my checking account. But at the beginning of the month, poverty took something from me that I need to survive; that is the very power source of my existence. Poverty has finally taken away my Spotify Premium. It has happened people! I can no longer afford the $10 a month.
Last night, I had no other choice but to go to Youtube for my musical needs. It was horrible. I haven't gone on Youtube to listen to music since I was like 25. All my playlists are outdated and come with like a million commercials. The blast from the past of it all was too much. While listening to some early ASAP Rocky, I thought that I could actually hear my old roommate having sex in the next room over.
2019 has to bring me wealth and wealth and more wealth, because there is now officially nothing else my poverty can take from me, unless I finally get the medical okay to cell my organs and eggs. Come New Year's, I will be praying, eating greens, dancing on the arm of the freeway with an empty tin can for tips- anything I need to do to make some money. Because Mama draws a line at trying to live her life without the aid of a commercial-free soundtrack. It really is too much!

Impressing the Impressive

As you know, I mentor teen girls. Last Saturday, after the mentor meeting, one of my favorite girls, Kyra, told me that she wants to take out her braids but is scared to because she knows that boys like girls with long hair and her real hair is short.
"What does it matter what boys like? What do you like?" I asked my 15-year-old friend.
"I want to cut all my hair off," she said, honestly. But we both knew that that wasn't going to happen. It takes a very brave teenage girl to go bald.
"Well, you should do what you want to do with your hair because you want to do it, not because you want a boy to like you," I advised, something I wish someone would have told me when I was 15 during my black lipstick and cornrows faze.
Fast forward a day to Sunday. I woke up early before my writing group to put on eyeshadow because I noticed that New Ryan talked to two women after the last meeting that had on makeup. And if New Ryan likes it, I love it!
It was only after I saw myself in the mirror putting on pink eyeshadow that I hadn't used in over a year that I realized that I was no different than Kyra, only I was sadder because she is 15 and I am less than a month away from 34. I should know better.
Do you ever outgrow wanting to impress someone you find impressive? At the rate I fall for dudes, I don't think I have enough eyeshadow to take me into the next phase of my life. I hear that after 50 you stop caring as much. By then, fingers crossed, my armpit hair will be growing out of the top of my wool turtleneck and I can finally be free to be me. Until then, eyeshadow it is. But if anyone asks, I'm not wearing it because I'm thirsty. I'm wearing it because I want to.