Small Love

At the beginning of the month, I had a doctor's appointment and ordered a rideshare to take me home. The driver was this sweet African man that didn't flip out because I was drinking cocoa out of a cup with no lid. Upon talking to him, I learned that he was 30, had just come to America two years ago, and was the youngest of a whole bunch of siblings. I asked him if he was having fun on the Atlanta dating scene and of course, I asked this sarcastically, and he said no. He said he met women but they weren't interested in him because he is 5'3. 

Here we go again. My heart went out to him. Being a short man is like the female version of being fat. People discredit you as a potential partner on sight. I have shared that, as I have gotten older, I realize how trivial it is to cancel out opportunities with men based on appearances. Sadly, I don't think that many of my friends, who are free-falling towards 40 just like me, are moving towards accepting men's differences like I am. Many of them want the 6'4 chocolate man they have wanted since they first saw Tyrese in that Coca-Cola commercial. But every man is not Tyrese just like every woman is not Beyonce. Honestly, I don't care how tall a man is anymore as long as he is nice to me and has a job. 

Loneliness is real, especially during the holidays. And again, my heart went out to this cute but small young man with long, pretty eyelashes. I kind of wanted to ask him out myself. 

But I didn't. Not that I'm not open to little love, but I didn't get vibes that he was interested. I'm done chasing after guys that don't want me. I wouldn't mind seeing him again though. He was funny. Perhaps he will be next rideshare driver. Who knows? It's a small world. 

35

I just turned 35 on Monday, yay!
When I was in my early 20s, I used to throw these crazy parties and dinners for my birthdays. I would  spend all year saving my money and going over guest lists, visiting venues, and planning menus. I just couldn't wait to have a shindig where I could dance, laugh, and get presents. Those days are so far behind me, because when I tell you that I chilled on my birthday, I want you to believe it!
Early in the year, I wanted to throw myself a 1990s themed party with old school music and ring pops. Then I wanted to have a general Christmas celebration. I even thought of redoing the EPIC lingerie soiree that I threw when I turned 25. By Halloween, I knew that none of these things were going to happen. I just felt sad for being old and wanted to sit down somewhere.
The sadness lifted about four days before my birthday. I didn't want to turnup, but I did want to hang out with friends. By this point, most of my friends where making plans to leave town for the holidays. Luckily, I called Tasia up who was able to come scoop me up over the weekend. She got me a cake. Her fiance made me a turkey burger, and we watched The Best Man Holiday. It was perfect day!
The day of my birthday, I wrapped myself in a blanket and slept on and off throughout the day. I contemplated going to the aquarium, for it is free to go on your birthday, but it was cold and rainy out. Instead, I opted to take some amazing naps. My brother got me some seafood pasta for lunch, my aunt bought me a cake and ice cream, and my mentor got me a Target gift card that I used to get myself a much-needed new purse. I had salmon for dinner and ended the night watching reruns of Amen of Youtube, showered in social media love and bday tests from my friends. Yes, my 35 birthday was perfect.

The Douche Dynamic

My college homecoming just happened. I wasn't there and I am very sad about it. That whole weekend, I had to watch the play-by-play of all the fun events on Instagram. It sucked. But one IG story that caught my attention was that of Brandon Thomas, a guy who was a senior when I was a freshman. It was about his making amends with his college girlfriend after over 15 years of feeling guilty.
To understand the significance of this, you have to understand Brandon. He is cute and charismatic, but is best known for his outrageous social media posts about women and dating. One of my personal favorites is one where he goes in on a date because she had the audacity to order a desert on their first dinner outing. But that is only one of many posts that discuss how women are just out to get him for his money and clout and blah blah blah.
So, Brandon goes to homecoming and runs into Shanna, his girlfriend from freshman year. He was in love with her, but said he was being a "f*ck boy" and the relationship didn't work out. The very next man that Shanna got with, she married and is still married to today. He had the opportunity to talk to her, and she forgave him for whatever it was he did to end their young relationship.
As young adults, most of us didn't have instructions on how to date properly. Everything we learned was from rap songs and bad advice drunk family members gave us; movies and what our dumb friends told us. All we knew was that we should do the least possible to hurt the person we cared about, and 9 times out of 10, we ended of doing the opposite. Man, there is know hurt worse than the hurt caused by some who didn't know better; someone who had your heart and didn't know what to do with it. But what I have learned with age is that you should do right by folks not just because it is the right thing to do, but because doing bad by folks sticks in your system as well. You feel worse about the situation the older you get and the better your understanding of what a douche you were becomes.
Brandon had the taste of douche in his mouth for 15 years while the ex love of his life had moved on and married. For 15 years he wondered what if while she went on with her life. I think everyone has a Brandon chapter in their book. This whole thing made me wonder how easy dating would be if we didn't carry around regrets from past relationships. Most of us will never know. I know I won't after the Dreads situation. I guess all any of us can do is try to do better.

The Dating Game

One of my good friends is interested in dating a man that she kind of already dated. You see, they were seeing each other and it seemed to be going well until the mother of his child moved in with him. I'm not sure why, but she swore that he swore up and down that there was no funny business. She just needed a place to stay. Obviously, this put their budding relationship in the freezer. 

Now, after a few months, things are starting to pick up again for them...slowly, and my friend doesn't get it. He has said that he likes her and that he is interested in her, but he doesn't speak to her unless she initiates conversation first. This is leaving her to wonder where he stands. 

"Sadly, I don't think he is interested," I tell her. No girl enjoys having to tell their friend this, especially when she is awesome. "Think of your previous relationships. Weren't those guys intentional about showing you how they felt?"

"That's true," she said, processing the statement. 

But as you know, when there is one friend speaking truth into a friend's ear, there is another speaking nonsense. Another friend of hers advised her to just be cute and ignore him and not be so available, you know, play games. We are in our mid 30s. When do we become too old to play games?!

Even as a child, I didn't like games. I preferred sitting in the corner, eating a snack and reading a book. I didn't participate in game playing when it was age appropriate for me to. I remember watching my peers running with balls and chasing each other down. Even then, I didn't think it should be that hard to win. 

My opinion has not changed much, especially when the view to 40 from where I am sitting is clear as a bell. At this age, it is not only immature to play games, but also a COMPLETE waste of time. I suggested to my friend, who is two years older than me, that she sit down with him, tell him how she feels, see what he says, and then move on accordingly from there. If he is not interested, she will know, and can them move on to the awesome brotha that is worth her time. 

I understand that this is easier said than done. I think that we avoid being grownups when it comes to relationships because no one wants to have the hard conversations. They usually come with emotional owies that we just don't want to take on. So, instead, we do the dating version of tag, one-upping each other with disrespect and cruelty until one of us taps out or gets tired. Apparently, this is cool, even in our 30s. I hate to see what dating in our 40s is going to look like. I'm not optimistic. 

BACARDI Rum Room Event Rundown

Last weekend, I attended the BACARDI Rum Room event downtown. And yes, it was awesome! 

There was something for all the Atlanta socialites: endless selfie opportunities, music, and of course, DRINKS! However, being the nerd that I am, I enjoyed learning more about the history of Bacardi and the art of aging rum. 

This man is David Cid, the BACARDI Global Rum Master.  He talked to the media about the history of  the Premium Collection which includes  BACARDÍ Añejo Cuatro, BACARDÍ Reserva Ocho and BACARDÍ Gran Reserva Diez. I learned some cool things about the aging of rum. Did you know that most of the Bacardi rum is aged in barrels in Puerto Rico? Did you also know that a rum can taste two times its age if it is aged in a tropical climate? 

This installation does a great job of explaining how rum is aged. Once you understand it, you can really appreciate how precious every drop of rum we use in our cocktails is. 

Speaking of cocktails, there were a number of different BACARDI cocktails for attendees to try. Above is the Ocho Old Fashioned, which included the BACARDI Reserva Ocho Rum, syrup, and bitters. 

The VIP area had the feel of a really cool, old library. There, media and VIP guests had the opportunity to participate in a rum tasting. There was a cigar demo as well as live BACARDI bottle engravings. My bottle says LOVE, HOLLY. 

The VIP area also included artwork from Oriel Ceballos and, later in the evening, there was a performance by Swiss Beats. 

Are you ready to get your rum on? You can visit the BACARDI website here.

Loneliness Loves Company

Sickles called me again on "mistake". I was at home working on a script when I got another phantom Duo call. I answered it and it was him. He told me that he hadn't meant to call me. "Awkward," he said, shaking his head into the camera. Yeah, it was a little awkward. But only because the last time he called me on "mistake" he was jacking off into his phone camera.
I hung up the phone but was unable to shake the sight of him. He looked tired and a little older. He also looked burdened  and sad. Against my better judgement, I called him back.

"Are you okay?" I ask him. 

He was walking around his apartment, aimlessly. "Yeah. Why?"

"I don't know. You look a little sad." 

"Oh naw, that's only because I just got through smoking weed."

"Oh." I'm not a smoker. Do people typically look sad after they smoke?

"Do you feel okay?" I inquire. 

"Yes," he answers. 

"Have you been praying?" I question. 

Yes," he responds. 

He then switches up the convo. "You look pretty."

I identify this immediately as BS. My face is fatter than the last time he saw me, and I was wearing my sleep bonnet. 

"I have my bonnet on Sickles," I respond. 

"Yeah, but it looks like you are ready to take it off and let your hair down." You see, Sickles has always been a huge fan of my fro. 

It was then that I wished him well and cut the conversation short. I'm lonely. He is obviously lonely, and loneliness LOVES company. Especially this time of year when it is cold outside and everyone is boo'ed up. But I'm too old for cuff games and situationships that are going to go nowhere. I have to be more intentional and not fall in to talking to someone because they are interested and I am available. This could mean that I am alone and lonely for a long time. I have to believe that there is something better for me out there. There better be! I'm wasting perfectly good cuff time wishing for something real. 

The Universal Aunty

What is youth?
This is a question I have been going over again and again in my head for the past couple of months, ever since I allowed myself to be aware of the fact that, in December, I will be turning 35. And after much deliberation, I have decided that youth is being able to live as carefree as possible without the fear that any little decision can result in a disaster that you can not rebound from.
When I was in my 20s, I lived in a never-ending, 24-hour cycle of consistent fear. What if I lost my job? What if I lost my apartment? What if I was unable to pay my bills? What if I lost the small amount of clout that I'd built for myself? Guess what? All of the above happened. And since I felt like I was 105 at 25, I slipped into a black hole that has been very hard to climb out of. I didn't understand what it meant to have youth on my side! When you are young, you can lose everything and make enormous mistakes. Then, after you've cried and sent out a series of emotional Tweets, you can dry your eyes and use that youthful energy to start all over. And what I know now is that you will do that over and over again until you end up someplace that sticks and that is called life. I didn't understand this as a young woman so now, as a sorta-young woman, I am a few steps behind the game. But it is all good. It has been put on my heart to warn those beautiful melanated beauties behind me of this part of the game that no one shared with me. I have Christened myself The Universal Aunty.
Yesterday, I went to brunch with Haynes and we were seated next to two adorable little sisters. They informed us that they were 25. I told them to drink more water because 30s acne is real. I told them to go on birth control, quit their job if they hate it, and travel. Why? BECAUSE THEY ARE YOUNG! They should be building experiences, not chaining themselves down to a way a life that can be snatched away like I did. Know this while you are busy knowin' stuff: life has its own plans for you.
Recently, one of my rideshare drivers told me she was 23 with no kids. I told her that after she dropped me off at my destination, she needed to get on the freeway and drive to Miami. I told her not to worry about money, she could sleep in the car. She said that that sounded nice, but I could tell that she was not going to do it. There is something about liking access to your phone and good credit that will forever keep some of us in chains.
Five years and two months from 40, I am just now understanding this, and I intend to use this last bit of my sorta-youth to learn, live, and shine like it is 2009...minus my micro braids and crush on Nelly.

Mourning

For the past few months, I have been in a state of mourning. It was hard to identify. I was feeling emotional and actually had to sit down with myself and figure out why I was feeling the way that I was feeling. And after a few nights of lying still and meditating on things (which was exhausting) I realized that I was mourning a number of deaths that I have had to deal with over the past four years.
As you know, my grandmother died, my mother died, my college best friend died as well as my best friend from high school. Obviously, I mourned the loss of these important people in my life.
But after some deep reflection, I also unveiled that I am in mourning over some friendships and connections that have died. Some of which I don't even know why they faded. Others I am very aware, understand the necessity of why they were dissolved, but still miss the friendship. I miss Brownie. I miss FeFe. I miss talking to Lauren on a regular basis.
On top of this, I miss my previous life. Once upon a time in my 20s, I used to love to go out on the town and hang out. A mixture of my obligations and on and off depression have exterminated my desire to get up, put on a cute dress, and go mix and mingle. Thinking about all of the hustle and bustle makes me want to take a nap, but I do miss going out and having fun.
P and I recently talked about college and how we missed just being young and partying. There is something to be said about being a 20-something on your own for the first time. Everything old under the sun is new to you, and each day is a breeding ground for new experiences. Aging comes with a certain amount of fear. I mourn no longer being carefree. I am now very careful.
Now that I have identified the cause of my mourning, my next step is figuring out my next steps, which is kind of exciting. Even though I am not where I want to be, I understand that I am in a place to define the next chapters in my life, and this makes me hopeful. I won't have time to mourn my past. I will be too excited about my future.

The End of Third Ryan

It is now fall. My lukewarm hot girl summer has come to an official end along with my pointless, going-nowhere crush on Third Ryan. You remember him? The nice guy from my writing group? Well, he has a crush on one of my good friends and that is simply a road I would rather not go down again. I've been going down it since the 6th grade afterall.

I am so, so tired of investing in the time needed to get to know men who aren't interested. I mean truly, I am exhausted. I could fall asleep right now while typing this post! And what I am even more tired of than that is the unhealthy way that I deal with unrequited love. I don't pray it away or dance it away like Solange. No. I transfer it away to another unavailable man like a loser. 

So, once Third Ryan casually proclaimed his love for my friend during a cute conversation that I had thought was otherwise going well, I decided to start the transference process. Sadly, I decided to transfer it to another man in writing group, Jack. Jack is annoying but hot. To even my own surprise I could not sustain the crush, so I transfered my now two-times-over RyanJack love to a man named MaxTheBody, a male bodybuilder that I found during a thirst search on Instagram. My crush on him will end soon enough, just like my crushes on that IG male dancer and the IG fetish trainer that makes adult movies with his wife. 

Not too long ago, someone asked me if I never found love, would God be enough. I originally said no, but I am parachuting towards 40 at a speed you won't believe. I don't think I have a choice! Hopefully God likes long hugs and slow dancing to 90s R&B. I have always wanted a boyfriend that could do a box step to Forever My Lady by Jodeci. 

The Question

Last night, I went to an ice cream social for Christian singles. I know, it shoulds hella lame, but it was actually a really good time with good people. I had some good lactaid ice cream and a fruit popsicle that was absolutely delish! But during the after ice cream conversation a question was posed to me: would I be okay if I never, ever got married? Would God be enough?
Perhaps I am immature in my Biblical studying and understanding, but the answer for me was a big fat no! Not only would I not be okay with it, but I would demand answers! How come I would be chosen to live a life of loneliness? How come other less cool chicks got a man while I got a rock? I would also request that God send me an HR sheet outlining how he came to his decision and what the criteria is for a woman that gets to have companionship.
"You wouldn't be alone," one of the ice cream socialists said. "You would have your friends and God."
Okay, got it. But how can they not see that that is different than having a tangible person next to you who loves you and that is going to live life with you; that knows you and cares for you? I like the idea of someone living life at my side.
They say that there is someone for everyone, but as I get older, I see that that is not true. I have dope lady friends in my life that aren't in a relationship and the possibility that they ever be in one continues to get slimmer with every passing day. And while they are waiting, their fertility window is closing, sending them into this weird, anxious panic and frustration. It's hurtful, and even more painful when you realize that there is a possibility that God just doesn't have a person for you. You don't get love. Billions of other people do on the planet, but you don't. For a woman in her 30s, the idea of eternal loneliness is very real, but it somehow becomes cruel when you add the possibility that God just doesn't want you to have anybody.
I am working on my relationship with God, but I also want a relationship with God, and I think that is fair and human. Hopefully He is in agreement. Time will tell.

Lady Lumps pt 1

The other day I woke up with a pain in my left boob, the problem boob.
I got up and went to the bathroom to investigate the situation to find that I had some type of lump above my areola.
I was not surprised. My left breast has given me nothing but problems since I was 13-years-old. Unusual sensitivity in my breast caused me to have to go to the doctor with my mom when I was in the 8th grade, only to find that I had a bacterial infection. I had to take pills, and since then, my left boob has been saggier and considerably more pancakey than my right one.
Now I know some of you all are reading this and holding your breath. I know what you are thinking: The Big BC. But I was not thinking that at the time. I was thinking, Great, more s&*t that I have to deal with. Keep in mind, I was also not completely awake. I rolled my eyes at my boob and went back to sleep.
Now, when I woke up for real, cancer was most definitely on my mind. I went back to the mirror to study the situation, rubbing the lump and to me, it didn't feel like cancer. I, of course, am going off of a breast cancer display that I felt on in college during some type of AKA sorority breast cancer workshop. A breast cancer survivor had a display of a set of breasts and told me to press down on both with two fingers and tell her when I felt something. It took a while before I felt something small and sharp deep in the display breast.
"That's the lump," she said with a stern, straight face. I catalogued that in my mind for a moment such as the one I didn't know I would be having 14 years later and went back to my dorm with my friends to get ready for a party.
My mind was racing a mile a minute. This bump on my breast hurt! I remembered a doctor in a Lifetime movie telling a patient in the movie that breast cancer didn't hurt. I exhaled a sigh of relief.
But then I panicked! That was a made-for-TV movie, not real life!
Then I remembered, when I went to Planned Parenthood for a pelvic exam, I was given a breast exam. The nurse said I had healthy breast tissue. Again, relief.
Then I panicked! That was six years ago!
But wait, I thought, I am only 34. Relief.
Then came the panic. I read an article not too long ago about how women younger than 40 and dudes are getting increased breast cancer diagnoses.
I decided to do what I do best: ignore the problem. However, that went out the window an hour later when the bump on my boop started leaking.

Elevation Hateration

I have been soliciting a lot of prayers lately. Y'all, I am trying to get on the good foot in regards to my life. For four years, I feel like I have been emotionally and professionally all over the place, moving at the speed of an empty plastic bag sailing across a Wal-Mart parking lot. In less than five months I will be thirty-five and some things have to change. So I am praying for direction, job offers, income, confidence, and healthy hair- all the things needed to get my life back on the right track. And I was asking those closest to me to pray for this on my behalf. But my friend Twin warned against this.
Twin is one of the many non-related aunties in my life. She is in her late 40s, looks 30, keeps her skin hydrated, is one of the last Black women to still get perms, and she is about as holy as they come. When I saw her recently, I asked her to pray me up some good opportunities, and she said she would, but warned me against asking too many people.
"You have to watch who you ask to pray for you, because everybody don't have your best interest at heart," she warned, pointing her acrylic nail in my face with the seriousness and steadiness of an old bayu witch .
Hm. This was interesting to me, because I had been thinking that the more prayers going up on my behalf, the better. It never occurred to me that there could be someone out there trying to spiritually sabotage me.
But over the years, I have suspected that there were people in my life that were happy that I am a have-not. I have been told by people I shared this with to confront these "friends" about this, but how do you ask someone who you otherwise love if they want you to fail?
Sadly, going over the list in my head recently, I realized that the list has gotten longer since the last time I did it in my head, which made me sad. How am I attracting people into my life that don't want me to shine?
That is a question for another day. For now, I am praying like I have never prayed before for money and miracles. I even asked my mom in Heaven to give me a referral. I will let you know how this pans out, but you can't share it with the haters.

Thirtigue

When I was in my 20s, I had a laundry list of symptoms comparable to those heard on a prescription pill commercial. I was moody, depressed, frantic, and hysterical. Jamaica helped me to see that I was suffering from 20pause, a type of menopause experienced by women in their 20s who are freaking out about their futures. Now, at 34, my friends are suffering from what I have coined as Thirtigue. The symptoms: anger, feelings of emptiness, loneliness, exhaustion, and hopelessness, all caused by pouring your all into a man, changing him for the better, then watching him leave you to go shine with someone else thanks to your hard work and patience. Sadly, by my age, women have experienced this so many times that their condition has become terminal.
"I'm done pouring my all into a man!" Tiffy exclaimed. She, Savannah and I were on a 3-way call, reminiscent of our middle school days. "I want a man that is move-in ready!"
Ah, a move-in ready man. A man that knows how to communicate. A man that loves The Lord. An employable man that isn't broke. A man not addicted to porn or Instamodels. An attentive man that can be sensitive but can also lay down the law. As Savannah and Tiffy continued to chat I envisioned a topless Michael B. Jordan, walking towards me with a bouquet of flowers and a box of Little Debbie Cakes. Then I wondered: for a man to be as amazing and seemingly flawless as Michael B. Jordan, can you imagine how many women he has sent into Thirtigue?!
Sadly, I don't think that there is a way to beat Thirtigue, short of dropping off the dating scene. It is in the hearts of women to be giving and to motivate. There is no woman alive who is going to get with a guy, see his potential, and not do anything to help him make it. Sadly, the hope is that you come across a man that has Thirtigued so many other sisters that he is pretty much "move-in ready" fo you. Messed up right?
In the meanwhile, you can try to protect yourself against Thirtigue. Remember that you can't change a man. Help him set goals but give him room to reach them himself. And try not to love too hard, as if that is possible.

Sickles and the Naughty Call

A few years ago I told you guys about Sickles. I was pretty optimistic about him. He is literally tall, dark, and handsome, and at the time, for some reason, I was under the impression that he was going to Morehouse Medicine to study Sickle Cell Anemia. Since then he has wanted to be a dentist, worked for AT&T, been incarcerated, had a baby, contemplated working on a farm, and fallen off the face of the earth...or so I thought.
The other day I was scrambling to get ready for some errands that I had to run. I had decided the day before that I would leave the house at 8am. Before I knew it, 10:30am had rolled around and I was still trying to get dressed. Just when I was about to head out the door, my phone rang, alerting me that I was receiving a call via DUO. There was no name, just a number. I answered it only to be greeted by a live video of a man (only from the waist down), playing with his not-so-wee wee wee. I quickly hung up, understandably shaken. The phone rang again from the same number, and I answered it again, ready to curse out the person. But this person was not just some weirdo calling me to be gross. It was Sickles.

"Sorry about that Holly," he said, smiling his goofy smile. I was not smiling. 

"Really Sickles?" I asked, shaking my head. 

"Yeah, my bad. So...how are you?"

"Have a good morning Sickles," I said, ending the video call. 

Lately, during my reflection time, I had begun to be really hard on myself. It just felt like I was getting older yet nothing about my life or my being was changing. Now I know for sure that this is not true. When I first met Sickles, my self-esteem was in the pits. I would have thought that whole thing was cute or funny, just happy that there was a guy out there willing to talk to me, even if he was being nasty. But when he did that the other day, I didn't feel happy, I felt annoyed. This showed me that I am growing in some aspects of myself, even if I don't have a nice car and a huge house to show for it. I have respect for myself! I have dignity! It's funny the life-changing conclusions that seeing a man's penis can bring you to. 

xoNecole's ElevateHer Crawl is coming this weekend!

Are you looking to start your own business? If so, attending xoNecole's first ever ElevateHER Crawl is a must! Presented by Toyota Corolla, it will be taking place this Saturday at Mason Fine Art Gallery. Attendees will  have the opportunity to hear from business leaders such as Janell Stephens, the founder of Camille Rose Naturals and Ezinne Kwuburi, the Head of Inclusion and Diversity for H&M. Guests will also have the opportunity to enjoy a DIY Beauty Bar, a self-care lounge, and founder fireside chats. This event will be the perfect opportunity to network, seeing that 50 businesses owned and ran by women of color will be there under one roof! Need to purchase tickets or get more info? Click here.

Let's Face It

At the risk of sounding vain I am just going to go ahead and say it: I want to look cute forever. And at the risk of sounding full of myself I am just going to say this: I don't even want to live in a world where I am not adorable. Having been the biggest girl in the room for my whole life, my million dollar face has been the one thing that has gotten me a seat at the couple of tables I have been invited to. You would think my personality would be the show winner but, believe it or not, a lot of people don't take to loud overweight girls that enjoy having open and honest conversations about vaginal hygiene at the dinner table. Go figger. 

Where is this all coming from? Well, I have talked to you all before about how worried I have been about my skin since I turned 30. Gone are the days of me having an effortless complexion. My pores are getting larger, and I need a moisturizer like a fat kid needs cake. On social media, girls that I went to high school and college with are looking ten years younger than they did when I met them. And since I am not ashamed to admit that my face is the one good thing I have going for me you know, outside of my brain, I can't afford to let it go. Let's be honest,  I let my body go in the 3rd grade happily and without effort once I started wearing a bra. Since I am not really excited about getting things injected into my face or having appearance altering surgery, I have to keep this face tight and right. 

Tortilla has great skin, but she uses those trillion buck Korean skin potions you can order from Sephora. I am currently using a scrub that I got out of a gift bag. I like it though, it smells like sweet potatoes! But it is going to take more than sweet potatoes to keep my skin on the up-and-up. I watched a Youtube nighttime skincare tutorial that included seven products, so I guess I have to step it up. I guess I was naive for assuming I could keep my face from cracking off of shower gel and Vaseline. 

At this moment, I would just like to express how pissed I am at men. They can look like something the cat dragged in and women will still be beating their doors down as long as they have a good paying job and health insurance. What is a poor girl like me to do? Home chemical peels with hot bacon grease and a plastic knife?

Well, I guess there is nothing left to do but enjoy my face while it is still here. Beyonce said that pretty hurts, but she forgot to tell us that it also fades. But there will be no fading over here, not yet, as long as I have my bacon grease. 

Mortified

I have been pretty scared a few times in my life. One time that stands out in my mind happened when I was an undergrad student in New Orleans. I had gone to a parade with my friends and I was NOT in the best of moods. I was so immature back then. If I was unhappy, everyone had to be unhappy. So, eventually, my mood was so fowl that me and my friends decided to leave and go back to campus soon after the parade was over instead of hang out. Slow dragging behind my friends in a black hoodie with my lip poked out, I heard a man talking about how fat I was to his friend. I turned around and they both laughed, so I shot them both the finger. They stopped laughing, and the tall one who had made the remark motioned in his jacket the way that gangsters do in movies when they have a gun.
My heart started pounding so hard I could hear it over the band playing in my ears. I started to walk quickly, dipping in and out of the crowd, only to look behind me to see that the dudes were pissed and hot on my trail. I sped up, which should tell you how young I was. I am so out of shape now that, if this would have happened yesterday, I would have just stood there and taken the bullet before I tried to run from it.
I dipped behind a float alongside the train tracks. From my position, I was able to see the thugs racing down the street looking for me. And just when I thought I couldn't get even more scared, I saw the man who called me fat turn my friend Tiesha around quickly. I held my breath thinking, Oh God, please don't let this moron shoot my friend over something stupid I did. He looked her up and down, realized she was not me, then continued on the hunt. When we got to campus alive and safe I was so happy that I collapsed on my bed and screamed in my pillow. My mouth had gotten me in tons of trouble before, but that was a close call.
I say all this to say that this weekend I ran into an older woman in my life. She has been diagnosed with colon cancer and is doing chemo to shrink the tumor so that it can be removed. She got so upset while telling me about her treatment and her infusions that she started crying. I gave her a hug and that is when I felt it. This woman was not scared, she was mortified. This far surpassed the mere fear I felt when I thought that I was going to get gunned down in the Big Easy. Hugging her, I could feel the nervous energy bouncing around in her body. She was trembling and secreting a panic that sat in the air, making it warm, thick, and uncomfortable. You could literally smell her anxiety. I felt that if she could have, she would have screamed.
What could be scarier than knowing you are going to die or having good reason to think that you might? What could be more agitating than going over the list of things you want to do and get done over and over in your head? Is it possible to even explain in words the fear of not knowing what the afterlife holds in store for you and if you are spiritually ready to find out?
I thought these things as she left to go run errands. As someone who is often afraid to go after what I want in life, she helped me to remember that there are worse things than being scared.

The Sexless Love Interest

After writer's group, I had a long conversation with Ryan the crush. Truth be told, my crush was beginning to fade. A flame can only burn for so long when it is clear that the one you are ablaze for has absolutely no interest in you. I had to take a lesson from Aunty Maxine Waters and start to reclaim my time. There is no time wasted like time invested on a dude that doesn't return your feelings. We hadn't spoken in a while. But, after writer's group, we took a second to catch up. He got a new job. He's going to take a vacation to Miami before the summer is over. He also said that he is excited because that very day marked his tenth year of being abstinent.
Get the f*&k out of here! I wanted to scream. How could a man this hot and this smart and this old (he's 42) be walking around sexless?
Instantly, the crush rekindled at 1000%. It was a huge turn on to meet a man who, in this day and age, had some modicum of self control. I live in Atlanta, where, weekly, men make their rent rain in ones at one of the city's well-known strip joints. Dudes cheat. They have more than one girlfriend. Their lives seem to revolve around sex, indulging in their desires at every possible turn. And there I stood, next to a man, that made a serious decision, in his youth, to hold off on sex.
"I'm looking for love," he said honestly, nibbling on one of the homemade brownies brought to the group by Jabbering Janice, the one woman in group that can not stop talking.
Love me! I imagined myself screaming, jumping in his lap.
I told P about this when I got home. Of course, he had something rude to say about the whole thing.
"This guy is obviously gay," he said nonchalantly.
Ryan isn't gay. I like to believe that he is a sign sent to me from heavens that not every man is a fornication-obsessed dirt bag. Now, if I could only get him to sleep with me.
Lol...just kidding.

Holly Thee Horsey

The other night I was feeling pretty bad about myself and my life. It was then that I got the urge to read my Bible. I have the Bible app on my phone, so I reached for my phone and accidentally clicked on the YouTube icon. This is where I was introduced to one Megan Thee Stallion.
Listen, Megan may not be holy but she definitely took me to church! It has been a long time since I have heard a female rapper so brazenly and articulately discuss ripping men off for their money. I have to say, I was spiritually moved.
When it comes to the age-old art of shaking men down for their paper, it is important to go to The Word of God. I wasn't sure about this but my friend Angela told me what was what a few years ago when I was getting tossed out of my apartment.
"You don't have a dude that can help you with the rent?" she asked, concerned.
"What? No." I thought she was being silly, but she was totally serious.
"Look Holly, we were made from their rib. They are supposed to be taking care of us. It's part of the creation story."
Case. Closed.
Isn't it interesting how, even today, as forward-thinking women, many of us still often think of men coming in and saving the day for us? I can not tell you how often I have dreamed about a strong, muscular man with both an open mind and wallet coming along and taking care of some of my past due balances.
Sadly, my goody-goody upbringing won't allow me to really live and think this way. I know I have to take care of myself. That is, unless God sends a man my way with some money. Then I will have to treat him like Megan taught me:

If you balling and you know it, then let the money show

If he acting scared to spend it, I'ma show him to the door 

Amen. 

Pots

I am 34 and I don't have a pot to piss in. The only thing separating me from a person that is REALLY up shit's creek is that I have a lot of close friends, and I think that at least two of them would let me borrow a pot if I really needed one, under the condition, of course, that I would wash it before I returned it.
If you have never been under INTENSE financial stress, allow me to describe it to you. In short, it is a consistent state of anxiety and fear. You are afraid to the answer the phone. It could be a bill collector. You don't check the mail. It could be full of bills. The same feeling you get in your stomach when you have to call you OB/GYN for your pap test results is the same feeling you have when you have to call the IRS and BEG them to reinstate your payment plan.
Time flies. When I was a 2nd grader, I used to entertain myself by counting on my fingers how old I would be in five years, ten years, etc. I would get excited, thinking of myself at 21. I would be rich and married to one of the members of Immature. Well, me and Romeo never made a love connection and I am now in my mid-30s. And no, I don't play that add-up-the-years game anymore. If I count forward 50 years, I don't see me dancing in an Immature video. I see me in a nursing home that smells of poop. It's the only place that will take me because I didn't have a savings, and it is the only place my poor people insurance will cover. The nurses will smoke cigs and blow the smoke in my face. I will spend days on end in my soiled diapers. And, perhaps worst of all, the only beverage option I will have with my pureed dinner is UNSWEETENED TEA!
I try to complain about this to P, but he is a "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" type of man. He just doesn't get it. I had to throw my last pair of boots away, the ones I had had for 12 years, because I could no longer plug up the holes in them with toilet paper.
My minister did a sermon about how bad times are good. You have to go through things so you will be prepared for what God has in store for you at the end of the rainbow. As hungry as I am for a change in my life, I better be able to taste this rainbow.
Enough belly aching for now. I have to go but my empty wallet next to my Bible and see if God can create a water-to-wine situation.

Unrequited Imaginary Love

Franklin is a young man in my writer's group. He is about 10 years younger than me. That should be the end of the story. But, and this is all my fault, I was overly nice to him a couple of meetings ago. Now he thinks I like him. His whole attitude towards me has changed. He now gives me stiff side hugs, calls me ma'am, and avoids me during the after-meeting refreshments. Feel free to roll your eyes. 

At first, I thought that this was funny, seeing that I am not interested in him.  I thought that everyone in the group knew that I have a huge, embarrassing crush on Ryan, the silver fox that cuts his convos with me short after group to get to the last of the Oreos before Pregnant Patty gets herself out of her seat to ambush the cookies. Now I am a little offended. 

This is not the first time that a guy has thought that I had a crush on him and decided to send me signals that he was not interested as to not hurt my feelings. These signals include but are not limited to: only talking to me in a group, switching from hugs to handshakes, repeatedly letting me know that he has a girlfriend, or even ignoring me altogether. Many times I was not interested in these guys. And it has always been amazing, and hurtful, to see the lengths that these guys would go to let it be known that they are not interested just in case. 

Okay, so I am fat, unemployed, and living with my aunt with a credit score that is in the toilet. I am also hilarious and have a great head of hair! Does that count for nothing these days?

A part of me doesn't want to go back to writer's group, wanting to avoid the scene that is inevitably going to come from this. Another part of me wants to kick Franklin in his balls and tell him to get over himself. I will let you know which way I decide to go. 

Behind-Your-Back Talk

What do you do when a friend tells you that another friend has been talking ish about you?
I swear, female friendships are constantly evolving. They also never change. The "she was talking about you" routine has been going on since I was in grade school. But back then, I feel like spilling the beans on behind-your-back talk was done out of boredom and messiness. When this happens when you are in your 30s, you can't help but feel like there is some malicious intent. I think that Friend A told me about the behind-the-back talk to warn me about Friend B, who she is no longer friends with. But it low-key hurt my feelings.
I know, I know. All the things I have said about friends in the past, I have a lot of nerve being butt hurt. But shocker, I is.
"For me, the story isn't that Friend B was talking about you," my friend Tay said during our volunteer meeting. "It's that she felt comfortable talking about you to Friend A, which makes me wonder what Friend A says about you too."
Mic drop. Good point. Good point that I'd rather not think about. I really, really like Friend A. She has shown up for me in some very important ways over the years.
Unfortunately, this spilled tea has left some small, sticky stains on my friendships. But what can you do at 34 but wipe up the tea and keep going?

Boring

What is the difference between 20 and 30 something women? Besides financial stability and varying levels of maturity, I would have to say the major difference is life experience. This became even clearer to me most recently when I talked to some 20-something girls after my writer's group.
Child, they sounded about crazy! They were going on and on about how they weren't interested in some of the young men in the group because they were awkward and boring. I was actually beginning to get annoyed before I reminded myself that they are but babes in this purgatory that is often referred to as "the single life".
When I was their age (before dating apps) I was looking for love on Craigslist (before the Craigslist Killer). I met a guy who was only looking for a fling to add to his list of flings, and another guy who lied about his height. No joke, he said he was 5'8 and showed up at my doorstep as a literal dwarf. Not that I have an issue with dwarves. On the contrary, I was open to dating one. But the fact that he had told such an outrageous lie killed our love before it had a chance to get off the ground. I had a long distance situation with a man who cashed his paychecks and kept all his money in Nike boxes under his bed. And who can forget the guy that I thought was my boyfriend...only for him to call and tell me that he needed emotional support dealing with the fact that he had impregnated a woman in a club bathroom. These girls don't understand: a boring man is what you want!
So what if he doesn't keep you on the edge of your seat wondering if he is going to get caught for that handful of warrants? You want a man that is going to work a real job and come home to you, without any outside club toilet babies.
When I was in college, I do admit that I had a thing for boys in fitted caps who drove Impalas. But where are those fascinating boys now? The ones who haven't changed into respectable family men are juggling women like foam balls!
I guess this is a lesson that you learn with age; when you realize that having a man that keeps you guessing really isn't that exciting.

Paternity Potato

Of late, I have been sitting on my imaginary couch watching real reruns of Paternity Court like a couch potato. That's right: I'm a Paternity Potato. '
Finding out that 5 seasons of full episodes of this show are on Youtube has been the most amazing, unproductive thing to happen to me in a long time. I have had a lot on my mind, on my chest, and in my spirit, so watching Paternity Court reruns has served as a welcome escape and fun way to waste time.
As a writer, I am a sucker for a good story, and this show is FULL of good stories. Women that get pregnant in threesomes. Men who thought they couldn't have kids because of painful, disfiguring scrotum trama, only to find out they are the father of twins. People who find out in their 40s that their father isn't really their father. On its face, it's a really sad show that highlights the downfall of our society. It is also hilarious.
I am at a stage in my life where it has become clear that it is time to activate the Plan B plan. Plan A was a mess, and it is going to take some serious brainstorming, GRE studying, research, and self-patience to get to the next level. But this whole process is overwhelming and exhausting. I just want to go back to a time where I was so stupid and tipsy on hand grenades that if my life was sinking, I would not have even noticed. But the past is in the past and I am now grown and very aware. I also don't drink anymore, so the drowning feeling is very frightening.
P thinks that I am a lazy crybaby. Maybe he is right. Thinking about all of my issues literally sucks the life out of me. Listening to an episode as I type, I guess it is a small blessing that I at least know who my father is. You have to be grateful for the little things.

Potty Panicked

(warning: this is a TMI post)
About a month ago, I had hands down the worst away from home bathroom experience of my life! It has taken me a minute to discuss it with you because I am still traumatized.
I had to pee really bad, and I had the choice of waiting on my aunt to come out of the grocery store and going at home or taking my chances and using a grocery store bathroom. Anyone who has had to go while shopping will tell you that using a grocery store bathroom is a tossup. But I didn't have a choice. I REALLY had to go.
I raced into the store and straight for the bathroom when my heart sank. My beloved handicapped stall was being occupied by a sister that was in the stall crying. Eyeroll. I had to think fast and on my feet. I could wait on her, but she was in mid-sob, and didn't sound like she would be coming out of there anytime soon. Or I could go to a basic bitch stall that has never, ever gone well for me. Seeing that I have not had A+ bladder control since I was 31, I chose a basic stall.
I ran to the stall at the back of the bathroom only for my heart to, again, sink. I was eye to eye with a dreaded low potty. This toilet looked like the toilets at the daycare that we used to train the 2-year-olds on! They are horribly uncomfortable for tall people, plus-size people, or anyone expecting a positive bathroom experience. But I had no choice! I had to go.
After relieving myself, I came back to reality quick. How the hell was I going to get off of the commode and out of the stall? I attempted to just move fast and get up, but I nearly torpedoed myself out of the stall head first.
I sat back, panicked. What was I going to do? I thought about calling my aunt, but she is notorious for not hearing it when she is out and about.  I even thought about calling to the crying lady in the handicapped stall for help, but how weird and awkward would that have been? For a split second, I thought about crawling out of the stall, but if my undies would have touched the bathroom floor, I would have had no choice but to set the whole bathroom on fire.
Fear gripped my body as I had a vision of me having to call the police to get me out of the stall. I sat there depressed. Was that what my life had come to? Me getting lifted off the john by first responders like some My 600-lb Life reject?
More motivated than I've ever been to do anything, I used my teaspoon of core strength to get up and elbow climb out of the stall.
"Hell ya!" I exclaimed as I got out of the stall with a sharp spasm in my side and tired arms. The lady in the handicapped stall was still crying, but not I! For the first time in a long time, I was faced with a hurdle and was able to get up.

24/34

The other day, I flipped back some pages in my journal and began reading passages from when I was 24. You would have thought that I had written those entries yesterday because my complaints about money, graduate school, and not knowing what I was going to do with my life read all too current. We are talking 10 years! How do I still have the same fears and anxieties?
My mentor recently told me that I need to "take the first step" with a lot of things in my life. She is so right. There are so many things that I have not started or accomplished out of fear of failure, so I don't even try. But this has to change. I don't want to go into middle age still debating on whether or not I want to retake the GRE or move out of Atlanta.
I have discovered that after my first big failure in my 20s, it has been increasingly more difficult for me to make decisions, not hat it was easy for me back then. I do recall moving through life with relatively more ease. But that just may have been because I was young, and not as aware as I am now that one wrong move could send me spiraling downwards and backward on the path of my life. I'm not old, but I am too old to make young mistakes. Just as with my joints, my rebound time from taking a hit has slowed significantly. That's why admire these young Instagram entrepreneurs that have put their last into a weave business and they are now millionaires. If I put my last into anything, the odds are too high that, if it goes south, I will spend the next ten years eating out of a tin can.
As true as this may be, I don't want to waste time making excuses. I want to do as my mentor advised and "take the first step". So I am currently working on a play, something I have always wanted to do. But I'm not as naive as I was when I was 5, watching a video of the play Purlie Victorious with my grandmother. I am very aware that my attempt at local theater flops, my career will take a Mike Tyson level hit that it may take me forever to recoup from. But you can't live in fear, right? So onward I go, working on my play. Hopefully, my 44-year-old entries will be written from a place of success and wealth. #positivethinking

Excited

I just ended a stint as a substitute teacher at a daycare. It was fun, sitting and playing legos all day with 2-year-olds. One of the teachers in the class was this statuesque 24-year-old babe that just graduated from college. I noticed that she kept her phone close to her, chronically checking it for something. Oh, how I remember the chronic cellphone check.
"I think she is excited, waiting on a guy to text her," I told Bells over a nice Mexican dinner. She was in town visiting her sister.
"Oh, I remember that," Bells said, nostalgically.
Watching Babe Teacher hold on to her phone for dear life, I realized that it has been a long time since I have been excited about a guy. There was that crush I had on that guy in my writing group, but that fuzzed out. I do believe that I have finally run out of excited-about-a-guy juice. I go on and on about how much I would love a man hug, but truth be told, I am not looking for anyone and I am sure that no one is looking for me.
But it is nice to be excited about a guy, waiting on his text, thinking of witty responses to whatever it is that he is going to say. When I am looking at my phone these days, it is just to check what time it is.
Right now, I'm more excited about the day that I finally get up the energy to defer my student loans and work on my credit. At 34, I can see 40 clear from here, and if I don't get my coin in order, I will be living in a cardboard box under the freeway. My good friends will come visit me every Sunday to bring me canned goods and baby wipes.
One day, I do hope to get excited about a man again, but for now, I have to find joy in writing disputes to TransUnion over what is on my credit karma report. Yay!

Who Let The Dogs Out?

Did I miss something? When did Black people become dog people?
I have to be honest: I am not a big dog person. I grew up in an area of Atlanta where many households had pit bulls or rottweilers. They would keep them tied up outside, ready to attack you when you walked by their houses, or bark at you while you waited on the bus. But let's be clear: those dogs were kept out.side.
Recently, I was feeling down, so my friend invited me to her sister's house for a dinner party. I was excited to go and get out of my own head. I was eager to meet some new people and of course, eat. Once we arrived at my friend's sister's house, I was speechless. The house was so beautifully decorated, I felt like I was in a fancy interiors Instagram page. I was looking at some of her awesome pictures and nicknacks when I caught a glimpse of a small Black dog out of the corner of my eye.
My body got tight and I froze in place as I listened to the rest of the family greet the dog in the living room. This was a dinner party. Surely they were going to throw the dog outside or lock her in a bathroom. NOT!
I tried to ignore the dog as it freely sashayed around the house like it owned the place. It was hard for me to really engage with people, mentally dipping in and out of the conversation to keep tabs on where the dog was at and what it was doing. 
The party moved into the living room for dessert and I calmed down just a little. The dog got comfy on the floor and looked as if it was going to go to sleep. That was until two guests came late with their slightly bigger more aggressive dog instep. Everyone greeted him like he was part of the family with the same hands they were holding their drinks with.
"This is an animal, gross," I thought to myself as they continued their unhygienic hellos.
Then the dogs saw each other and about an hour of barking and fighting ensued.
How do you let a host know that you are uncomfortable with their animals when invited to their home? I ask because me screaming out loud and shielding my dessert and face with my arms didn't do the trick.
Other than those ferocious beasts hovering around, the dinner was lovely. I told my friends this story and they say I am overreacting. Apparently, dog lovers consider dogs people. Not I. Gross.

The Artist

The night of the Christian Mix and Mingle, I met an artist. He walked up on me while I was bending over a table to rest my back. It was killing me, having just walked down the street in cheap shoes behind a very fast moving Kyndra. 

"Are you here for the thing?" he asked, pointing at the crowd of people who were gathered at this location. And you know where it was. I was at one of those repurposed Atlanta spaces that was once a factory or something. Visible pipes. Lots of steps. Now it is a jumble of galleries and lofts for events and photo shoots. 

"No, I am here for a dating thing," I said, still not standing up straight. I'm sure my butt was directly in his face, but my lower back was screaming! 

"Oh." 

I looked over my shoulder and butt to see a very fine chocolate man wearing overalls that were covered in paint. This caused me to sit up and at least pretend like I was comfortable. 

After a brief conversation, I found out that I was talking to a man named Fritz that owned a small gallery filled with his own work on the bottom floor. I was so interested in hearing about his work and looking at his face that I didn't notice that Kyndra had left me. Apparently, we were in the wrong building. He gave me one of his cards and I went on to find Kyndra. 

"I think I am going to call that artist and see if I can make him my Spring beau," I told Kyndra the next day on the way to church. She was not on board. She and the church clique are all about a man finding a woman and all of that. I don't know if that applies to me. I'm a plus size woman with a big afro in a red dress. If a man was going to find me, wouldn't he have found me by now?

That night, I looked up his website. He draws and sculpts people that kind of look like The Simpsons, and apparently, when he is not showcasing his art, he is leasing out his space for yoga classes and seminars. He was just as fine online as he was in person, minus that paint-spattered clothes. 

I stared at his email for about ten minutes before logging out of my computer for the night. All I could hear is Tony Gaskins, the Instagram relationship coach, talking about how men enjoy a hunt and that women looking for men is a no-no. I don't know. I guess a part of me does like the idea of an old-school romance where a man puts forth the effort. So I followed him on Instagram but I didn't email him. I told him my name when we met. If he's interested, he can find me. 

Mingle No Mix

Kyndra invited me to a Christian Singles Mix and Mingle and I jumped at the chance to go. I never miss an opportunity to dress nice and possibly meet cute men. As to be expected, there were WAY more women there than men, and out of the men, there were more White men than Black ones.
"Have you found the love of your life?" I asked a woman who sat down beside me, a plate of appetizers in hand.
"Girl no," she said, crossing her legs. "There are hardly any brothas here."
"But there are White guys," I pointed out, nodding to a group of casually dressed White men dancing off-beat to a rap song.
"Girl stop," she said chuckling, nibbling on a meatball.
A long time ago, Jamaica told me that the reason why a lot of Black women were alone is because they refuse to date out of their race. I didn't want to believe it, but this may be true. I do have close Black female friends that are married to Black men, but I have so many single Black homegirls that are lonely and giving up. I wonder if they would be happy and in relationships if they weren't waiting around for Black men that may not come.
"You go talk to one," the same lady dared me. My stomach started to ache. Even back when my Black peers alleged that I wanted to be a White girl, I didn't see myself with a White man. Looking at the White men in the room, as nice as they seemed, made me think of the White athletes from high school that acted like they owned the place with their arrogance and poor attitudes.
"Naw," I said, "I'm just here to have fun."
For the rest of the evening, I watched a really cute Asian girl dancing with a group of White guys, smiling from ear to ear. Meanwhile, my wallflower section of Black women sitting against the wall was growing with every song played. I realized then that Jamaica might have been right: if Black women no longer wished to be single, they were going to have to be willing to mix and mingle with men that are not Black. That is a tough pill to swallow but a reality. This reality, however, doesn't keep me from fantasizing about marrying a Black man. Call me a dreamer.

The Last Dating Mohicans

There are a lot of obstacles when it comes to dating in your 30s, obstacles that I would have never imagined as a woman in my 20s. There are men dealing with divorce, men in relationships that think they are single, men still living with their exes to save money, men with side pieces, men with secret children, men with whole secret families, men who only want to date barely legal women, men who want to be Peter Pan. I mean the laundry list of issues goes on and on and on. But I am finding that the biggest obstacle facing single 30-something women is fighting that sometimes all-consuming urge to settle.
Here is something that I think that they should tell children in elementary school not to discourage them but to prepare them: loneliness is a BI$#H! It will make you do some stupid things that you would not normally do. For my single homegirls inching towards 35, it can cause them to do things like entertain losers that they are completely too good for. They say that if a woman is single over 30, there must be something wrong with her. But I am here to say, if there is a man over 30 that is single, watch.out. I find the single 30-something man to be both crazy and bold; pulling laughable foolishness out of their hats at the drop of a dime.
BFF1 just ended a relationship with a guy who has moved his ex in with him to save money. BFF2 was basically told by her on again off again beau that he's still interested in her, a little. Whether or not they get back together depends on where he gets into grad school. BFF3 just broke things off with a man that didn't understand why she was upset that he had a plethora of other girlfriends. She was over 30 after all. She should be happy to be with a man at all. NOT!
My friends knew that these guys were losers, but they chose to settle because they were tired of being lonely and I get it. But I believe that you should settle because, while you are settling, you are presenting yourself as in a relationship to the potential love of your life.
Cuffing season has come to an end. Valentine's Day has passed. If you are single, the urge to entertain that late night text pall that wants to come over and watch a movie at midnight may be very strong. But I encourage you to resist this urge and stand firm. Mr. Right is on the way. We have to believe this ladies. There is no shame in being the last of the dating Mohicans if the loves of our lives are right around the corner.

20

I had to go to the doctor recently. I HATE going to the doctor. But I didn't have a choice! I needed more blood pressure medicine and, sadly, you can't buy it off the street.
I don't like going to the doctor for all of the usual, expected reasons. Fear of bad news. Cold doctor fingers. Fear of bad news.
Well, during my checkup I was informed of something unexpected and yes, even unbelievable. I have lost 20 pounds!
"What?" I asked the nurse, confused.
"You have lost 20 pounds since the last time you were here."
"Oh...What?" I asked again, not sure I understood what she was saying.
"You have lost weight," she said slowly.
"Oh." I still didn't get it.
It wasn't until the Lyft ride home that I understood the magnitude of what she had said. I. Me. I had lost weight! This is a big deal because I have never lost weight in my life! I have consistently been getting fatter since birth! I had actually begun to believe that I could not lose weight. I mean, I have joined gyms and drank smoothies. As a teen, I even flirted with anorexia and managed to gain weight! What would happen if I went 20 by 20 and began to lose hundreds of pounds?
Don't worry. I am still going to be your friend even though I am now skinny. I wish I could tell you that I lost 20 pounds with diet and exercise but sadly, it had more to do with stress and loneliness. Regardless, it is my 20 pounds and I am taking it like I can get it! How stressed and lonely do you guys think I would have to get to lose 200?

The Last Single VDay

Yet another Valentine's Day is coming up and I don't have a valentine. In all honesty, I haven't had a good V-Day since I was 19. At 19, I don't know what I would have said if someone would have told me that that would be my first and last Valentine's Day ever. How pathetic! This is truly the stuff that depressing romantic comedies are made of.
I guess the good news is that I am not alone this year. Even some of my smart, gorgeous, professional girlfriends will be spending February 14 with Mr. Netflix. And they are all saying that it's alright, that they are actually looking forward to a good, quiet evening alone. I'd believe them if they weren't saying this through clenched teeth and tears. Even my aunt asked me if she should send herself flowers to her job. I told her that that was a stern no, but I may take it back. Someone should get roses on the most romantic day of the year, even if said person has to mail them to herself.
You would have laughed at me if you would have seen me this weekend going to my writer's group. I was dressed as if I had a Valentine's Day date that very afternoon with Idris Elba! I mean, I looked gorgeous! But I wasn't being hot just to be hot: I was trying to get Ryan's attention. I got there too late to sit next to him, so I was literally trying to mentally and spiritually connect with him during the meeting. The prayers went over his head. He did, like everyone else, comment on how cute I looked. That made me smile for a second until I realized that his compliments did nothing to change my state of valentinelessness.
Why is this so hard? I'm not looking for love, just a free meal and a cheek kiss! For some reason, I want to blame social media.
Next year I will be 35 and I will have a V-Day date even if it kills me. If the past years are a prediction of the future, I better get my final affairs in order.

The Lonelies

I'm lonely.
This is something that I already knew, but now my loneliness is starting to manifest in my behaviors. For example, I have recently picked up the weird pastime of sitting in my room in the dark and watching Facebook videos of people getting zits and blackheads popped on their faces. If that doesn't scream lonely...and weird, I don't what does!
Then, of course, there was my unfortunate slip into a one-way Instagram obsession with a male dancer two months ago. The less said about that the better.
I have been told that the best way to beat loneliness is to get out and be active. I would, but it's cold outside. I have also been told that exercise is a good remedy for beating the blues, and I would totally exercise, but I am fat and lazy.
The only thing that I really have the energy to do is write in my journal and crawl up on my floor with the lights off. I find it peaceful, the combination of darkness and listening to myself breath.
In these moments of silence, I can not help but reflect on how I have deluded myself into believing that the loneliness would just zap away if I had a dude to cuddle with during these bone chilling Atlanta nights. Knowing deep down inside that this would only make matters worse, I have gone on Amazon to price an oversized bear that I can hug on while I sleep.
Have any tips on how to beat winter lonelies? Let me know. I'm open to anything that doesn't involve a lot of work. But for now, I must go. Time for my favorite lonely pastime ever: watching The Office on Netflix until I doze off.

A Sensitive Situation

I talked to Savannah the other day, and she has all the characteristics of a woman in love. There is a new man in her life and she's excited and just can't hide it! Oddly enough, me and Mr. Loverman graduated college in the same class, two years ahead of Savannah. He's a cutie that has a good job. He has done well for himself fiddling on the stock market. They met at homecoming and they have been talking for about a year. There's just one thing: Savannah is still technically married to her husband.
"That's why you can't tell anyone about this. It is a very sensitive situation," she whispered into the phone. I'd say it is.
As I get older, I am becoming increasingly more aware of how thick the gray is between black and white. Savannah is getting out of a bad marriage. Mr. Loverman likes her a lot and is waiting for the paperwork to get processed on the divorce, and, according to Savannah, her soon-to-be ex-husband is dating already as well! Growing up, my grandmother would have told me that this whole thing is a no-no. But what do you do when love and life push you into a weird situation? Especially one that could sprout the fruits of real happiness and connection?
If you find yourself in the same boat as my girl Savannah, you file your divorce papers, keep your mouth shut, pray your friends keep their mouths shut, and sit tight until everything becomes more ideal. According to Savannah, Mr. Loverman is open to marriage and so is she. This whole thing could end in her walking down the aisle again! Isn't it funny how things work out?
I know that a lot of people have strict beliefs about the sanctity of marriage, but I can't help to cheer for my friend. You only have one life to live, and I want her life to be as full of happiness as possible. Plus, this whole thing proves something Jamaica told me years ago: people do find real love at homecoming. Sigh. I guess when I go this year I should at least get my hair done.

Lyn and the Text

How was your Christmas ya'll? Mine was pretty chill; Netflix during the day and dinner with the fam by night.
I texted with Lyn throughout the day. As with most things good, a man was casting a shadow over what should have been a good day. You see, the day was ticking by steadily and she hadn't received a Merry Christmas text from her new beau yet.
"The day isn't over yet," I assured her via text. "And you can always text him."
I could feel Lyn roll her eyes through the phone and I understand why. What girl wants to text their bae first? Is it too much to want to be thought about?
Here is the shinny on Lyn and her new guy: they work together, they are not official, they are having sex, they are both interested in the possibility of a relationship, and he has a kid. They have chemistry and the friendship has potential, for they have been "talking" for two months. I can tell that  Lyn is excited, but she is trying not to put any expectations on anything. But geez! When you are having sex with a guy, can't you at least expect a well-wishing text during the holidays? Apparently not.
Dear one man that reads my blog: for 2019, let's make some ground rules. When you are sleeping with a woman, let it be two days, two months, or two years, you are OBLIGATED to send her text on her birthday, on Christmas Day, on Martin Luther King Day, and even her off day. Why? Because it is COMMON COURTESY! Since when do you have to be in love to show some love? Geez!
Lyn may not have gotten her Christmas text but they are now totally back on track. Her sister has met him and thinks that he is amazing. I will keep you posted on how this develops, via text of course.