I think that I may have come across America's last nice man. He is a member of my virtual writing group. He is sensitive. He is kind. He genuinely asks how you are doing, and he has a pretty smile. I told P all about him, and P said that he sounded like a...uh... b&tch ass nig@a who could possibly also be doubling as a gay virgin. This response is to be expected of P. In P's opinion, any man that honestly and openly acknowledges his emotions might as well me be wearing high heels and a pair of cotton panties with the words "insert here" stitched on the backside. What was shocking is that my aunty, who is as sweet as a fresh slice of key lime pie, agreed with P who, for all intents and purposes, is a prick. Aunty says that Mr. Nice Man sounds like a wimp.
Have you all noticed there is a war going on against kindness? I mean, seasoned politicians can't get through a press conference without throwing major, below the belt shade! But when it comes to girlboyness, it is especially dirty. I have been battling this war personally since elementary school when it comes to guys. I had a crush on a boy named Keith Edwards in kindergarten who introduced himself to me by walking over and kicking down my lego town. I have been getting my legos kicked by guys ever since. Ray Henderson in middle school. Adam Reid in high school. To go into the college years, I would need a drink, and to go into life in my 20s, I would need therapy.
The thing is that when I was fake in love with or crushing on or talking to these horrible guys, my heart was still pining for a nice man. A guy so great and available that it would be like he fell out of a Tyler Perry movie and right onto my doorstep. But it seems like NICE is the new NOT and is now equated with being unmasculine, weird, a front for something horrible, or even downright homosexual. I think that the real story here is not only have women become unaccustomed with kindness buy also more accustomed to cruelty, inappreciation, and abuse. For many of my girlfriends, it has gone beyond liking a bad boy and has stalled into unintentionally preferring bad men. I prefer to no longer be stalled. When a nice man pulls up, I'm getting in the car.
Thursday, April 23, 2020
Mathematics
If you are anything like me, you have been sitting at home, hiding from Rona. All this hiding has given me a lot of time to do some very sad and painful math.
I'm 35-years-old. I have had 3 great loves in my life. 2 of them are married to women that are almost insultingly opposite from me, and the other was gay and has died. I have 0 in savings. I have accumulated 0 wealth. I have entertained countless losers, which all ended up going nowhere. Add, subtract, and multiply that up and all you get is a remainder of 1: me. I can't say that this is where I thought I would be in my mid 30s, but to be fair, I haven't had real expectations for my life since I was 7, and those expectations were based off of what I saw on episodes of Lifestyles of The Rich and Famous with Robin Leach.
To add insult to injury, I was also able to do some math when it came to the time I have wasted on unrequited love. Those of you who have read my other posts know that I am acutely aware of, mindful of, and saddened by the amount of time I have wasted on different things. But when it comes to the time I have flushed daydreaming about crushes, men who didn't care, or men who were head over heels in love with my homegirls, the math is even more disappointing. I crushed the numbers and you won't believe the results! Over the years, I could have gotten an advanced degree, built a house from the ground up, walked to California, learned how to sew, taught myself to play the piano, shaved my head and watched my hair grow back, gotten my teaching license, and taken a cruise around the world FOUR times in the time that I have wasted worried about men who weren't an option.
As my friend Bells pointed out to me today, I am closer to forty than I am to thirty, so if I want to make something happen, I need to make a move. There is no more time to waste. The math supports this fact.
I'm 35-years-old. I have had 3 great loves in my life. 2 of them are married to women that are almost insultingly opposite from me, and the other was gay and has died. I have 0 in savings. I have accumulated 0 wealth. I have entertained countless losers, which all ended up going nowhere. Add, subtract, and multiply that up and all you get is a remainder of 1: me. I can't say that this is where I thought I would be in my mid 30s, but to be fair, I haven't had real expectations for my life since I was 7, and those expectations were based off of what I saw on episodes of Lifestyles of The Rich and Famous with Robin Leach.
To add insult to injury, I was also able to do some math when it came to the time I have wasted on unrequited love. Those of you who have read my other posts know that I am acutely aware of, mindful of, and saddened by the amount of time I have wasted on different things. But when it comes to the time I have flushed daydreaming about crushes, men who didn't care, or men who were head over heels in love with my homegirls, the math is even more disappointing. I crushed the numbers and you won't believe the results! Over the years, I could have gotten an advanced degree, built a house from the ground up, walked to California, learned how to sew, taught myself to play the piano, shaved my head and watched my hair grow back, gotten my teaching license, and taken a cruise around the world FOUR times in the time that I have wasted worried about men who weren't an option.
As my friend Bells pointed out to me today, I am closer to forty than I am to thirty, so if I want to make something happen, I need to make a move. There is no more time to waste. The math supports this fact.
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