Aunty and the Bras

My aunt recently had a minor breast surgery and, as part of her recovery plan, she had to buy these granny bras that clasp in the front. Three days into her recovery she says, "I like these bras! I need to get some more of these!"

I frowned. You gotta see these bras. They only come in two colors: About To Die White and Elderly Tan.

"No you don't! These bras are too old for you!" I cried. "They are for 90-year-old grannies with Arthritis who can't reach their back bra clasps!"

"But they are sooooo cozy!" she said, doing a little spin. 

These bras are as unsexy as they come. They are perfect for the old lady who has confidently given up any type of cuteness for functionality. My aunt is only 60. Today's 60-year-old women are going on cruises, learning line dances, and dating guys half their age, not embracing the bereavement bra. 

Ladies: have you noticed that your commitment to comfort unintentionally correlates to the rate in which your sexy is slipping? I noticed the slip for me in my mid-30s. I didn't feel as pressed to paint my nails or put on lipstick when I went out. What for? By the time Covid had chewed me up and spit me out, I was as concerned with being cute as I was with learning to fly. 

No woman wants to be viewed as ancient and unbangable, but if that's coming down the pipes anyway, why not welcome it in bloomer panties, oversized night shirts, house shoes, hair rollers, and no-bang bras? Ideally, as a woman, you want to hold on to your hot for as long as possible, but if it can't be done, what are you gonna do?🤷 I know what I'm going to eventually do: lounge in my bonnet while I admire my unpainted nails. 

Pressed Record (Another Risky Business Story)

The other night, Risky called me pretty bummed because she found out that an old partner had recorded them being intimate without her consent. She said this, and I gasped. OMG! All of a sudden, it felt like I was in one of those really bad made-for-TV movies. During a conversation, he casually mentioned that he was watching adult content. Then, to follow that up, he smoothly disclosed that said content was a recording of them together that he had taped secretly. He alleged that he had two such videos like this. I couldn't believe what I was hearing! How intrusive! How scary! How...illegal.

"Are you going to press charges? Do you need me to be on the phone while you do it?" I asked. 

She sighed. "To what end? Just because something is bad, that doesn't mean it's illegal."

"No, I disagree. Doing something like this without consent is equivalent to SA (Se*%ual Assault)," I informed her. At least, I think it is. I know that revenge p&%n is illegal, but she doesn't know for sure if he has posted the recordings anywhere. 

"He said that he hasn't posted the videos; that he just looks at them on his phone," she told me, but neither she nor I really knows if that is the case. 

As the conversation went on, she said that before this, there were red flags that she had ignored, like how randomly, in the middle of their situationship, he announced that he had a girlfriend. She also had reason to believe that he had followed her home. This didn't sit well with me, considering the slew of men who have been in the news for doing their partners in. She said that she was ending contact with this guy, and I suggested that the new man be a better-quality dude. Like most of my friends, she settles for off guys that I know she can do better than. She reminded me of something though that I had not taken into account: they all suck. Hopefully, the next guy doesn't suck so much that he would violate my friend's privacy. 

Pretty Works

Oh child, the internets are mad. 

There is this famous social media mental health professional that is now being outed for allegedly not being a mental health professional at all. Allegedly, she can not provide proof of her doctorate after giving relationship advice across numerous platforms and getting a book deal. The people are not amused. Her explanations for not being able to provide proof of her education also are not adding up or landing well. It's a mess! The people have made it clear that they feel played, but I feel that they played themselves. You see, this woman is very attractive, and I think that the people allowed themselves to be finessed because she is easy on the eyes. Now the poop has hit the perpetual fan and everyone wants to cry that they have been bamboozled. But what do you think is going to happen when you allow beauty to be a credential? It's the oldest deal in the books: being pretty ALWAYS works! 

I have experienced this on way smaller scales throughout my life. In highschool, I remember when my homeboy held the school door open for all the pretty girls getting off the bus but let the door slam in my face. In college, I watched in awe as Big Homie Sans gained access to rooms she had no business being in because she is gorgeous and no one asked any questions. On a more personal note, I had an old editor tell me she didn't think I should work red carpet events because I don't have the "Hollywood Look". I guess I wouldn't. I'm from Atlanta🤡 #peaceupatowndown. Because of all of this, I was not at all surprised by the alleged allegations against this mental health professional. I am surprised that people still don't want to admit how much outward appearance means to folks to the point that they could potentially buy whatever anyone hot is selling. 

I guess I am also annoyed because I know if she were not attractive making the same professional claims, America would have ran her background like a marathon. I'm also annoyed that there are probably many confirmed credentialed mental health professionals on social media that will never get this lady's numbers. I mean, this is the case across professions. Could you imagine if the genius, very capable Stacey Abrams looked like Tyra Banks? She'd be governor of Georgia right now! Look at Sheryl Underwood, the accomplished comedian and TV host. She recently participated in a roast for Kevin Hart, and all people could talk about was her late husband's suicide and how ugly they thought she was. They clearly didn't have the same smoke for Regina Hall. 

Things are looking grim for this mental health professional now but remember, she is beautiful. I think everyone will forgive her and she will probably get some new gigs out of this because remember, pretty works.

Young and Fresh

I got to talk to Willa this week! She is a young woman I mentored as a volunteer when she was in middle and high schools. Now, she is a recent college graduate and I couldn't be happier for her! She has some immediate career plans and wants to go to grad school. I'm really excited for her! She told me some hilarious stories about her college experience, and for some reason, her stories made me think of my post-graduate magazine internship supervisor: LD. 

LD could be a lot and, although I think it could be unintentional, could also be cruel, like the time she told me she felt I was full of parasites because of my eating habits. That is a story for another time. Apparently, during our internship interviews, when asked about what we could bring to the magazine, many of us said we thought we could bring a "young and fresh" perspective. Later, after we were well into the internship, something triggered her having a full-on ageist meltdown where she proclaimed something along the lines of "And no one cares about you all being young and fresh! No one's trying to go back there!" Admittedly, I thought I was dealing with a perimenopausal boss who had an ax to grind with young people. However, after talking to Willa, I can honestly say that I don't want to be young and fresh either. 

Willa is amazing, and I am excited for the beautiful things coming her young and fresh way. I do miss the optimism I had during this time. However, I don't miss the insecurities. I am also now fully aware of the hard times that were torpedoing my way while I danced at rooftop parties. Young and Fresh be damned, I am happy to not be there again, even if I'm still healing from some of my young and fresh disappointments. 

When talking to Willa, I made sure I was encouraging. Unlike LD, it was not my goal to make her feel dumb for being young, although my personal experiences tell me that some of her plans needed a bit of polishing. And that's fine, she's got her whole life in front of her. That's the beauty of being young and fresh. 

All The Really Small Things

The world seems to be going loco. I find that when I get stressed about how crazy everything is, I try to focus on the small things. I'm finding that as the cray-cray gets bigger, I'm discovering joy in even the really small things. Thus is the case when you are grasping at straws. 

I got really excited to hear that Tiesha and Lisha got their hair braided. A friend of mine called me from church. I had a chili cheese potato from Wendy's. I received some mail I'd been waiting on. YAY! As life seems to be more and more unfamiliar, it is critical that you keep your eye on the ball...even if the ball seems to be shrinking. 

My grandpa died of a massive heart attack in the mid- to- late '80s at the height of the AIDS and crack crisis. My grandma had to sell her home and prepare to move across the country while having to deal with her moody and emotional grandchild (me!). During this time I recall her being stoked about her soap operas and the song "Don't Worry, Be Happy" by Bobby McFerrin. In our current state of uncertainty, I find myself watching tacky Tubi movies and listening to "North Memphis" by Project Pat. Isn't it beautiful when traditions span generations? 

If you are like me and you are feeling the crush of the times, I encourage you to get big happy about tiny victories. Do a cartwheel when you discover there is one dryer sheet left. Praise God when you see that the milk isn't yet expired. In this day and age, even the mini victories are enormous! 

The Dating Update

My God, men are so boring; boring and gross. I remember how my grandma used to tell me a poem about how little girls were made of sugar and spice and everything nice. If this is true, men must be made of bulls$&t and rotten meat. As I continue to try to find love before I become completely dehydrated, I find myself getting consistently disappointed. All the guys fall into a pattern. They have about two or three good convos in them before they start saying nasty, inappropriate things. Like how they want me to BLEEEEEP on their BLEEEEEPS. That's a pretty common one. There's other stuff too. It's all icky🤢🤮

They say you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince. Does this adage still apply if you don't want to kiss these guys? God I hope so. Coffee says that guys who behave like this are "low quality men" demonstrating "low quality behaviors". I'd agree! But you can't win the game if you clock out of it, so I must march on, past the bleeps and the BS. Hopefully I won't be the dehydrated icky one once my prince arrives. 

Friending With A Boyfriend Vanisher

One of my good friends is a Boyfriend Vanisher, not that she makes boyfriends vanish but that she vanishes once she gets one. It has been a minute since she's had a serious boyfriend, so I'd forgotten she was a vanisher. However, at 40, I am here to announce that she is just as much one as she was when she was 18 when I met her. 

I'm happy that she is coupled but sad that she is still participating in her vanishing ways. As a serial single person that never had a boyfriend, I just assumed that being coupled was so consuming that you had no choice but to become distant. So, imagine my surprise when I started talking to guys and magically still had time and energy for the people I love; still had interests and other things to talk about. 

Calls from her these days are few and far between and quick. I answer the phone, she asks how I'm doing, I say find whether I am or not, then she proceeds to vomit info about her and her guy. She is in love, so I sit and listen and try to be supportive but sometimes I just want to yell, "There are other things going on!" Other things with her and me and the world. However, the world has gone down and I'm a bummer. I guess becoming obsessed with her relationship is the best bet.  

I hope that she and her guy stand the test of time, not just because she cares for him, but also because her breakups are worse that her relationships. Once she gets dumped or vice versa, I become a one-person jury member, staying on the phone for hours, helping her go over every point of their time together. It's exhausting and overwhelming but hey, what won't one do for a friend? Other than inquire more about her day before going into a diarrhetic speal about your relationship? 

I wanted to call her recently and discuss some pop culture stuff, but I'm mortified shat she will jump into "She and He: the Mini Series". Yikes. I guess her consistent babbling about her and her man is making me vanish. 

Big Rudith Energy

I talked to Rudith this evening. She told me she went to Sephora to get some makeup and asked the saleslady how old she looked. This lady said she thought she was 28 or 32. She said she was going off of Rudith's energy. This made me laugh. This same woman would have probably thought that I was 65. 

The women in my life are moisturized, thriving, and surviving, do you hear me? They are meditating, doing spin class, hiking up stuff, attending screenings and dinners. Their complexions are clear, and their smiles are bright. Outside of the fact that they have obviously taken care of themselves, I do believe that they have the energy that the salelady was talking about. They seem excited, which is a quality that I think SCREAMS youth because when you get older, you realize rather quickly that there is nothing, nothing to be excited about. Sometimes, when I see their energies breaking through my phone screen, I want to roll over and cough. 

Having great energy takes a lot of energy to maintain, and I don't have the energy needed to flip on a light switch. However, if I am going to look 28 at 41, it may be worth a try. After much consideration, I think that I can offer the energy gods a full spin in my driveway before coming back in the house. I will make more of an effort to be chipper. That will include, but is not limited to, not groaning for no reason during phone calls, not getting up and immediately falling into a slouch, and no longer screaming into my pillow for no reason. Can that be enough to be forever young? I am really trying here! Because if I can no longer be young, which is fine, I at least want to look it. 

Free at 44

My friend Katrice is newly divorced and doing pretty well. She has gotten a new job and a new apartment. Her makeup game is on point. She is going out more, hanging out with friends, and meeting new people. I am proud of her! Divorced people will tell you that picking up and moving on after that situation can be hard, emotional, and even traumatic. However, Katrice seems to be moving along just fine. She has made time for reading and taking time for herself. I mean, I wish my everyday letdown was as wonderful as her after divorce glow up!

"So, have you met anyone exciting?" I asked during our weekly weekend call. 

"Nope. I'm done."

I snickered. "Done? So you don't want to be married again? You don't want a partner?"

"Nope," she repeated. "I have loved and have been loved. That is enough for me."

These words have rang in my head since she said them. I am hoping that she isn't serious. I mean, she is only 44! She is too young to be calling it quits! It's funny, I remember being a kid and thinking that 40 was just as bad as being 140. But now that I am over 40, I realize clearly that 40 is nothing. People are living into their 100s! So what, she is going to be 105, not having had a companion in over 60 years?! It would be different if her Black had cracked or if she was bitter, but she is neither of these things. She is a gorgeous, hot, professional lady. How could she commit to calling it quits?

Not too long after I asked myself that question, I answered it. Dating in middle age can be a hot, dramatic mess. Outside of having to compete with younger women, you now are dealing with other singles who too have been kicked down and beat up by life. In her sitting this part of life out, she doesn't have to deal with the inappro-pro pics, lies, reemerging exes, time-wasting. Last time I checked in on her, she was taking in a good novel and drinking a hot beverage. I believe they call that solitude. Doesn't that sound amazing?

I have heard a lot of conservative men online talking about the "Female Loneliness Epidemic". They are excited about it and think that women are getting what they deserve for being picky when they were young. However, these men are confused. I am seeing a lot of middle-aged women who are alone but not lonely. Katrice is always racing off to dinner plans and social events. It's like she put down having a spouse and picked up living her best life! 

Even with this being said and her saying that she plans to kick it solo, I would still like to see her with someone. She is dope and deserves happiness with someone new. It doesn't look like that is coming down the pipeline anytime soon. She is enjoying being free. 

Seeking Charles Christmas 5: Guy Of My Dreams

I know I told you all that I wrapped up my crush on Charles Christmas when I realized we would never be; that I put my love for him in a box and returned him to the world, and I had. But because of him, for the first time in a long time, I woke up with a smile. 

I had a dream that I was on a city bus and Charles Christmas passed me a note expressing his love and desire to buy me nice things. Next thing I know, we are at the mall, and he is getting me expensive gifts. At some point, we end up at the MAC counter where I got a makeover. He then bought me as much lipstick as my arms could carry to the cash register. After that, we walked around the mall holding hands. 

Like I said, I woke up smiling. My heart was full of love. The dream felt very real but I know it wasn't because sadly, there are not hundreds of tubes of MAC lipstick in my purse. I rolled over and went on Instagram to find a story from Charles, posted earlier today. He was at a yoga class. How cute is that? 

I wonder what he'd say if he knew what I think of him? I'd like to believe he'd be flattered but in reality, I think he'd block me from all socials. I'm no dummy. I know he is out of the question for my real life. I guess he is quite literally the guy of my dreams. 

The Price of Greatness

Coffee considers himself a great, "elite" man, and as I get to know him, I have to say that I agree. He is very good at his job and at getting things done. He is really good at identifying a problem and coming up with a "program" to address it and guarantee success. Needless to say, he is a workaholic. He doesn't take vacations and has very little free time. I suppose this is the price of being great. 

Man, when I was a kid, I used to fantasize about how great I would be. I was going to be amazing! Even now, I think about how great it would be if I were great. I think of how much more independent I would be and how much money I would have. One thing I don't want to think about is the amount of work and sacrifice that would go into it. Years ago, I saw a documentary on Kobe Bryant that he did while he was still alive. He said that at night, he would go to the local college campus and see all the kids his age hanging out and having a good time. He thought about how cool it would be not to be famous, and what a time he could be having if he had decided to go to college instead of the NBA. However, he would snap out of this thinking, saying that not being a free and fun college boy was the price he paid for greatness. Hm. 

I guess my price for greatness would be forgoing my never-ending depression and interacting in the world. So, I guess the question is: Is striving to be great a better move than just continuing to withdraw from life? I guess the answer is buried in how much I value money versus how much I love the concrete darkness of continually falling apart. Maybe I should take some more time to think about this. It would be easier to do if I had all the time in the world. Now that would be great. 

The Session

Today, I had my therapy session, and thank God! I had to unload and let someone know how I am honestly feeling. We covered everything, from my being stressed out to my friendships. She said she could tell something was up with me, which was reassuring and more helpful than someone telling me I am acting weird. The session must have been just what I needed because afterwards I took a long, hard nap and for the first time all week, I felt rested. Of all the great things I have ever done, getting a therapist stands out as one of my greatest decisions, and if I were queen of the world, I would make it mandatory that everyone get a therapist. There is nothing like someone with no skin in the game helping you figure things out. I'm really excited for my next session and enjoying some good sleep. 

Moody

P had the nerve to tell me that lately I've been moody. Moody and rude. Well, I'm sorry, but I am beyond over it! Everything has been getting on my nerves of late. I've been beefin' with my brother. I'm always hungry yet losing no weight. Every time I get over one obstacle, I look ahead, and there are ten obstacles left. I'm sleepy. I've had a bad cough. I'm broke. I'm so exhausted and frustrated by my job search that I won't even go into it. I'm concerned about premature aging. I can't seem to drink enough water. I cry at the drop of a hat. I'm scared for the world. My niece now has tantrums that consist of endless screaming. Not crying, screaming. It's all just too much, so yes, I've been a touch snappy. Am I not allowed that? I guess not 🫤

The Praise Rag Story (A Savannah Request)

I have always been a reflective person. The experiences and stories of my life tend to play on a loop in my brain. My friends have often complained about how repetitive I am. So, it is very rare that I share a story with a friend that they have not already heard a thousand times. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that Savannah had never heard the praise rag story. 

When I was a college student in New Orleans, I attended a Full Gospel Baptist Church. This was truly an experience, because I was raised United Methodist, which was comparatively very boring. We didn't wear big hats or dance openly in the aisles. We silently listened to the sermons and sang hymns out of a book. My family was not excited about my attending this church, but it was a fun, lively church, and many college students went there. 

One Sunday, I walked into the church and nearly screamed when an older woman pulled me away from my friends and to the side. I had seen her in church before, but I had no idea who she was. Thinking back on it, she didn't introduce herself. 

"Listen, I am making you a praise rag for you to put over your legs when you sit down," she said. I looked at her questioningly. A praise rag? What the hell was that?! She read my expression and said, "You put it over your legs so that pastor can't see up your skirt when you sit down."

"Okay," I said, just eager to get away from her. I had seen other women wearing these things, but I  didn't know they had a name. They just looked like huge, fancy handkerchiefs. I didn't feel like any of my skirts or dresses were short enough that I would need a praise rag. Anyway, why would pastor be looking up my dress? He was married! 

The next Sunday, the same woman ran up to me as I sat down and placed the heavily embroidered praise rag that she'd made me over my lap before I could even protest. I thanked her, not wanting to be rude because the embroidery on the rag was gorgeous! It had to have taken a lot of time. She never let me take the rag home. She would come get it immediately after services. 

As a college student, I thought this whole situation was funny. As a big-aged adult, the whole thing kind of annoys me. To be clear, I don't think that the pastor was looking up my skirt. But I do wish that the world would stop making women and girls the reason for male sexual misbehavior. Like I said, pastor was married. He was also about thirty years older than me and in a position of power and authority. If he had an issue looking up skirts, shouldn't he be given some praise shades or something instead of me being given a praise rag? Just a question. 

Broke As A Bad Joke

Risky Business has fallen on some hard times since she had to leave her residency program. She is living with her parents, and money has gotten pretty tight. That's okay because she has come up with a no-fail financial plan: donating plasma. I am so jealous! If it weren't for the medication that I am on, I would be at the donation center now! 

Most people think that being broke is just being broke; a period of time when a person has to deal with strained resources and/or little to no money. However, the average person may not be broke enough to know that there are levels to brokeness. There is the general not having money and waiting on money to come in level, and there is the level where you have to get really creative, really quickly, or you are going to cross over into a dire situation. This is where a lot of people land in brokeness. Then, of course, there are those who have absolutely no loot to fall back on, their plans didn't work out, and they end up being homeless. That is when a broke person officially crosses over to being poor. Poor is hard. Really hard. 

So, like most women out in the world today who need dough, Risky is getting creative, and I admire her giddy-up. Other friends are offering freelance services, driving for ride shares, pawning their goods, or relying on a boyfriend. Some have resorted to stripping, OnlyFans, or some other pay-for-play service. Again, I salute these people! I have nothing to offer for quick cash, which may be the root of my real problems in real life. I would start a lemonade stand, but lemons have gotten pricey. 

Late last year, I was on a call with many of my old college friends. It was a call solidifying the committee for our reunion year. Part of the discussion was about our class gift and what our fundraising goal was going to be. Someone on the call suggested that there were some of us who could afford to donate $24K. I put myself on mute and laughed. Twenty-four thousand American dollars?! If I had that kind of money, I would withdraw half of it and roll around in it on my bedroom floor naked. Then I would begin to pay off my bills, starting with the ones that used the most threatening language in their letters. 24K. Get out of here! 

Coffee often says that I can work hard or find a man who does. Sadly, I don't think that is my lot in life. I think I am totally a plasma type of girl. However, we discussed that isn't an option for me. Are people willing to pay money for other people's failed dreams or bad jokes?

The Worst Block Spin Ever

One of my good girlfriends from high school casually told me during our last conversation that she is currently seeing her old boyfriend from back in the day, when things were NOT cool. He used to hit her, and I was beyond joyous when she finally dropped him. To hear that, after over 20 years, they are dating again made me so sick that I literally almost threw up. I thought that this guy was effectively exercised from her life years ago, only to find out that they have always kind of kept in touch. Now, he has somehow slithered his way back into the picture, and I am not excited about it at. all. I don't like him. 

"You don't know him," she said when I told her as much.  "You only know the him that I told you about. We were kids, and I did a lot of bad stuff too."

She then began to discuss his journey to healing and manhood and how he is so cool, calm, and collected now. He was abusive because that is what he saw growing up. After years of therapy, he now knows how to communicate. They have even already had their first argument, and no one got slapped. He is not the same guy that he was when he was a "kid". 

It was hard for me to not scream! Part of the reason why this whole thing sounds outrageous to me is because I guess I don't believe that people can fully change. The base of who you are is what it is going to be as soon as you get here. All other changes are surface-level, according to me. So when she tells me that this guy has changed, I not only can't believe it, I don't believe that it is legitimately possible, but she does. Also, I know that they say that by middle age, you have probably dated or met your forever person already. And that's fine if that's true, but could the universe make sure that the block spin doesn't stop at the doorstep of someone who caused you dramatic trauma and pain? I'm also annoyed with myself because I am supposed to believe that all change is possible through Christ Jesus. Watch me give myself the side eye 😒 Years of watching Lifetime movies has shown me otherwise. 

We pretty much agreed to disagree on whether or not this is a good idea, and I let her know as calmly and diplomatically as possible that I am not here for this but I am here for her. Men are in the news straight up unaliving their partners.  This is serious! Serious and unreal. 

Do Better Holly

One of my friends recently had a come-to-Jesus talk with me about how she feels that I am not there for her in the way that she is there for me. She feels that I am not present. Things have been so hectic lately that I forgot to wish my other friend a happy birthday. I can be so high and mighty about how my friends show up for me, yet lately, I have been the one clearly dropping the ball, big time. 

"Do better, Holly," my friend Cali said to me as I complained about this; a simple, obvious solution for a huge problem. She is right. I do need to do better. But how do you do better when you hardly have the energy to do anything? I am so exhausted that you'd think that I wake up every morning at the crack of dawn and sprint around my neighborhood. To be clear, I do not. I just lounge around like an obese house cat, groaning at the thought of all the work that I have to do to improve my life. When I was a kid, I used to fantasize about what it would be like to open my door and receive a huge million-dollar check from Ed McMahon. Although Ed went on to glory in 2009, it would be great if he could come back to life and to my door to bring me an energy drink and supplements. Maybe he could bring me a really strong coffee with two shots of confidence and a dollop of drive. 

Today, I have so much to do that I have nothing to do. But one thing I must do, other than get my life together, is check in on the people who care about me. No matter how broke, sad, depressed, alone, tired, aggravated, irritated, sleepy, and overwhelmed I am, I can not screw up my remaining friendships. I refuse to become the friend that I often complain about, and I am committed to being better...after I wake up from a nap. 

Cost Calculating

It's funny how your opinions change as you get older. 

One of the reasons I loved college is because it felt like being immersed in an oasis of thoughts and opinions. The world was new to me and everyone around me, and it was awesome to express how I was feeling while hearing how everyone else felt. It was a beautiful time. I was young and open to changing and sharpening what I felt were my beliefs. I recall being in the cafeteria one day and sitting at a table with all girls, and one of the girls said that she would never leave her husband simply because he cheated on her. I know that is a heavy remark to make at 18 or 19 years old, but the mere statement enraged me! How could a girl that young already be okay with taking on that amount of disrespect?

Just the other night, I had a conversation with Coffee, and he expressed something similar but from a male perspective. He said that a woman who leaves a man because he stepped out of the marriage for sex is only doing so because of her ego, especially if she has kids. He said that women need to stop thinking of cheating as some big deal because it is not, especially if the man does not want to abandon his family. He said that women who get divorced after cheating usually demote themselves to a lesser quality of life, having to leave their previous lifestyles, catapulting their children into poverty. How selfish. 

Hearing this, I was as irritated as I was over 20 years ago with that girl in the cafeteria. However, as someone who is far from rich, I had to really think through the situation. If I had a good life, how upset would I have to be to leave it? What is the real cost of walking away with your dignity, and is it worth it if this dignity is now accompanied by struggle and strife? If I were coupled now, and my man slept with someone else, I would be devastated. DEVASTATED! But would I be devastated enough to forego my nice home and access to money? I guess the question is, how much is your comfort, dignity, and quality of life really worth? What woman wants to get out and hustle in middle age?

"Tell Coffee he can shut the f*^k up!" Lisha exclaimed when I posed this question to her. I explained to her how Coffee expressed that, ideally, a woman in this situation should kick a man out of the house until he is ready to come home and take their life seriously. "A woman doing that doesn't mean he is going to continue covering the expenses of a house he is not living in, kids or no kids."

It is easy to have an opinion on a situation that has never happened to you. I have a lot of thoughts on marriage, but I am not married and never have been. I am a woman, though, an emotional woman at that, so I can only imagine how hard infidelity must be. I guess the difference between me now and teen me in college is that I better understand how 3-dimensional life can be. Everything isn't black or white or even gray. Somethings are purple, and require you to really, really ponder on them before making a decision. I'm glad I have never been in this position and hope that I never am. I have never been good at calculating costs. 

Family No Fair

Today, I got into a huge argument with my brother. We are six years apart. At what age is this nonsense supposed to end? And to think, I was super excited when he was born. Now, all he does is yell, complain, mope, and bark. I guess this argument was all my fault for not allowing him to strong-arm and overrun a conversation he was not even a part of. I will not be bullied by my kid brother. My bad. 

Family, am I right? When I used to get into tween spats with my mom, my grandma would say, "Well, you don't get to choose your family." I'm not so sure. I have heard that there are cultures that believe that the spirits of babies choose their parents or that the family you are born into is all a part of some type of divine plan. This evening, I wanted to dropkick my brother. How's that for divinity?

My mom had four siblings, and now three of them are gone, including her. I know the importance of valuing your brothers and sisters better than the average Joe. I know a lot of people who are only children, so I also know how lucky I am to have brothers and sisters. I love and appreciate them. That doesn't mean that I don't often fantasize about stomping on my brother's foot. He thinks I don't hear him, and I know he doesn't hear me. At times, he can be truly unbearable. I didn't choose him, so I guess I should just love him, even though that is easier said than done, and I would much rather love to elbow him in the ear. Little brothers, am I right?

41 going on 14

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

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

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

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

The Prom Post

 

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

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

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

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

Show Improve

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With The Quickness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a good sign, I thought. 

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

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

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

Seeking Charles Christmas 4: A Crush No More

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

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

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

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

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

Oh God!

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

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

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

The Mixed Signals of Male Responsibility

If I'm wrong, correct me, but wasn't it not that long ago that men were talking about how much they wanted an independent woman? Didn't Ne-Yo even make a song about it, "Miss Independent"? I swear it wasn't even 10 years ago when men pushed women into the world of going dutch on meals and half on rent. Men were literally saying that having any responsibility towards women was making their booties itch, and the word "provider" became up for interpretation. Boy have the tides changed!  Now, a growing community of men want a housewife who gives them full control over their lives. They now not only want to be your man, but your dad as well! This realization hit me like a bag of bricks during a conversation with Coffee. He discussed very eloquently how a woman's real value is in being a wife, and he would exercise full veto power over anything she may want to do. I mean, parts of the conversation were out-and-out jaw dropping and no, he wasn't kidding. He even said that he'd refuse to marry a woman who ever told him he couldn't tell her what to do. According to him, a woman with that attitude would rather be single. He even seems to hold great disdain for Miss Independent qualities like wanting to travel or have a say. I mean, what's going on??

The word on the curb is that the Boss Babe era is over and now the younger generation of women would rather be trad wives than CEOs. This may be true for some, but I suspect these things come in cycles. 10-20 years from now, those women will be complaining about feeling suffocated in the home, financially deprived, and wanting to get out and work. I guess it's a testimony to how well women fought for rights that today's younger girls don't even remember forced home life to the point that they want to return to it. Whoever said history repeats itself wasn't joking, but can we return to a time of gaucho pants and not to one of female suppression? 

P made a good point the other day: I'm old. He said hopefully, as the old women die off, the world can get back to a point of female obedience. I resent this idea that women have to be Stepford Wives for men to feel powerful, but that's where we are.  As the women's right to abortion has been revoked and our right to vote is now up for discussion, it saddens me to see women eagerly walk off the side of the cliff and siding with this extra toxic form of patriarchy. I guess I should be excited about this as a feminist. If feminism is about making your own choices than these young trad wives are making the choice to be incredibly dependent on a man independently. 

A Wrinkle in Face

Today, a nurse told me that I have a baby face. This is something that I have been told my whole life. I guess that is why I was so dramatically devastated when I found my first wrinkle in the corner of my mouth. 

"That is not a wrinkle, that is a crease," my aunt said, observing my face closely. Isn't that what a wrinkle is? A disgusting, unwelcome crease?

I have discussed before how full of myself I was in my 20s. I thumbed my nose at any type of plastic surgery. I felt sorry for women who would permanently change their faces. I even got holy with it, saying that it was a sin because we are all made in God's image. Getting so much as a nose job was like telling God that you thought He was ugly, or at the very least, could have done a better job. My tune has changed over the past few years. If my looks begin to fall off, I want every plastic surgeon in Georgia with even an ounce of talent to tap dance on my face! 

Years ago, I saw an interview with the late, great Joan Rivers. And she said that the only thing that mattered was looking good. I won't say that it is the only thing that matters, but it is important, and admitting this is a testimony of the world's vanity as well as our own. I am very realistic with myself. Some may even say that I am harsh with myself. I know that I am very overweight. I know that some changes have to be made there. But I have always thought I was pretty, even when others made it clear that they did not. I even find that my prayers are changing. I pray that God protect the world and bring peace, and also bring peace and protection to my face. Amen. 

Like many middle-aged women before me, I have begun to research facial products and what would work best for me. I am finding myself on the side of any snake oil that says anti-aging right in the title. There's no time to play, gotta get to work. I committed to letting this first wrinkle be the last. 

NO!

I am proud to report to you that my 2-year-old niece is a tough cookie. When she doesn't want to do something, she stomps her little foot, crosses her arms, and shouts no at the top of her lungs before running off. This is obviously a behavior that needs to be corrected, yet when she does it, I feel a sense of jealousy. Her response is the response that I want to have to just about everything in my life. 

You see, I find myself in a consistent state of shock over how overwhelming adulting is. Being grown is nothing like how I imagined it as a child. Every day was supposed to be like some version of a Living Single episode. Only, my version was going to include more money and sex and travel. Surprise, this Khadijah is not living that life at all.  But I am single. I guess that is a small win. 

I think of this when I see my niece acting out, and I often wonder what it would be like to respond to the world as she responds to me when I say she can't have another cookie. 

The World: Holly, apply for more jobs that will not call you for an interview. 

Me: No! 

The World: Holly, do something with your hair before you end up with an enormous dreadlock. 

Me: No! 

The World: Holly, please complete all tasks in a reasonable manner so that you don't have to rush. 

Me: NOOOOOOO! 

Instead of stomping out of the room, I tend to roll over and take a good nap, then wake up and stream a movie. There is no solution other than doing what I need to do, you know, adulting, so sometimes, I rather just clock out and dream about my once dreamt about sitcom life. But you can't stay asleep forever. Believe me, I've tried. So at some point (you'd think it would have been before middle age), I am going to have to get up and pull up my big girl undies and do something about my life. But don't ask me to be excited about it because the answer is no! 

Revelations and Realizations

The older I get, the more I get to know myself. I guess that should go without saying, but this may not be the case for everyone. And I find that the things that I am realizing about myself are things that I should have realized years ago. For example, I used to think that I got seasonal depression during the holidays, but I now realize that I get a version of it before every season change, and it manifests as deep mourning. I have been thinking about my late grandma a lot, and experiencing sadness over lost friendships. Risky Business called me this morning and told me that she realized today, at 40 years old, that every man she has been in relationship with, both serious and otherwise, has come out of her friendship circle. You would think that she would have noticed this two decades ago, but I guess it is never too late for a lightbulb moment. I think that as long as we are having these lightbulb moments, we still have an opportunity to change and make ourselves better. In my case, I can continue to work on ways to deal with loss until it doesn't feel as heavy. Maybe Risky can go out on a limb and find a date that isn't a bestie. In my mind's eye, we will continue to prune ourselves until we are finally complete...or close to it. I can't wait to see what that will look like. 

A Change In The Side Tide

Coffee has lost his favorite woman in his rotation. She got a new gig and she's headed up north. He said he's okay with it, that nothing ever stays the same. But I found myself thinking, Man. I wish there was a condolence card for this. 

I love sending and receiving cards, which is pretty much a dying art. Outside of Christmas cards, no one really takes the time to buy cards and make them personal anymore. But what if the cards addressed more modern issues like getting laid off, having to sign up for the draft, or losing your favorite rotation woman? I think a revamp of cards in this way could be encouraging! 

Your favorite side got a new gig

She moved up north and hit it big 

And although she's no longer yours in this way

I'm sure you will find a replacement any day. 

Befriending Coffee has shown me the blood, sweat, and tears that goes into keeping a steady, healthy rotation. It's not some easy, breezy process. A lot of time and skill is involved, so a loss in the stable should be addressed with kind words and top notch stationary stock. Shouldn't we support our friends in all phases of life? Just an idea. 

The Purity Culture Gag

I have unintentionally dipped my toe into Christian purity culture twice. The first time, I was in high school and a co-president of a club that was big on waiting to have sex until after marriage, even though kids were totally hooking up at our regional conferences. I was too young to know better. The second time, I was good into my 30s and totally old enough to know better. Yet again, I was seduced by the idea of monogamy and the promise of a place in heaven. Luckily, both times I have been snapped out of my goofiness by the facts of the world. I am all for dating with intention, but the primary intention should be learning how to deal with the opposite sex's BS so you don't want to pack up your bag and go home every time the crazy presents itself. I mean, my God, I'm a 41-year-old woman who does not know how to healthily deal with the stress and anxiety of not having my text returned immediately. 

Purity culture is all about keeping your cookies in the jar, but what I am hearing out in the world is less about cookies and more about not having the mental juice to even deal with dating at all. Every person who is single and ready to mingle, from 18 all the way up into the golden years, is being bombarded with ideas and information on the opposite sex, most of which are ridiculous. The podcast bros think women are whores who shouldn't vote and ladies think that men are useless liars. What is the intention supposed to be under these circumstances? Finding someone to couple with that doesn't make you physically ill? I think everyone is leaning into sex because it's all they can agree with. Somehow, Christian values have confused the situation instead of make it better. I guess that's because the idea of what a Christian is has changed socially, which is a conversation for another post. 

Ah, if I would have had the confidence and the knowledge to date full force when I was young. It could have been a beautiful thing. With my head held high dressed in the armor of God, I could have kicked losers out of my way with authority and could probably be coupled now. But there is no need to focus on the past. At least I'm going to heaven (I think). 

Curly and the Pee

Something is afoot in the dating world. I am not into the Zodiac or anything like that, but are the planets realigning? Is the sun shifting? Something is wrong in the divine order of things. I don't know what to call it technically or medically, but it seems like many single men have lost their minds, and because I can not make any sense of it here on Earth, I guess it is time for me to take my questions on the matter into the spiritual realm. Recently, a man flashed me his junk "on mistake" during a video call. Risky Business was stood up for four dates in one weekend. And now, Curly has even been taken for a pretty gross ride, meaning that the crazy is even going on in the gay community. I mean, are we all screwed?

Over the weekend, Curly went on a dinner date with his guy friend, Todd, which went pretty well. Then afterwards, they decided to hit up a couple of bars. All was well until they hit up the last bar, a gay bar that seemed pretty niche from the word go. 

"I walked into the bar and literally every guy there looked like different versions of George from Seinfeld," he said. This made me laugh. I mean, how many Georges could there be in one place? According to Curly, it was a whole house full. He went to the bar and ordered a drink, then asked Todd to hold said drink while he went to the bathroom. Todd gremised. Apparently, this was a bad idea.

"The guys here are really into piss play," he informed Curly. "They pretty much pee on each other in the bathroom."

Who takes their date to some type of pee palace piss kink nightmare club on a date?! Curly didn't have time to think about it. He really had to pee. He went to the bathroom, and what he saw was horrifying. First off, the floor was pretty much saturated in urine. And there were no uninals, just some type of group pee troft and a stall with no door. Listening to him describe it, it sounded like a bathroom in some type of overseas men's prison. There was only one man in there at the moment, and he was visibly disappointed when Curly left the bathroom after he relieved himself and didn't stick around for a pee party. On the ride home, Todd seemed a bit confused by Curly's attitude. I mean, what's the big deal about taking someone you like romantically to some type of open diaper den? 

The moral of this story? These guys either openly don't give a sh$t or they are setting you up to get peed on. Now, if that doesn't sound like an awesome, swingin' dating scene, I don't know what does! 

Down With The Dusty (Another Risky Business Story)

Risky Business got stood up for four dates in one weekend. You can't make this up. Her two Saturday dates stood her up and so did her Sunday dates. I mean, how is a woman supposed to bounce back from something like that?!

I think the problem lies in the caliber of guy she talks to. They are all from this dating app known for securing hookups and the guys seem to be total flakes! A couple of them would not come to the restaurant until it was confirmed that sex would be guaranteed afterwards. The conservative community would blame feminism on the rise of male dustiness. I think that some guys are prone to dustiness and there is nothing that can be done short of round housing them in the face and kicking them out of the dating pool. By early Sunday morning she'd given up and decided to drown her sorrows in chicken wings. Who hasn't been there, am I right ladies??

My prayer for Risky and my other single friends is that they find love. But how can one make it to love when these guys can't even make it to confirmed dinner plans? I don't know. What I do know is it is only March. I'm positive that there is more dustiness on the horizon. 

Liar, Liar

The other morning was a very difficult one with my nephew. I am finding that getting him ready for school is playing out more like peace negotiations these days, but today he was really in rare form. Although he had new and clean shirts to wear to school, he tried to wear the shirt he wore the day before, knowing that was not okay. Then I told him to brush his teeth. He went in the bathroom then came back out, claiming he did it. I asked to smell his breath, then he tells me he didn't do it because he couldn't find his toothbrush. This is lie two or three if you count the stunt with his shirt. I gave him a new toothbrush and he comes back saying he brushed his teeth again. I ask to smell his breath. He then reveals he didn't brush because he can't find the toothpaste, three or four.

I know that he is just a kid and that none of this seems like a big deal, but I am concerned with his need to lie about even the smallest, most unimportant things. If not handled now, I see this only getting worse with age until he inevitably hot-wires my aunt's car! I remember these little white lie mischievous boys from when I was a kid. In middle age, the reports are not good. One of them is in jail. I'm mortified! 

He marched out the door to get on the school bus, upset because I told him that if he keeps trying to skip brushing his teeth, I'm going to brush them for him. He turned his back to me to leave, and I got a glimpse of him at 17, flipping me off and saying something smart under his breath. It was bone-chilling! You know, the consensus is that boys are easier to raise. Please! Whoever said that is a liar, liar pants on fire. 

The Customer Theory

Yesterday, I went out on a coffee date with a Black Republican. He has a lot of interesting views, many of which I don't share. However, he did discuss something with me that I think deserves some unpacking. I'm referring to it as "The Customer Theory". 

Let's call this man Coffee. Coffee said that, once upon a time, he was striking out with women. So, he researched what women want and took steps to become that. He refers to this process as "understanding the customer". He found that female customers didn't like lanky guys, so he gained weight. They liked professionally dressed men, so he changed his look. He basically changed himself to be what women want, now he has better lucky with ladies. He then challenged me, and women in general, to understand who their customer is and make changes. 

I think I have always understood this without giving it a name. The issue is that I felt that things my customers wanted I couldn't achieve. I couldn't be petite. I couldn't temper my opinions. So, I guess somewhere a long the line, I gave up on pleasing my customer because doing so was over my pay grade. How was I going to become Beyonce over my? Yet, at my big age, this something I'm willing to revisit. Maybe there are small things I can do to present myself as more of a contender. But I'm not dying my hair blonde or something. That would be stupid. 

The Case of the Declarers

Of late, I find that men that I refer to as Declarers have made themselves more present in my life. These are men that make some type of grand declaration, without provocation, then don't follow through. A great example of this are the two guys this week that proposed going on dates then didn't follow through. I was good with us getting to know each other by phone and had not applied any pressure to meet. They did that on their own then, for reasons unknown, dropped the mission. The actions of Declarer men really hurt my feelings. Then they annoyed me. Now I am realizing that single women of any age can just expect this type of liar- liar sassiness out of many of today's men. Not all, but many. 

My research has found that many Declarers also end up being Block Circlers. So, after they make their declaration then flunk, they go ghost then circle the block and come back when they feel you have forgotten their last fumble. At first, I thought I was missing something. I mean, what type of guys would be so icky? Declarer Block Circlers, that's who! 

P often says that women can't take accountability for anything. With that being said, I take accountability for their being something about me that keeps attracting these sad sacks; that makes them feel safe. So, I guess there is more self work on my end that needs to be done. In the meantime inbetween time, be safe out here ladies. 

Sex, Lies, and Video Calls

Guys, I don't know what to say about this late in life dating. Talking to these men, you don't know what to believe, and they are also openly and incredibly sexual to have just met you. Everything is rushed. They want to call you Monday then meet up on Tuesday. It's overwhelming and disappointing. This week, during an introductory video call, a gentleman "accidentally" flashed me his bro bits! I couldn't believe it, but one of my homegirls said that she had a video call where a dude tried to play off showing his whole behind. Men are literally showing their a$$es out here! What is left to do after you make this realization? I guess I just thought men from 35-50 would be different than the guys I met who were 18-30. I thought they'd be more gentlemanly and more mature. I think what they've done is acted up during their youth and now they have perfected their crazy! As I march on in the Find A Man parade, I am constantly reminded of how old-fashioned I am for this new age dating landscape. Maybe I am an old lady. Pardon me for thinking that during a get to know you call, a guy would keep his bits in the bag. 

Soft

The other night, Lisha, again, pointed out that I am not "soft" in my delivery and interaction with men. She has declared that she is in her "Soft Girl Era", and that men are attracted to softer women. Hm. This sounded familiar, and I began to have flashbacks of my grandma begging me to wear more dresses and stop being so loud. I know that no situation is black and white, but I sadly tend to operate in extremes. When I think of myself being softer, I imagine myself wearing rags, cooking over an open-fire stove, while whispering to passersby that I detest my right to vote. 

Lisha then began to coach me on talking to guys. I need to ask more intriguing questions because guys like feeling like they are telling you something. She said a bunch of other stuff that very well may have been the key to the game, but after a while, she started to sound like Charlie Brown's mom. It seems like being softer just means playing dumb so that he can feel like a big, smart stud muffin. In return for inflating his ego he'll treat you like a lady. I could be wrong here, but I don't think so. 

I have never, ever been good at playing dumb. I find it's best to let a guy know I'm smarter than him right from the jump. I tried the clueless routine once, but it came to a screeching halt the day I could no longer listen to said guy's flagrant incorrectness. 

"That's not true," I said as sweetly as I could. 

"What?" he asked confused. 

"There is actually a huge difference between womanist and feminist thought," I chirped politely. What ensued was a very unfortunate exchanged which nipped us in the bud fast. It was then that I learned how rough being soft can be. 

So I won't be making that mistake again, even though Lisha claims the results could be life changing. What is the point of dating if you have to be someone else? 

What?

I was chatting with a man on the fatty app and he told me that he is looking for a woman who would be okay with never seeing him because he works a lot and is trying super hard to get rich🫤 Who would be okay with that?! It has become more socially acceptable to say how you really feel, but it feels like people are doing this despite how looney they sound. I mean, is no one listening to their inner voices anymore before they speak?? As I have gotten older, my ear has gotten sharper, and of late I have been hearing a lot of open delusions, contradictions, tall tales, misrepresentations, misunderstandings, miseducations, and falsehoods. They all sound loco and they are leaving me in a constant state of bewilderment and confusion. Does anyone know what they are talking about?? I cannot go a full day without hearing some eye-crossing gibberish. I am a naturally talkative person, but the state of things has caused me to silence myself and really listen. What I have concluded is that there is a lot of talking but next to no thinking on even the simplest of matters. I'd say this is a new normal, but I don't think that's the case. I think it has only gotten worse and we will continue to speed towards a decline until we are only communicating in animal grunts. I don't know. Maybe that will be better. 

Half

At the moment, my life is in a silent chaos. I can not seem to finish anything I start. My Netflix account says it all. I am greeted by movies and shows I have yet to finish. I don't seem to have the desire or the attention span. Everything is half done. My hair is half combed. My room is half clean. I can only seem to be half awake during my phone conversations. I have fallen asleep on the phone with my friend Curly twice now. I am generally half engaged in life. This is no bueno, seeing that there are things going on that need my full attention. I just don't have it, whatever "it" is. I'm choosing to blame the time and season changes, but I'm only half sure that's even a thing. 

Tales of the Unrequited 3 pt 2: Twinkles

I did not like the Elephant Person that Twinkles ended up marrying. I don't know if I disliked her because she was worthy of disliking, or because I was jealous because she was dating someone I believed I was in love with. The lines can be blurred. All I know is that I thought she was just what the doctor ordered in the beginning. She was making him be serious about school. Then there was a sharp turn when they got serious-serious, and I could feel Twinkles pulling away from me as a friend and it freaked me out. Harsh lesson three million and six: when you think you are in love with someone who doesn't love you and they find someone they do love, brace yourself for the heartache and disappointment. Remember what Sweet taught me: the one he wants to f&$k will always come first, even for the guys you think are "different". Take it from me, there is no "different", not deep down. Originally, I thought I was imagining the pullback until our mutual friends' wedding. He showed up with the Elephant Person which was shocking. I didn't even know he was coming to Atlanta. How could he be my friend and not even tell me he was coming to town? I guess the same way he himself could get married some time later and not invite me to his wedding.  

"Hey, it's Twinkles," one of my friends announced. 

I wanted to wave but it was clear he was making a conscious effort not to look at me, even though he and the Elephant Person literally sat in front of me. 

I could have reached out and thumped him in the back of the neck he was so close. After the wedding, I went into the reception hall and stood at the bar, contemplating if I wanted a drink, when Twinkles took a spot right beside me. 

"Hey!" He exclaimed as if he hadn't just ignored me for like an hour.

"Hey?" I looked over his shoulder and around the room, but I did not see the Elephant Person. 

For about two minutes, Twinkles was his old self, chattering about nothing, then the Elephant Person came out of the bathroom and he raced from the bar and away from me while I was in mid sentence. You can't get much clearer than that. 

After he got married, we still talked, but I noticed he was only calling me when he was not around Elephant Person which made me begin to feel like a secret friend. Sigh. When is it appropriate to call your platonic male friend that is married? I had this same issue with Country after he jumped the broom. All I know is that I got scared to call Twinkles. I didn't want to get him in trouble, for he had insinuated once that the Elephant Person didn't like me. Overtime, he would stop calling me, and just like that, one of my favorite people had vanished from my life. This should have been good practice for the Brownie Nightmare, but it turns out that there is not enough practice to prepare you for losing a good friend. 

I texted Twinkles about homecoming late last year. It was a very short and sterile exchange. He has kids now, a good job, and as far as I know is living the life with his family. I wonder if he ever wonders what I'm up to. Not hearing from him in almost ten years would indicate that he doesn't, which is sad because, when he was able to be, he was a good friend. 

Tales of the Unrequited 6: The African Prince

The whole thing with The African Prince wasn't even a thing until my then friend, now ex friend, Wadley (who friend dumped me through a third party by making our mutual bestie a middle man, a story for another time) came to visit me at my grandma's apartment and showed her his picture! "Look Ms. Ruth," she said, getting up from the dining room table with a picture in hand, "this is the boy that Holly likes." It really isn't her fault. She didn't know the firecracker that she was lighting.  

Let's start at the very beginning. This boy in my graduating class, the one from the dreaded pen pal incident, declared one day that his younger brother was coming to visit the school and would potentially be attending the next year. I didn't think much about it. Then, not long after this announcement, I walked into the university center and saw him with his brother's friends. I didn't know whether to laugh or to scream. WHO ON EARTH HAS A YOUNGER BROTHER THAT GORGEOUS?! It was bewildering! He had to have still been in high school, and he looked like some type of African James Bond! It felt like a joke! For one, if my younger sister were that hot, I probably would have allowed her to slip on a banana peel. To give this moment context, it felt as incredible as if I had announced my kid sister had come to visit and then Nia Long walked in the room! He was tall and chocolatey and had a beautiful smile. If I were him, I would have skipped college and tried my hand at male modeling or something. 

The African Prince did end up coming to my college. He was younger than me, but every girl knew who he was. I will say that he is different from the other unrequiteds because I can honestly say we don't know each other. I never even had a chance moment with him, which would have been enough to get the love ball rolling for me. We just know each other, like everyone who goes to an HBCU knows each other. Like I said, he was younger than me. We didn't have classes together. We didn't have the same friends. We never really talked. But I saw him all the time, and when I saw him, I made sure to get in a good, long, really long, super long, look. I thought he was hot then, he is even hotter now, respectfully of course. He is married with kids. 

Now fast-forward to the Wadley debacle. I literally watched her in slow motion walk that picture over to my grandma. Poor Wadley. She didn't know the history of my grandma being disappointed and hurt that I went through the entirety of my college career uncoupled. She was mortified that I was gay. When I went to the homecoming events in Memphis during Hurricane Katrina, she was excited to hear that I was getting a dress and even bothering to go, but was devastated when she heard I was going with Big Homie Saans. "Grandma, I may never, ever have a boyfriend," I said to her over the phone. Her disappointment in my not going on the boat ride with a guy had put a pin in my balloon about the whole thing. "Guys don't like me, I don't know what you want me to tell you." This is probably why she took the photo out of Wadley's hand and studied it like a rare jewel, then she waved the picture in my direction, relieved. "See, I knew there was someone," she said, excited. 

Yikes. 

Not too long after that incident, my grandma was officially diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease. If you read this blog often, you know I am mortified of getting it. If you have never dealt with this disease, you have no idea the pain of watching the mind of someone you love crumble. She often could not remember me, my aunt, or my mom's names. She referred to the three of us collectively as her daughters. The doctor told me that her short-term memory was toast, which was crazy to hear. I had known her my whole life, and I was in her short-term memory? Ouch. Anyway, during one visit, she looked over at me and asked, "Where is Holly? I think she is mad at me."

I looked into her eyes and could tell that my grandma was there. You see, with this disease, the person you remember can come back in flashes. 

"I am Holly," I said to her from her bedside. "I could never be mad at you."

She smiled. Yep, she was in the room. I wanted to tell her so much, but I didn't want to overload her. You see, these flashes of normality can be fleeting. I just wanted to sit with her in it. 

She took a deep breath and took my hand. They were cold, even though she was covered in blankets. 

"Holly?" she said again. 

"Yes, Grandma? I'm here."

In that moment, she looked so excited. "So, how are things with you and Femi?"

Tales of the Unrequited 5: Golden Boy

The story of Golden Boy has a lot of arms to it. We will skip the part where my grandma wanted me to marry him the moment she saw him my freshman year, and we will save the tale of how he almost killed me on Halloween 2006 for another time. I will stick to the details pertinent to the whole unrequited theme. The most important thing to understand is that if you questioned Golden Boy today about "our" story, he would not be aware that there is one, and I guess there isn't one outside of my own mind. It's funny the role you can play in someone's life, both real and fantasy, and not even know it. Funny or scary. I guess it depends on who you ask. 

Out of all my unrequited loves, his was the shortest lived, only because my infatuation with him morphed into a desire to solve the case of him. A life long fan of the show "Ghost Writer", I found myself observing him from a distance, keeping track of his clues in my metaphoric composition book. Yes he was fine. Yes he had a commanding presence. Yet, those things were not what drew me to him. 

In school, I never missed an opportunity to talk to Golden Boy not just because he was hot and to collect clues, but also because he has an AMAZING voice! He has truly missed his calling narrating erotic books for Audible. During one conversation, I felt something radiate off of him that knocked the air out of my lungs. I'm no tree hugging crystal kisser, but I guess I'd call it an energy. I now know that I'm empathetic, but back then I didn't, and this "energy" I contracted from him stayed with me for days. It was familiar but felt heavy, and made me feel like I needed to use my inhaler. 

"Maybe he just gave you a cold," one of my smart a$$ friends suggested. Maybe, but no. I didn't feel sick. I felt sad. And then I realized what he put down that I picked up and couldn't shake: it was pain! Who knows pain better than me?!

GIRL!!! If you want me to really fall for a man, bring me a man that needs to be fixed! Golden Boy showed me in vivid color this disease I have of wanting to heal a broken man, or a man I conclude is broken because remember, I don't know him, at least not well. What could the cause of the pain be for a man this gorgeous and this popular? I nearly jumped out of my skin thinking of the possibilities. 

What ever the issue was, I knew I could fix it. All I needed was to know something about him. 

Spoiler: no one knows anything about him. I have asked casual questions about him over the years, and the answers have been vague. Very vague. Three years of investigating and all I know for sure is that he's in a frat and of Caribbean descent I think. No one has confirmed or denied this. My grandma thought he was African. Maybe🤷 He is also married to a woman no one has ever seen or met. The brotha is a mystery! 

When I saw him recently, I didn't feel what I thought I felt before. He just felt sexy, per usual. Perhaps I had imagined the "energy" all those years ago, or maybe his M.I.A wife loved the energy out of him. If so, good job. I doubt I would have been able to do it even if given the chance but I tell you one thing: I would have tried. 

Tales of the Unrequited 4: Country

I met Country in a useless university course that was intended to teach freshmen about the school and get them in the habit of waking up early. A no-credit course at 8am on a Friday. How ungodly. Country sat in the back of the class with me. He was tall and handsome and self-assured and had a country accent that was so deep at the time that it almost sounded fake. He was my first official college love, and we had a ball together. We could joke all day. And he was super nice. When I think of being into him back then, I just feel really innocent and excited. Aw, to be excited about someone. Bring back those days. 

Let's be clear: I was not the only one into Country. He was literally tall, dark, and handsome and girls way hotter than me were interested, yet I never saw him with anyone. I thought he had really high standards. I found out later that he was just secretly hooking up with chicks without my knowledge. Yikes. 

My love for Country could have possibly become a forever love if I wouldn't have been confronted with the fact that he had a girlfriend head on. Early sophomore year, I got off the elevator in my dorm on my friend Laya's floor. I was going to visit her when I was ear accosted by the sound of Country and some girl having sex. It was like a bucket of cold water to my face. I don't know. Wading in my love for him I had convinced myself that he wasn't interested in dating. After that day I would find out that he and SheWhoShallNotBeNamed had been in their situation for a minute before I found out. Surprise, surprise. 

The good part about this bad news and the way I found out was that it caused my bubble to pop quick and bring me back to life, back to reality. Country and I would never, ever be a thing. Ever. But if I could get over that, I could have a bestie, which ended up being awesome. We are still close to this day. 

The Country situation showed me that you can be friends with someone you once really liked if you can get over it. I'm glad I did, since I'd never been able to before. In the long run, I got to witness him get married and have a family, which has been super dope! If only my other unrequited nightmares had similar endings. My next two years of school would be littered with them. Not all of them ended in a Country fashion. But then again, not all of my unrequiteds were as nice as Country. 

Tales of the Unrequited 3 pt. 1: Twinkles

If the purpose of loving someone is to learn lessons, the lesson I learned from my unrequited love for Twinkles was a hard one about what happens to an opposite-sex platonic friendship when the male in the group gets married... to someone you don't like and who doesn't like you. 

Twinkles came out of nowhere. It was like, one day I didn't know him, and the next day I did. It was like he just appeared! He wasn't gross and crude the way that young guys can be. I think it was because he was older than me, but even today, I cannot tell you by how much. He was funny and kind, with a childlike spirit. He kind of put me in mind of child Simba or Winnie the Pooh. He was like a big, tall kid. And he was spiritual. Like for real. I had witnessed him pray for things, and the prayer be answered in real time! It was crazy! Being around him made me happy, and that is saying a lot, because I just may be the most negative person that I know. He just radiated positive energy. And much like the other unrequiteds, I am sure that he was pretty aware of how much I liked him. I have never been good at hiding my real feelings on anything. Yet, he still hung out with me. 

One of the worst things about being friends with someone you love is that you most certainly will have to watch them like someone else. Twinkles had a huge crush on our friend Trina, who, although sweet, was a bit of an airhead. She was skinny and pretty with long hair. Again, I was confronted with someone I liked liking someone who I could never be, which will break you if you let it. However, Trina didn't like him. Isn't that the way of the world? I guess you could say that situation should have prepared me for the one that would like him back, the woman he would marry. 

When you are young, you don't know things until you know them, and what I didn't know in my early 20s was what it would be like to maintain a friendship with a guy who was getting married, especially to someone outside of your friend group who really isn't in to you. You see, I graduated college and Twinkles went on to pharmacy school and that is when he met the Elephant Person he would marry. She too seemed to come out of nowhere. I had never heard of her until he called me to tell me he was torn between two girls, the tall chick with the pretty Afro and the Elephant Person. This made me nervous seeing that right before graduation, one of the Elephant People had threatened to kill me, but that is a story for another time. Regardless, I was on the side of the Elephant Person because she was making him be serious about school. As fond as I was of Twinkles, he could be a slack ass. He was the type that would pay attention in class just enough to get a C instead of study hard to get an A. I imagine she was the one that also introduced him to the incredibly slow ghost technique, because our friendship simmered down to a drip until I wouldn't hear from him in years. More to come. 

Tales of the Unrequited 2: Sweet

People can break your heart and not know it; and not mean it. This was the unfortunate takeaway I took from Sweet. 

I met Sweet on one of the greatest nights of my life. I was a sophomore, and I won $100 twerking at a basketball game. Big Homie Saans had snuck us down to the good seats, so I had to get my money and literally run before they asked to check my ticket stub. Later that night, we went to a party at The Municipal Auditorium. Me and Saans got some drinks at the bar and turned around to see a very thin Sweet in an oversized red Dicky's short set. He asked if we could buy him a drink because he wasn't old enough to get it himself. Not too long after, Hurricane Katrina would happen. Upon return to school, he would play a major role in the greatest year of my life...before it went south. 

There are some things you should know about Sweet. He moves to the beat of his own drum. He is unusually cool. Nothing seems to shake him. Always happy. Unbelievably confident. This guy would wear things that you could never imagine a guy his age who was concerned about fitting in would wear. People had remarks about his avant-garde style of dress. He didn't care. Sweet was incredibly confident. I was so attracted to confident guys because I lacked confidence, and Sweet had enough to spread around. 

Here is something else I learned from Sweet: never tell a friend you like a guy. My friendship with Bells almost collapsed during my junior year because I told her I liked Sweet, she said he was corny, then a few weeks later, she told me she had made out with him. I felt like I was dying inside for months after that. And as if that wasn't enough, Brownie broke the news to me that the kiss wasn't a one off. Apparently, after we'd all stop hanging out for the night, they would meet up and make out. Oh, the messy betrayal of it all! 

All has been forgiven now. That was over 20 years ago, and Bells and Sweet both are my forever friends. But the biggest part of this heartbreak was not the behind-the-back stuff; it was being confronted head-on with what I already knew but didn't want to say aloud: I would never be Sweet's type. Bells was petite with a really nice body. I was not. The end. My feelings for him were also pretty obvious. How could he make out with my friend and not care about how it would hurt me? Let me tell you something about even the sweetest guys: they typically don't care. Your feelings will always come after their gratification or desire to satisfy an urge. Yes, every time. 

My romantic love for Sweet would last far into my 20s. It became too heavy, and I had to put it down. It didn't make sense having such deep feelings for someone who would NEVER return them. Plus, I wanted to try putting some of that energy into a man who could possibly like me back. Spoiler alert: that ended in disaster as well. 

Today, Sweet and I talk pretty often about life, politics, and college memories. I tell him I love him at the end of every call, and I do, but as a friend. And I'm good with that. He's a good friend. He's super sweet.