Grown and Worried

Sadly, this may be a repetitive theme on my blog but I have to say it again: I am surprised by the amount of fear associated with getting older. I know that many people associate youth with freedom and to an extent, I do too. At 20, I remember feeling really free speeding through New Orleans in Workman's SUV, him a little drunk and me with no fear that we could crash. At the same time, the last 20 years of my life have been stuffed with anxiety around money and success and goals and love and so on. For some reason, I believed I'd feel more fearless as I got older. I'm finding the opposite to be true. It seems like everyday presents something new to be fearful about. 

Tonight's fear de jure comes from anxiety around my mammogram. The mammogram itself was such a nightmare that I'm fearful about my results. At 41, shouldn't I be planning a girl's trip or doing something else that a middle-aged woman secure in her existence should be doing? I guess not because it's midnight and I'm unnerved, blogging in the dark about my mammogram. And if it weren't the mammogram it would be something else. I'm ready for the footloose and fancy free period of my life. I am all cried out and all worried out. Where is the grown woman happy and fun? Let's get to it already. PLEASE. 

That is all. 

No D For Me Please

I believe in a lot of things. Bigfoot. Aliens. Parallel Universes. However, I have a hard time digesting the Zodiac. It sounds like a bunch of hocus pocus. Yet, if it's real, I am eager to know just how the stars in my system are aligned that would make it so that I would be inundated with D pics. I mean, what is really going on?!

I have so enjoyed my conversations with New Man. He is funny and super cool, and the other night, we had a video call date. He showed me his room and his wall projector that makes it look like there are blue jellyfish on his wall. I was just really enjoying this innocent, curious getting-to-know-you phase. It was fun, it was flirty, and in one call, New Man "accidentally" catapulted us into some XXX limbo. 

When I called New Man for our next video call, the video part wasn't working. So, I told him to give me a second to figure it out, and I would call him back. It took a minute, but I got the video to work, and he was like, "Hey, you are going to get some texts. Just ignore them." Just as he said that, a number of pictures came to my phone from him. The first three were pics of him in his A-Town fitted, which he had already sent me. But then the next were unsolicited D pics!

"What?! Why?!" I cried.  

"I don't know, I was being dumb. Forget I sent them," he said, mildly embarrassed. 

"I mean, are you drunk?" I asked. 

"No."

"Are you high?"

"Not really."

I frowned looking at the pics. Why would he do this?

"Hey, fix your face!" he exclaimed. Sadly, I forgot my video was on, and he could see me frowning, with hard emphasis on the frown, at his D pics. There was no way I could forget he sent these. Now, I don't know where we are, if that makes sense. 

As if that wasn't shocking enough, another guy that I was messaging on the Fatty App sent me a good morning message, accompanied by a D pic taken in the shower. Again, another unsolicited photo! I didn't reply to it, and he asked me if he had offended me. I asked why he sent it. He said it was because he "liked what he saw". HAVE ALL THE MEN GONE LOCO?! Or is it just the fatty-loving, sex-obsessed horn toads that I entertain? Sadly, I think I know the answer. 

I know that in today's dating landscape, D pics are apparently no big deal and part of conducting business as usual. But I'm like, have men never seen their own junk? It's no basket of kittens. I think that I am also confused because you couldn't pay me to send anyone a pic like that. And as dumb as this may sound, I don't get the purpose for them. I mean, a woman assumes her guy has a D, like duh! Is the pic supposed to be proof??

I took New Man's advice. I am pretending that the pics were never sent. I find more joy in seeing the jellyfish on his wall. 

Maria Drives By

A couple of months ago, after declaring that she was going to put herself out there to find a man, my friend Maria found one at a sports bar almost immediately after making the statement. His name is Sugar. Since then, they had been spending a lot of time together, even though they are not boyfriend and girlfriend officially yet. Everything was going well until he went almost a weekend without contacting her. They made up after that, but I think that lapse in communication raised her antenas when it comes to him. As you probably know, once a woman is put on alert, it's hard to get her off of it. 

The other night, Maria was out with friends when she realized she wasn't but a few minutes from Sugar's house. So, she decided to do what any crazy girl worth her salt would do and drive by Sugar's house to see what he was up to. 

"I prayed that there wasn't another car in his driveway," she admitted. Listening to the story, I prayed there wasn't one either. It would have only taken a second for that situation to become a Worldstar moment.

Maria jumped in her car and headed over to Sugar's street only to stop short at the stop sign. She was right behind Sugar, who was about to turn into his driveway. Maria hung back and laid low, watching him go into his house alone, no hoochies detected. 

The fact that he was alone didn't make me feel better. For my friend over 40 to pull this 20-something BS, I know she has to like him more than I originally thought. And when you like a man like this, it starts with drive-bys and ends with a restraining order. I'm eager to see where this goes. Hopefully, it leads to happiness and not more secret creep-ups in the dark. 

Not The Gram pt. 2

I had my second mammogram today, and I should have known that it was going to be a doozy when I didn't have any anxiety around it. I had one last year, so I knew how the show was supposed to go. With that being said, I still ended up anxious, panicked, and in tears. 

The woman who did my mammogram last year had just left before I checked in, which was a shame because, even though I panicked last year as well, she was a nice island lady. She gave me a hug and told me to walk more. Needless to say, this new lady was not her. She asked me my weight, and I told her it's a lot, but I have lost a little because I am on a GLP-1. She then began to tell me this horrifying story about the people she has heard of who have taken GLP-1s and gone blind! 

"I heard about one guy who went completely blind," she said nonchalantly. "Then a patient told me she knew one lady that lost one of her eyes."

This comment woke my anxiety up immediately, and it only got worse as she roughly contorted my boobs into that machine. I didn't remember the last one hurting like this one did. It was like she was trying to get my whole collar in the shot. Then she pinched me with the machine, and I screamed! She apologized, but then proceeded to pull on my arm all weird. I eventually needed a break to sit down and cry hysterically, a little something I do when my anxiety hits the roof. 

Once the mammogram was finally over, she said that I would hear something in a week and I would get a letter in the mail. 

"I didn't get a letter last year," I said, suspiciously. 

"Yeah, they will send you a letter. Some older people need a letter and don't look online."

This statement made my anxiety feel like it was shooting out of the top of my head and through the ceiling! On top of this, the lady from last year looked at my images and said that they looked good. This lady didn't do that. I can't tell if it is because they didn't look good and she didn't want to be the one to tell me, or because she had no desire to put my mind at ease. 

After this mammogram, my body was sore like I had been in a fight. My aunt offered to take me to get food, but my shoulder locked up and felt so bad from when she pulled on my arm that she had to bring me home! As I lay here typing this, everything aches. I haven't even had time to go into full hysterical mode over my results. I am just lying here, trying not to make things worse. 

As horrible as this was, I have to remind you all that mammograms are super serious and part of the whole lady experience. You have to go get them done. Hopefully, next year, I won't have to undergo a beating to get one. 

The Rant

At about 3am this morning, I had a bit of a health issue, and I reached out to three of my friends. Two of them, I presume, were asleep. Risky Business was not. Of course she was not. She is my middle-of-the-night phone friend. However, she was busy, I guess, and said she couldn't talk but could text, and I found myself enraged! Not just with her, but with my overall, played-out, Saved By The Bell, Girl Scouty definition of friendship. Here is the short and tall of it- I am single and alone in my tears and my fears, and that is what it is, and it sucks, but here we are. There are other people I could call, I guess, but many of them sleep with their phones off, which is beautiful. I'm glad that somebody is out here getting their Zs because I am not. I don't think I have ever been unavailable to anyone that I love, ever! I mean, my phone is turned off now because what else can you do when you realize the lack of general f*&ks that are given about you? But for the past however many decades I have had a personal cell phone, I have woken up out of my sleep for a friend in need. When I think of all the time I have invested in friends on the phone for hours, talking them through breakups, heartaches, divorces, work drama, anger, and all types of stuff, only to be met with boundaries and voicemails and middle fingers in return, it makes me want to scream! I have asked this question over the years, but perhaps it is due time for me to ask this question one mo' 'gin: IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK TO BE A F&CKING PRIORITY TO SOMEONE, ANYONE IN MY LIFE?! The fact that I am typing this up and not crying to one of the homies tells us all we need to know, in my opinion. I cried for about an hour, and I will undoubtedly cry some more later, but my eyes are dry at the moment, and the situation is clear as day. I can feel a hard, armadillo-esque shell forming over me, and it's going to need to get harder if things are about to shake the way that I think they are. 

Disappointingly Disappointed

It's 2:42am and I am sad because I didn't get a text from New Man yesterday. Just in case you needed clarity yes, I'm 41-years-old, sittin' up in my room like Brandy sad over a guy. I ate my dinner leftovers that I was trying to save for breakfast, and the cherry on top is that my knee hurts, making every position I take in my bed uncomfortable. As I lay her typing this, all I can think about is how disappointing all of this is, and how I find myself constantly dealing with a lurking, shadowy sense of disappointment. I'm disappointed in everything and everybody. I called Boots to sing her a Toni Braxton song reflective of my mood. She didn't answer. I'm disappointed in myself for not being able to take life on the chin. Sigh. Time to try to sleep. 

Coffee Goes Cold

Coffee has decided to abstain. Apparently, being 50 and afraid that you have contracted Trich will do it. 

If you do not remember who Coffee is, he is the handsome Black Republican that I went on a coffee date with last spring. Upon getting to know him, getting to know all about him, I discovered that he had a harem of women that I nicknamed "The Honies" who he had wild sex with on a rolling basis. He was also on a Sugar Daddy site and admitted to once upon a time frequenting call girls. He told me that the call girl-frequenting life is dangerous. You could get robbed or beat up by a pimp, so he focused his scope on hot single mothers that were willing to do something strange for a little bit of change. I mean, this guy was pumping out CashApp payments to distressed mommies across the city, needing a helping hand after some wild nights. 

"You don't get it because you have support from your family," he had once told me. "But these ladies work two jobs and still need help with food and rent. The average woman in Atlanta only makes $20 an hour." So, as a 6-figure earner himself, what was $100 here and there to the moms from the threesomes? He was here to help!

I have to say, this lifestyle seemed extreme to me, an elder virgin who spends her days babysitting a 2-year-old, but it seemed to fit him like a glove until recently, when he had a couple of experiences. 

One of The Honies reached out to him for a donation to get surgery for her dog. 

"Sorry, I'm not tricking anymore," he told her. Apparently, today's economy has even made things tight for him, and he no longer desires to fork out money to chicks, especially if he is not sleeping with them. She got a major attitude and brought up some of their past acts together, which really pissed him off. 

"I had to remind her that I had given her almost $1000 this year already! I told her to block me," he said, annoyed. 

I understood why the exchange could help to lead him to a life of abstinence, but that wasn't even the cherry on top. The cherry on top was Cherry, an old friend he had recently been with that called him panicked because she thought she had Trich. She wasn't sure, but the doctor suspected it during the virtual visit and prescribed meds. Coffee sent her the money to pay for the meds, afraid he had given her the disease, only to go get checked out himself and not have it. The experience has soured him to the point that he has clocked out of sex, which is funny because, in the past, he has contracted more serious things, took the meds, and returned condomless back to the ring. 

Coffee seems so relieved to have given up his "Daddy" status. He reports a surplus of cash and a clear mind. Apparently, not being worried about payouts and positive test results will automatically take a lot off of your plate. 

"So, is this a forever thing?" I inquired. 

I could feel him shrug over the phone. "I will tell you like I tell the real estate agents who call my house, wanting to know if I am willing to sell. I'm good for now, but who knows what the case will be in six months?"

I guess we will have to see. 

New Man, Mixed Messages

Pardon me if I have been absent, but indeed I have been chatting it up with a new man. I don't want you to get too excited about him because it is very new, and I am trying not to get too excited about him because it is very new, but I do like him. I have shared my developments with New Man with a couple of my friends and, per usual, they have had a lot to say. 

You see, for years, these friends have told me that I was closed off and that I needed to be open to meeting someone. They encouraged me to go out more and join dating apps. These were the same friends who made sure to tell me, as many times as humanly possible, that I wasn't going to find my guy complaining at home, and that I needed to step out on faith and lead with my heart. Oddly enough, these same friends are encouraging me to now lead with suspicion. You guessed it, P is one of these friends. 

The other day, I told P about how New Man told me this fantastical story from his youth that had me on the edge of my seat! I really feel like it could be a movie! P, of course, did not feel the same way. 

"That story doesn't even make sense," he said dryly. "Man, you will believe anything these men tell you. Did you even ask any follow-up questions?"

Just to be clear, this is the same P that has consistently gotten on me about thinking that all men are liars and being a "man-hater". Now that I am trying to participate in the dating world that he encouraged me join time and time again, he seems to be annoyed that I believe even the most minute thing New Man, and other men, have said to me. He kind of makes me feel dumb about it. 

Lisha has been the same way; not about New Man but about Coffee. This is funny because she is Little Miss Soft Life, encouraging me to listen with my heart. Yet, when I would tell her interesting things about Coffee, she was clearly listening with a raised eyebrow. 

"I think this man is cap," she said flatly. "Sometimes, I wonder if he is legit or if he is just sitting over there lying to you."

I gotta say kids, I feel like I am receiving mixed messages. 

The running story for years has been that I am bitter and distrustful, and I do not want that to be my story. P and Lisha are prime examples of friends who, over the years, have been at the forefront of encouraging me to make changes so that wouldn't be my story. Now, it feels like they want me to wear an "I'm Trusting" hat at the same time as an "I Don't Believe You" hat. The thing is, I only have one head. They want me to have one head and be of two minds, which I know is possible but also difficult and consuming. 

If being the friend with no man watching everyone's relationships has taught me anything, it's this: suspicion is cancerous to the healthy cells of a couple. One minute, your relationship is healthy and vibrant, then BAM! The infectious dishonesty makes its way into the relationship and, before you know it, your relationship is terminal and on life support. I have seen what it is to second-guess everything a partner tells you, and it just doesn't work. I want my relationships to work. 

At their cores, I just think that P and Lisha don't want me to be a dummy and get played. I don't want that for myself either. I am deciding to not believe New Man only if he gives me a reason not to. I am not going to expect lies or look for them, but I will be prepared for them if they are to arise. Really, I think that is all I can do. 

Anxious As Nails

One way I have always been able to temperature-check my mood is by my desire to paint my nails. I know that sounds silly, but when I am happiest, for some reason, I like to see that reflected in my nails being painted pretty colors. However, of late, I have been painting my nails while still being incredibly concerned about the world around me. I mean, my anxiety is sky high! 

I know that somehow people are able to build their social media algorithms. Many of my friends go to their social media accounts and only see beauty tips and crockpot recipes. I see people building bunkers and talking about how we are going to run out of power and will starve to death unless we learn how to turn our urine into drinking water and preserve peppers. As scary as this sounds, and it sounds really scary, at least to me, I still have been painting my nails, excited about the variety of pinks and reds I have. 

What is the moral of this story? What, am I like happily worried or something? I think that in my old age I am finally digesting the fact that you can't change what you don't have control over. The world could end in a few days. So, I can either go into complete panic mode or pray that God has mercy on us while I oil my cuticles. If I am going to meet my maker, I am doing so with a full, polished set. 

Quit It!

My friend Chelsea called me seeking emotional and professional support. She quit her job last week because her manager sucks. I asked her if she was still tight with the president of the company. She said she was. I then suggested that she go to her directly and beg for her job back. Chelsea was very annoyed by my feedback, but I honestly couldn't think of anything more helpful to suggest. 

People are out her STRUGGLING! My other friend was out of work for nine months and her bestie was unemployed for over a year. Yet Chelsea was out her quitting her gig? What? Sometimes it's less about pride and more about pay your bills. 

She has ideas on what to do next. I hope they all workout, but the market is cold out here. I'm still standing behind begging for her job back. 

HC Eye Spy- Another Risky Business Story

Risky is one of my top tier friends. She answers the phone when I call her crying in the middle of the night. We check in on each other. We have an understanding that I don't have with my other friends. But today, when she asked me to spy on her ex on social media, I didn't understand. 

"I just need you to tell me what is in his stories, and if he has any new posts with women in them," she instructed.

This was confusing to me, because to my knowledge, she and this guy broke up ages ago. Like, ages ago. She has dated other men, so I don't get why she would care. But you see, I am her friend. Her good friend. Who would I be if I wasn't helping her be crazy? 

When I went to his social media page, I got nervous. Looks like her ex likes to play with guns. Play with guns, drink beer, and smoke cigars. My neck tensed up. Why can't Risky ever couple with anyone normal? 

"New posts with women?" I asked. "I'm surprised this man was able to get with you!" I mean really, how many guns does one guy need?

Just in case you are new here, yes, Risky and I are both middle-aged, lurking on a man's socials to see who he is dating. No, we are not tweens and yes, we know better. 

I am not sure what Risky is thinking, but I do know what it's like to want to keep tabs on someone from your past. The thing is, doing this never, ever contributes anything positive to your future. You end up just feeding into a hang up instead of looking forward to whatever new thing that could be in the cards. However, this is a lesson every woman learns on their own. Until Risky gets her turn in the learnin' chair, I guess I'm playing 007 regarding a heavily armed guy I've never met. Come on, what are friends for? 

The "Third-Person" Pieces 4: Naughty

Holly's world has desexualized her because she is fat and grumpy and generally disliked by men. This has made it easy and exciting for Holly to slip into lust-fueled social media scrolling. She has become a fan of a man that refers to himself as a "content creator" who says nasty things, posts clips of himself working out, and makes money off of adult content that he posts on other sites. Holly desires to see this man naked but refuses to visit his site to do so. What good could come of that? 

Holly feels bad because this man is young, and despite her affections towards his body, hates that he is dishonoring his penis by pushing smut online. She has thought about sending him a message, suggesting that he consider continuing his education, but she doesn't want to be called out on his page and blocked. Then who will she watch do push ups when she's sad? This is a conundrum if there ever was one. 

The "Third-Person" Pieces 3: Death

In college, Holly had a crush on a boy that just recently died of congestive heart failure, and she has taken this harder than expected. It's not like he's the first person she has known to die. On the contrary, her life has been a literal parade of death since her mid 20s. The issue is that Holly has become old enough to understand that 40 isn't old, and is always sad to hear that a young person has gone to glory. There is also something particularly devastating about dying in middle age that she just can't put her finger on. 

Holly secretly believes in parallel and other worlds as well as astral projection. With this being said, she wonders if she could clear her mind then travel to an outer space to ask her deceased college peer what death is like and to reveal any secrets that could help her on Earth. Weird people online that don't comb their hair and wear jingly bracelets say that this is possible. She guesses it would make more sense to visit her mom or grandma, but they'd be irritated she made the trip. What if she couldn't get back home? 

The "Third-Person" Pieces 2: Nostalgic

Of late, Holly has fallen victim to a nostalgic mind set triggered by a therapeutic mental reliving of her childhood. She guesses that the bad old days seem good when your present is in limbo. She reached out to two friends from elementary school which resulted in two fun, long conversations but no returned texts. She has developed a social media crush on a guy she went to middle school with. She likes to pretend that high school never happened. 

Holly is not one of those people that wastes time wishing she could go back in time; however, she would like it if her past had grown and morphed into a present that wasn't so tragic. 

Holly listens to podcasts where positive people talk about taking charge and making changes in your life. Perhaps Holly would buy into this if change could be more strictly defined. For Holly has been open to change before, actually changed, then the horrors reappeared on time and ready to kick her 10 steps back. What is the point of change if you are just going to end up older in the same bad spot again? Wouldn't an unhappy stagnancy be the less painful choice? The solution would be to keep living to find out. Great. 

The "Third-Person" Pieces 1: Negative?

Holly has been told by an array of people that she is negative, but Holly disagrees. Just yesterday her best friend P told her he thinks she's incapable of real change. Who needs enemies when you've got friends who think you suck? Not Holly! That's for sure! 

If anything, Holly is a card-carrying member of that retired class of people that can tell the sh$t from the sunshine, and she doesn't want to toot her own horn, but she is intellectual enough to know that sometimes there is no difference. This clear- eyed view of life seems to annoy people. This would annoy Holly if she believed you could please everybody. 

Now, with that being said, Holly is somber. Yes, it's true. She often falls victim to a whoa-is-me attitude, but that is only because life is unbearable. Again, not negativity. There are cold hard facts to back this feeling. People die. Children starve. Friends don't return phone calls. Food burns on the stove while you are taking a nap. This is all sound evidence that lead Holly to  continual questions. Why go on? What is to become of her? Will things ever get better? Unfortunately, the honest answers to these questions may be a touch negative, but these answers should not be mistaken with Holly herself. 

The Motherload

Something is going on with the moms in the atmosphere. 

One of my guy friends has gone completely no contact with his mother. Another is trying to get his mom to go to therapy while another friend and his mom are "taking a break" because he is 40 and she treats him like he's ten. I wish this was only a male friend issue, but it ain't. Just the other day, I got some messages from Risky Business. She was upset because an argument over the temperature in her house led her and her mother to "tussle" over a box fan. Huh? 

Dear millennials, have you noticed that we had the sweetest grandmothers while our mothers are nuts? Like loco? What do you think is the meaning of this? Then, on the news, they said the young people behind us, the ones our generation birthed, are a bunch of useless sad sacks that can't do anything outside of play games on their phones! They are needy and wimpy because we as mothers affirmed their emotions. I suppose they will birth and raise a generation of vegetables or serial killers.

My mom has gone on to glory, but we were not without our issues. However, I like to believe if she were alive we'd be fully healed, although this wish does not jive with the tends I'm seeing. Mamas are losing it and their kids are letting them go, too exhausted to deal with it. Therapy, meds, active listening and open communication doesn't seem to be working. I guess we have to do what my grandma would have advised: we just have to pray for them. 🙏

The Return of the Fatty Helper

For a minute, I thought that I had left annoying "fatty helpers" behind in my life. Years ago, there was an old lady who gave out samples at the grocery store. Whenever I would go get a sample, she would tell me that she thought I should audition to be on The Biggest Loser. Apparently, once you got to a certain part in the competition, you were allowed to send for a friend or something, and she thought that it would be great if I sent for her, a woman that I didn't know outside of the hi and bye it took to get my sample. Then who can forget the time I was literally chased down outside of a different grocery store. I was casually walking my cart to the car when I heard speeding footsteps. I turned around to see a woman I didn't know coming at me full force! I literally screamed and tried to make a run for it, but duh, I can't run. This lady was on me like white on rice! She told me that she didn't mean to scare me, but she saw me in the store, and she simply had to know why I didn't get a gastric bypass. "Your insurance may pay for it," she told me. 

Yeah, I foolishly thought I was past this stage in my life, but surprise! Here comes social media, a brand new avenue to harass a bi$$h.  

A friend of a friend that I am sort of friendly with started messaging me a year or two ago. She would forward me posts of big people who were finding success losing weight, amongst other things. She sent me posts, "with love," from a friend of hers who was losing weight using some hula hoop contraption. After a while, she stopped messaging me, but the messages are now back. She sends healthy recipes and tips on things to eat to reduce swelling. 

I guess maturity really is something that just happens that you can't feel while you are living life, because I haven't blocked this lady or said anything snarky. I don't feel like her messages have malicious intent. They are just kind of tone deaf and unasked for. There was a time in my life when I would have told her a thing or two, but I don't feel that is appropriate here. Plus, I am old. It is easier to just see her messages, roll my eyes, and move on. I guess I am just grateful that she is not chasing me down the street with a hula hoop or something, but let's not count that possibility out. 

Not the Gram!

When I was a little girl, I used to literally kick and scream when my grandma would try to press my hair. This was also my reaction when I had to go with my aunty to her Saturday morning aerobics classes. My aunty and grandma saw the obesity train coming and tried to turn it around, but this would involve me squeezing my kiddie, frumpy, round body into a leotard that was two sizes too small. Anyway, I say all this to say that at 41, I find myself kicking and screaming every time I realize that I have yet again put off scheduling my mammogram. My first time was last year. It was okay. But I don't want to get another one right now. I just don't want to! 

And yes, I know that it is essential preventative care. Coffee's good friend just died of breast cancer that spread to her bones. She had to go into hospice care, and her power of attorney didn't waste any time cutting the treatment meds and unplugging stuff. He let me know that she had passed on, and it reminded me that I still have to schedule my mammogram. I was supposed to have gotten it done in the spring. I don't know. I'm very stressed out, and I am not in the mental place to take on any more bad news, should there be any. I don't want to deal with it. 

This AKA who went to college with me died of breast cancer, and her friends throw a fundraiser in her name every year. In the promo pictures they use, she looks so young because she died young. I didn't even know her, and I find those pics to be heartbreaking. I try to quickly scroll past them. She has been an annual reminder that I have to get this stuff done since before I was even old enough to be screened. 

Sigh. Obviously, after taking this time to complain, I have to schedule my mammogram today. I don't want to. I will just get it done like I get everything else I want to get done, done: kicking and screaming. 

The Hunter Attitude

When I worked at a daycare years ago, there was this sweet kid named Hunter that had a HORRIFIC behavior problem. He would have these big fits and tear up the classroom, and eventually ended up expelled from daycare if you can believe it. But, before he was given the boot, one of the teachers asked him if he got spankings at home. He said that he did. The teacher asked him what he said to his parents when he got spanked. He yelled, "I SAY, 'I DON'T CARE!' "

The other day, I was telling a friend a traumatic story that ended with her trying to psychoanalyze me regarding my weight. It dawned on me during this conversation that a dear friend of mine that I speak to daily kind of sees me as a fat slob that is doing nothing to better her situation. I had to let her know the conversation was irking me and we needed to move on because I felt myself about to crank dat Hunter towards someone I really care about. 

I believe that you can get so overwhelmed, like the way I feel when I get one of those You Suck letters in my email when I don't get a job, your nervous system turns into wet trash. Your mental health then has to hit Level Hunter so you can survive and not tear up the classroom of your life. It just a smooth level of I don't care designed to give us a break. 

Something is going on with me that I have had to Hunterize the issue because I don't have the wherewithall to deal with it. Thank God for the small favors. If I cared as much as I need to, I'd probably combust. 

B- Day

Yesterday was my mom's birthday and I was so busy feeling sorry for myself that I didn't even mourn her like I usually do on this day. I tried to keep myself busy. We didn't do cake this year. I've been feeling so overwhelmed that I didn't even remember to get a cake. 

My good girlfriend texted me that her dad is dying. I feel badly for her because I know the anvil of pain that is about to fall on her head. It's going to feel unbearable and there is no way to prep her. Dizzle's mom and grandma died and I watched her go through it, and even seeing her devastated did nothing to ease the specific devastation that was coming for me. It's just something you have to feel, there is no way around it. 

A guy I went to college with just got married and had a baby. The baby many be an only child and will have to deal with this loss twice on her own. I don't think people consider that enough before they have kids, which is cruel. 

Anyway, happy b-day Mommy. 

Dream On

I woke up from a dream yesterday evening where I took hundreds of my Xavier sisters on an exclusive overseas trip then realized, past checking into the hotel, I had nothing planned for the weekend. I checked my bags and all I had was candles for the bathrooms. I had ideas about doing morning prayer and yoga, but had no instructors. I couldn't believe I forgot to actually plan the weekend! 

Doesn't take rocket science to interpret this dream: I'm feeling utterly unprepared. I have no idea where I'm going or what I'm doing. I don't know which end is up! I'm jealous that dream Holly had candles. I love candles. Why don't I have any candles? 

Honestly, it's going to take more than candles to correct the course my life is going down. Perhaps if I can sleep tonight, dream Holly will have some answers. I doubt it though. When has dream or awake Holly EVER had the answers?

Fri-yay!

I don't know how many different ways I can say that I'm tired. I have nothing left in the tank, and I can't sleep because I'm worried about everything. Anything and everything. I also need to clean up, which is making me feel jumbled. I kind of want to cut off my hair. Just another Friday night. 

The Poopy Diaper Theory

Again, a friend is accusing me of being negative. This time it's Lisha and this time I was simply telling her about my day. And to be clear, my day was sh&t on a hot tin roof! Whenever this accusation arises I am left baffled because I am simply discussing how something went or how I am feeling. Perhaps someone should define for me what positive means, because it sounds like it means the act of using your pointer finger to draw a happy face in a poopy diaper. I don't want to do that. I don't know how to do that. I won't do that. For me, there is a line so thin between positivity and pretending that the two are almost synonymous, and pretending makes me incredibly tired. I gotta tell ya, I'm tired of being tired. 

HoustonLanaVegas

It's almost midnight. I've been asleep all day so I am awake. I have energy for once. I want to go dancing. When I was in my 20s, I used to go dancing. I also want someone to come scoop me so we can go drive around downtown. We used to call this parking lot pimping. Once, Tasia and I aimlessly drove around downtown in her Volkswagen Beetle with the sunroof down. She turned on "HoustonLanaVegas" by Drake. I looked up at the stars with my arms up. I was so optimistic about life. I couldn't wait to see what I was going to become, who I was going to be. I want to dance. I want to drive around downtown while listening to Drake. I have no dance partner. Tasia is now married with two kids. In the other lifetime, I hope old Holly is dancing or cruising. How dope would that be? 

No Need Necessary

Chocolate called me and asked how I was doing. I told him that honestly, I was feeling a little down for one of the same reasons I have been feeling down for years: I don't feel like my friends have time for me. I asked him how he handles it when he feels this way. He said he never does. He doesn't need anyone. 

On top of being completely self-sufficient and self-reliant, he is so excited about the amazing things happening in his field of tech that he doesn't have time to think about the homies. He's got to stay at the top of his field. He's got interviews to do and professional trainings to take. If I would focus on my job hunt, fitness, writing, and professional training, I wouldn't have time to remember I had friends. 

This idea excited me. I thought of myself moving and shaking, making moves, making money. I'd be so high on my own supply that I wouldn't need a soul ...until I slowed down to look both ways and see that no one who cared was around or cared to be around. It sounds like that would be fun until it wasn't and would end up feeling very empty. I mean, I feel empty now! 

I admire how he needs no one, but I am not built that way. I need to talk and laugh and feel heard. This sucks, because when these things aren't happening, I end up feeling pretty sad. See the circle here? However, I think my life would probably be 1000% better if I tried to be more like him, making it so my need for friends was not necessarily. 

Companion- Space

I recently got to catch up with my friend Boots from college. She's been one of my favorite people for a long time, but she has a crazy work schedule and we haven't gotten to talk in ages. She told me she is keeping plants in her apartment, that she still does hair, and that she has a boyfriend. I was excited to hear this, but she said they don't get to have a lot of date nights because of his work schedule. They don't get to see each other a lot. 

"It's fine because I really don't want a man all up under me" she explained. I found this to be interesting because she and her college boyfriend were all over each other to the point that they looked conjoined! 

What is it about being a middle aged woman that makes you want loved ones close to you and away from you at the same time? Your desire for companionship and space seem to overlap each other. It's like, how can you tell a man to hug you and back up at the same time? Im choosing to blame all of this on science. Whatever makes peri- menopausal women hot in the cold super smellers is probably behind the companion-space movement. I like to believe that I'd be super hands on with my man if I had one, but I don't know. At times, when people are talking to me, I want to jump out of the window, so...

She says she plans to marry this man, and I hope she does. Just because you want companion-space, doesn't mean you want to be a lone. Let's hear it for another one of life's riddles. 

The Tough Questions

The other day, I got a particularly horrible Dear John letter from a company I applied to work at. It was hella harsh. I would have much rather they would have knocked on my door then shot me in the foot. 

"Damn!" Lisha exclaimed after I read her the email. "That was... direct." That is a cute way of describing it. I'm not exaggerating when I say that this letter was the written equivalent of giving someone the middle finger. 

It is times like this where I am AGAIN reminded of Penis Man. I wonder about what happened to this guy quite often, especially during my job search. Years ago, I was listening to the news on the radio and the newscaster did a report on a man who had applied to hundreds of jobs and could not get a call back. So, in a desperate state of mind, he began to send in pictures of his junk with his resume. He was arrested for indecent exposure. Too bad I wasn't working in HR back then. That kind of on-your-feet thinking would have gotten him an interview from my company. 

Can I just ask one question: what are we doing? The nation is at war, the aliens are coming, the vegetables are giving folks explosive diarrhea. What are we doing? Applying for jobs? Looking for work? Trying to make a living? Shouldn't we be dancing in the street naked before a record breaking hurricane comes and wipes us out? Am I going to be surfing Indeed when the comet hits? I guess I will ponder these questions later as I edit my resume. 

The Big Picture

The other day, I found some pics of me from high school and a pic of me at the 8th grade dance. I was cute but didn't know it. As excited as I was to share these pics, I doubled down on the promise I made myself years ago: I'm not going to be that old chick that keeps pics at the ready of herself when she was young. Have you seen people's faces when they are cornered by women like this? It's like they want to say, Sure, you were cute then, but look at you now sis! It's pretty embarrassing for the lady shoving her phone in everyone's face to see a 20 year old picture. I knew a picture shover once. It was very uncomfortable because she didn't look like young her at. all. 

"I'm going to show my old pics whenever the opportunity presents itself, I don't care!" Risky exclaimed. "In college, I was in great shape!"

I wasn't, but I didn't look as sad. In current pictures, I feel like I look grumpy and annoyed which makes since because I am! If I had any dignity I'd just stop smiling all together and be honest in a photo or two. We all know I won't do that. 

For now, I think the solution is to avoid pictures altogether. I used to love taking them. Now I need a three month notice just to hide in the back of a pic and frown. Although I won't do it, I see why people rather show off a pic of themselves at 17. 

Nunning Up

When it comes to anything regarding men or dating or coupling or whatever, I feel a great sense of dread and disappointment. I don't want to talk to any guys romantically. Maybe I should rearrange some things and label partnership or being married as a secret desire of my heart and move forward with focusing on working, friends, and family. At least in that arena I can better see the fruits of my labor. I think. H$ll if I know, I'm old! Shouldn't I have more things figured out? I wish I could go back in time when I thought love would make things better, slap myself, then redirect my attention to taking better care of my hair. I need to take better care of my hair. P suggested I'm "nunning up". All I know is that men make me feel sad and tired. When I told my therapist I was over men she suggested I was depressed. Maybe. I mean, isn't anyone looking for the warmth of love in this cold, hard world depressed? How many naps do I need to have enough energy to even chat with a guy? I will let you know when I wake up. 

Freeway of Love (Another Risky Business Story)

The other night, I was on the phone with Risky as she drove hours away from her home to meet and potentially blow a guy she met online. They have had a very complicated online history. As a matter of fact, as she was driving to see this guy, she was blocked by him on the site they met on. I guess they had each other's personal contacts, because when he came to her state, he texted her and she decided to make the voyage to meet him. 

I wish this was the worst of the story but it is not. Once she got to his hotel, they chatted for a bit, and he refused to give her any real information about himself. No real name, hometown, job, or anything. I felt this displayed a lot of nerve on his end. How can you be creeped out and concerned about your safety on one hand, but then want sex from said creepy person on the other hand? Plus, he's the guy! The odds lean towards him when it comes to which one of them is going to make the other an unsolved mystery. 

They fooled around but no real deal hanky panky because he was behind on his STI screenings. I was so happy when Risky let me know she was on her way home that I didn't even have commentary on how loony this story was! She paints the whole thing as an "experience" that she is overall happy she did. She doubts it will progress from here.  I agree, since he blocked her and gave her an alias. She said she thinks it's time she consider marriage. I think it's time she consider becoming abstinent, cutting all losers from her life. She's just too amazing for this kind of stuff! 

You can't tell your friends what to do. I know this for sure, seeing there are plenty of times I ignored my friend's advice. I just want all my girls to be happy, which won't happen for Risky if she ends up in some guy's freezer first. But I can't be too judgemental. No one knows better than me that when it comes to dating, it's a cold world. 

Trauma Drama

I honestly didn't think it was possible for me to become more reflective and emotional than I already am, but apparently I can. I find that when I think about my childhood or even my young adult years, I end up in tears. I just heard a song that was popular when I was in like the 5th grade, and started weeping. 

Millennials like to throw the word "trauma" at everything. Something traumatic must have happened when I was a kid that I haven't addressed. Now, I get triggered and have these big reactions. I mean, maybe, but I don't think so. I didn't have a lot growing up but I grew up in an area where no one did. I got a bike in elementary school. I was a Girl Scout. I spent a lot of time with my beloved grandma. As far a childhoods go, there have definitely been worse. 

If I had to guess, I think the bigger issue is the passage of time. My being a tween is so vivid in my mind, yet, in present time, I find myself looking down the barrel of being elderly and admittedly, I'm unprepared and scared. I will never be younger than I am this second, and I'm already 300-years-old! I believe that living in a fashion where you marinate on regrets is a recipe for disaster; a recipe for failure. But boy, do I have some. Again tears. 

Apparently, looking back at the past causes me some sort of something, but it's also difficult to be present, especially when things aren't going my way. A part of me wants to wade in a time where old opportunities are still available, but that's impossible. 

I guess the solution is to just to keep living; to keep pushing until I find a space I'm at least sort of cozy in. Until then, que the tears. 

It's a Small World: The Story of Babycakes

I was feeling really bad recently about everything. It was the type of bad where you just have to lay down silently. You don't even have the energy to cry. It was at this time that God sent me a little something to make me smile. 

I went on to Instagram and I saw a post from this... interesting woman that goes to my church. I was confused because it was a post of a man and a woman, and she usually only posts jewelry she is selling. I noticed that the man looked a lot like one of my Xavier brothers, and upon further investigation, it was him, Babycakes! Apparently, he married the Interesting Woman's (IW) daughter. 

A few years ago, I went to a women's retreat at church and my bunk mate was IW. She is a sweet enough lady but hard to talk to. She hardly has any words. She acts as if she is only given three words a day and has to preserve them. I don't know why the hater a$$ First Lady of my church thought we'd be a good fit. I suspect it was more about putting me in the cabin as far away from the conference room as possible to force me to exercise 🤬 Anyway, talking to IW reminded me of how difficult I found squeezing lemons as a kid. I would feel like my wrists were about to snap, trying to get enough juice to make a glass of lemonade. Needless to say, IW left me almost completely juiceless. 

"Having her as a mother-in-law must be a dozie," I thought to myself. 

The gag is that Babycakes may be one of very few people that I never spoke to in college. Ever. This is interesting because he dated my friend Legs. I remember they broke up senior year and I asked her why. She said, "In the beginning, I was excited about picking the crust out of his eyes and picking out his outfits, but now I want a man who can pick his own crust and his own outfits!" Boy, she said a mouthful there. She also said some other stuff about him highjacking her guy friends and making them his, but that is neither here nor there. 

Today, I think Babycakes is picking his own crust and outfits. IW's daughter doesn't look like the "picking" kind. The post IW posted was wishing them a happy anniversary, and he for sure looks happy. That tells me nothing though. He looked happy with Legs too. I mean, they used to wear matching outfits for goodness sakes! 

I say all this to ask, isn't the world small? I mean really small. Coincidentally, my Xavier brother married the daughter of a woman who attends my church! God knew that the peculiarness of this whole thing would give me a light chuckle to pick up my spirits. Won't He do it? 

He Just Wasn't That Into Me

Winfrey does not like P. It's a sad and unfortunate fact, seeing that they are both dear friends of mine. The reasoning came up as to why recently, which reminded me of the situation between me and P in college. I had a crush on him but he did like me back. This we all know. But I thought I had reason to believe he did. Winfrey saw what I saw, and told everyone I was not nuts. They didn't believe me or her, and I was left looking and feeling desperate and stupid. 

The highlight of this time was when me and about three other friends organized a dinner we were going to invite our crushes too. I invited P and didn't hear back from him about it. The night of the dinner, the only guy to arrive was Kinfolk, invited by Haynes (they are now married). The rest of us had pretty long faces. I called P to see if he was coming and he yelled, "Stop inviting me to stuff. I don't like you like that!" before hanging up. I guess he just wasn't that in to me. I swallowed my tears in a big, hard gulp and tried to enjoy dinner. 

"Do you remember this P?" I asked him recently. 

"No, but it sounds like something I would say so it might have happened," he answered flatly. 

Honestly, I'd forgotten it too. I remember when it happened, I was pretty heart broken. I think the heart and mind work together to start the forgetting process when something sad and embarrassing enough happens. A lot of the things Winfrey recalled I hadn't thought of in years. 

Well, that was 20 years ago. I'm not 20 anymore. I'm looking forward to finding a connection with a man that my mind doesn't force me to forget about. 

The Block's Not Hot

I just wanted to stop by ladies and let you know that just when you think these guys won't have the nerve, they absolutely will! 

Block Spin is back again baby! It's funny because I was just thinking of him, feeling guilty for not reaching out to him after his latest ghosting. You know how my anxiety works. I was scared he was dead or being held captive in an international prison. But of course he is alive and well and still full of it! 

I was surfing social media last night when I got a random video call. It only rang once and I realized it was him. He called me back and I turned my camera off. He said he was just calling to "check in on me". Child...I reminded him that he was supposed to do that four months ago when he landed out of state for his business trip. I mentioned this twice because he was trying to steamroll past it. He said he was calling me now which was "better late than never". He has lost the energy and the give a sh#t to even lie anymore. I told him I had to go but I was glad he was okay. You see that? Even when I'm being dissed I don't want to come off as mean! 

P told me ages ago that guys will vanish then reappear when they think you've forgotten what they did. He wasn't lying! It seems that these guys are serious about being as unserious as possible, and I'm over it. OVER IT! 

I had such high hopes for Block Spin. We had such a good first conversation. We talked about movies. It was fun. However, being forgotten about then randomly remembered, most likely after a woman you liked more has given you the blues, is not fun. It's belittling. Oh well, onward and upward. 

Brow

I have a gray hair in my right eyebrow, so I fully expect to wake up tomorrow 200 years old and wearing a diaper. 

This gray hair has lived rent-free in my head for days. I want to pluck it out, but all I keep thinking of is how my grandma told me that if I shave the hair off my arms, it will grow back thicker and darker. If this is true, which it must be because my grandma said it, then if I pluck my gray brow hair, I will wake up with fully gray brows and even a head full of gray hair. 

I am shocked at how vain I have become in middle age, and I have spoken to you about this before. I guess it is easy to sit on your youthful skin high horse when the reality of becoming a dehydrated raisin is so far away. My friends look so good! What if I meet up with them for homecoming or something, and people confuse me for their great-grandmother? Can you imagine a more heartbreaking situation, you know, outside of famine, abuse, and poverty?

I was on social media today and saw a picture of Charles Christmas. He has gray in his beard, and he looks so sexy. I have one gray hair in my eyebrow, and I look like Mother Earth. 

I need to allow my anxiety to settle about this before I mess around and do something nutty like shave my whole eyebrow off. At least if I have a bald brow, that may take attention away from the small frown line that I think I have coming in. 

Risky Go Night- Night (Another Risky Business Story)

I haven't been able to talk to Risky lately because she has been unrealistically tired. She has been donating a lot of plasma at a variety of different donation centers, which I am not sure is okay. To do so, she has to constantly make sure her iron levels are up, which is very stressful and takes a lot of work. Because of this, whenever I call, she is always asleep. The last time we spoke, I told her that this was just for the short term and to power through. She then told me she is treating this like a real job. 

First off, I just don't see plasma donation as a long-term solution to financial problems. But to hear her say that it is was disheartening because it means she is giving up on her goal of getting into another residency program. I mean, this is her dream and she is already an M.D. Is she going to hang that up to become a full-time plasma pusher??

We are both 41. I guess it is time to get real. We are either going to be on course to retire comfortably in nearly 30 years, so we should be preparing to collect cans, dumpster dive, and donate plasma for the rest of our existences. If the dream stages of our lives are not outright over, the buzzer going off is dangerously close. 

Honestly, if I had any sense I'd be thinking like Risky. I don't like anything having to do with blood, but I could see myself dancing on a street corner for change as long as the weather was good. At least then I could afford snacks. But I'm stubborn. My desire to be a writer is literally like a book I can't put down. If they eventually find me dead from old age in a tent city, please believe I will laying on top of my backpack full of short stories. 

If I can catch Risky while she is awake, I will try to give her a friendly push back in the direction of a residency again. We all have to do things we don't want to do when we are desperate for cash, but the idea that she would give up on her calling to donate plasma is bloody insanity! 

Slow

I think I may be losing my smart. I find that I am beginning to drift when I am watching a movie or talking to someone. I have to rewind what I just saw or ask a friend to repeat themselves. I don't have the attention span to get through conversations that I initiate! I don't know if I am preoccupied or tired. I don't know if this is just another symptom of being a woman in her 40s. I honestly can't tell you what is going on. I just feel bored and annoyed and over it with everything. It's like I can't be bothered with anything and I am bothered by everything. 

Big No Talk

It has been on my mind to do something I have wanted to do the last ten years. I think I am going to go on a phone fast. My definition of this is not calling anyone or texting anyone and only communicating with people who text or call me. I have been hesitant to do this because I am pretty sure I am going to be saddened by the results. The past decade has been about me coming to terms with loving people who either don't love me back or don't have time for me. My spirit has already told me who these people are, but I feel like I have to put my own intuition to the test. On the low end, I think that this is a sad exercise in self-abuse, but on the high end, I think it will give me the face-slapping clarity I need to move forward into the abyss of middle age. I think that a month is a good amount of time to conduct this experiment; however, I am dragging my feet on when to start. Confirming that no one cares is going to be a hard and bitter pill to swallow. 

Sleepless in Atlanta

I am exhausted, but I can't sleep. I close eyes, and all I see are job descriptions and my resume. There is this overwhelming feeling that there is work I need to get done, so I can't relax to sleep. I look up potential jobs to apply to the next day, but that's still not suitable to get my body to chill. And as if that isn't enough, the to-do list of everything else I need to get done plays in my head on a loop. It's times like this that I really want to talk to someone but, of course, everyone is asleep. They are asleep and I am awake. 

They say when you can't sleep, God is trying to tell you something. I'm no theologian, but I think God is trying to tell me to get off my a$!. And I get it, but I know God also knows that I'm nothing, nothing without sleep. Yesterday, I checked the time and it was 11am and I had my computer set up to work. Before I knew it, I was being woken up from a two hour nap I didn't intend to take. I feel like I'm all over the place, probably because I am. Once I finish blogging, I guess I will sweep my floor. Why not? It's not like I'm sleeping. 

For Whom The Bell Tolls

The theme for yesterday was death for 500, Alex. 

In the morning, I found out that my grandma's favorite and one of her few surviving cousins had died. Later in the day, I discovered that one of my beloved Xavier brothers had died. I also had a lengthy conversation with P about the afterlife. It was brutal. Brutal and heavy. 

As a Muslim, he feels like Christians don't think enough about the afterlife, while Muslims live with the afterlife at the forefront of their minds. I don't find this to be true, at least not at my church. There is plenty of talk about going to Heaven and the proper way to get there. This is especially troubling for me, seeing that I like to think about death and the journey after the way it was described to me as a child. We all have to die, but we die to go see Jesus, who lives in Heaven. Heaven is a beautiful place, and when you get there, you will get to see everyone who died before you. There was no talk of Hell, sin, or unbearable heat. There was only talk of a beautiful place to chill with your elders once your time is up. 

I prayed that both my grand-cousin and Xavier brother made it to Heaven. I am choosing to believe that they are now surrounded by the love of God and not oven-roasting to the soundtrack of eternal screams. The world, especially today, has a way of bombarding you with bad news and fears and disappointments and horrors. With that being said, is it so bad to want to believe that we all will one day be with God in an amazing paradise? How are we supposed to understand the stresses of the day while reconciling with the idea that we may also be going to Hell? How can we be present in the day if we are afraid of burning alive tomorrow?

I'm not sure, but according to P, we'd better figure it out because judgment starts at the moment of death. The very second our life ends, the trial starts. I cringe at the idea of having to explain to God why I have done some of the dumb stuff that I have done when there was a published book of His wishes available that I ignored. Yeah, I am going to stick with the Sunday school version of Heaven for myself and for the people I know who have passed on. I don't think I have the bandwidth to accept any of the other alternatives. 

Food For Thought

Hello, my name is Holly. I am an overeater who comes from a long lineage of overeaters who is now trying to teach my niece and nephew not to overeat. It annoys me that there are people who just get full, put their forks down, and go to bed. Even if I cut off my arms, I would find a way to get that last Pringle into my mouth. I have accepted that food issues are going to be my cross to bear, but I am hopeful that the tips I give my niece and nephew (that are obviously from offline, because what do I know about having consumption control?) will help them to avoid a fate such as mine. 

Everyone has issues, but why can't my issue be one that people can't see? Why can't I be a sex addict or a thief or a liar and still get to walk around skinny and cute with no one being the wiser? Why can't I be the adulterer that walks around judging overweight folks, telling them to "just stop eating" and to "get up and walk"? I would be just as good a hypocrite as the next guy. It's just not fair! 

I have gotten so upset with food that I have started to protest it. Even when I am hungry, I just find myself not wanting to eat. What is the point? I am just going to get hungry again, make bad choices, not feel full, then make the same overeater mistakes all over again. I need a break just as food, per usual, is breaking my spirits. 

The other day, I watched my 2-year-old niece eating a granola bar. Halfway through finishing it, she didn't want it anymore, threw it on the floor, and then walked away. I think the healthy people call that "portion control". Maybe there is hope for my bloodline yet! 

Angry and Awake

Today I woke up pissed, again. Is this going to be life in my 40s? Waking up upset? I was full of agitation and nervous energy. I didn't sleep well. I tried to go back to sleep and start over, but that doesn't work anymore. The thought of applying to more jobs just to get a Dear John letter in a week or so made me want to cry. I had so much to do today that I had no idea where to start. My phone didn't charge during the night. My skin is dry. My brain is toast. The good news is that I was able to get up and get in the shower before the downer mood took over and my whole day was shot. With these types of moods, if you don't act fast, there is a point of no return, and you might as well throw the whole day in the trash. I'm trying to learn how to be more optimistic. Perhaps tomorrow I will wake up in a better mood. 

Curly and the Conservative

I have to admit, I have been worried about Curly and his dating life ever since that nut job took him to that the pee-time bar. You know, the one where the guys participated in piss play in the bathroom😬? So, you can imagine how concerned I was when he told me that he'd had a day date with a Conservative man. 

"I have to admit, when he came over, I was a little afraid that I was going to get hate-crimed in my own home," he confessed. Even recalling this memory, he sounded nervous. I can understand why. I am sure that there are Conservatives who are allies to the LGBTQIA+ cause, but they don't seem nearly as loud as the Bible wavers on social media who have nothing but smoke for the community. Outside of being Conservative, what worried him was that the man didn't even seem gay. He looked like your everyday straight White man that you would run into buying some pre-creased khakis to conceal his dad gut. He didn't look like he knew anything about anything gay. 

However, the guy ended up being super nice, and they sat and talked for a long time about their interests and trending topics. They shared a really cool afternoon together. I guess you can't judge a book by its cover...especially when the cover is confusing. 

"We had a good time, but it is pretty clear that he is straight," Curly said, "so I don't think that there is much of a future there. I totally see him marrying a woman."

"For sure," I said, not quite understanding what he was saying. Look, I learned long ago not to ask too many questions when it comes to this type of thing, but admittedly, I am not quite clear how you can be into men and women sexually and not be bisexual, but instead somehow completely straight. Is this the fluidity that the Gen Z kids are always going on and on about, or just the title word play of a possibly closeted man? Either way, I am glad that Curly walked away from the experience having had a fun time and not with a sad story. Fingers crossed that his next guy friends is actually into guys. 

The Great Egg Scramble

Everywhere I turn, I'm hearing about women freezing their eggs! It's a topic of three reality shows I'm watching! I have some friends that are going back and forth on the idea, under the gun may I add. By 40, if you have a good egg left it needs to be on ice yesterday! I wish it was legal to run a nitrogen lab out of your house. If it was, I'd be making mad bank son! 

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm happy that God didn't put motherhood on my heart. If he would have, I'd probably be running around frantic like some of the other women in my life. Watching it gives me anxiety, but the fact of the matter is clear: you are born with tons of eggs but not with the love of your life. Sometimes meeting a man is not on the same timeline as your body. I get it, I just feel for the women under this stress. 

My girl Gail from church is 38 with no prospects in sight. She wants kids and is thinking about getting icy with it. It's expensive, plus she's not sure where God stands on the whole process. That adds a whole 'nother layer of stress to the situation. I find myself praying for her while Googling fertility clinics at the same time! 

I'm sad because I know that freeze or no freeze, motherhood is not going to happen for some of the women in my life. It's unfair, and I'm bracing for some of these women to go into a serious mourning over this fact. It's already sort of happening for people I know who can't afford egg freezing or didn't have any viable eggs left. If my eggs weren't scrambled I'd give one to whoever needed one. Whether I want kiddos or not, I really wish that all my friends that want to be mommies could be. 

Mop Drop

Today, I found a job that I think I would be a good fit for. I immediately went to LinkedIn to see if I had anyone in my networks that worked at this place. You know what they say: It's all in who you know. Imagine my dismay when I saw that the only person that I know who works there would be the one person that I am positive would give me a horrible recommendation. She's a girl that I got to know well in college: Mopsie. I call her this because one of my homeboys says that she has the personality of a mop. I don't know if I'd say that. What I will say is that she is very serious and straight-laced. I wouldn't say that she hates me because I think that would be a touch strong. However, she has always seemed a little irritated and exhausted by my very presence. I don't think she thinks I'm a serious person at all, and if she is anything like she was in college, she wouldn't dare recommend me to get hired and possibly make her look bad. Once, I went with her to a party and she gave me a stern talking to in her car, warning me not to embarrass her the way a mama warns her kid not to ask for candy in the grocery store before they go in.

I'd say I'd never done anything to her for her to have these feelings against me, but that's not entirely true. I once laughed out loud when she did something goofy and she glared at me. I could feel her committing the moment to memory for a time such as this. 

I'm also pretty sure she thinks I'm too much. In her defense, when she knew me, I was. Man, I was a ball of drama and emotions! Now I'm a ball of sleepiness and depression like everyone else my age. With that being said, I'd be great for this job! But I guess I will have to get it without Mopsie's blessing, which means competing against thousands of applicants nationwide. This is just more proof that God doesn't like ugly. This will teach me to laugh at an uptight nerd who will one day serve on the C-suite of a huge, successful company during a hiring slowdown. Lesson learned.

Dizzle and the Inmate

I don't know if you've ever had a close friend to pass away. If you ever do, you will find that it doesn't take much to drum up memories of them. Yesterday, I watched a movie called Clemency with Alfre Woodard where she played the warden of a men's prison. This made me think of my friend Dizzle.

Dizzle was not a warden; she was a doctor who, for a short period of time, worked in a men's prison. One of her patients was an inmate that was terminally ill and dying. It was so clear that he was going to die that Dizzle began to advocate for a compassionate release so he could die peacefully amongst friends and family. I mean, according to Dizzle he was so sick-sick that his death was guaranteed. It wasn't like he was going to get released then hop on a flight to Japan. 

It's important to note that the doctors were not to know what the inmates did to land themselves in jail. Knowing may influence the quality of care they gave them. So, Dizzle didn't know what this guy did. She just knew he was very ill and thought it would be inhumane for him to die behind bars and she was pretty loud and annoying about this. If you knew Dizzle, you knew she'd make a stink until she got results. Well, the result of this campaign was someone letting it slip that her patient was in jail for child molestation. Yikes. 

Dizzle was an only child who loved kids and wanted a trillion of them if possible, so to find out that she'd been advocating for someone who harmed them was devastating. I don't know if you know a lot of doctors but I went to college with a bunch. They can be a$$h@les. The other doctors took to giving Dizzle a not-so-nick nickname: Little Miss Compassion. It was a rough road for the rest of her stay. 

The thing is that Dizzle was a Little Miss Compassion, 100%, and I sometimes wonder if she would have advocated for him anyway if she'd known what he did from the start. I don't know. Anyway, the movie made me think of this story...

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 who 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 fine, 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 than 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 diuretic spiel about her relationship? 

I wanted to call her recently and discuss some pop culture stuff, but I'm mortified that 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?