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. 

The Last Normal Man in America

I was excited to meet Tiesh's new boyfriend, Michael, because we had been praying for him for about 10 years, and I wanted to see what God provided. However, I was a little nervous. I have self-appointed myself the New Partnership Interrogator/Partnership Procurement Officer for my friend groups, and over the years, I have gotten really good at the job. Just consider me an Olivia Benson for my single friends. I investigate, ask the hard questions, and try to sniff out any general b*tcha*sness that my friends may be missing. 

What makes me so good at the job when I don't have a man myself? Being fat. When you are a fat person, you kind of live life on the sidelines while everyone else is moving and shaking. And before I became the ball of awesomeness that is grown Holly, kiddie, tween, and teen Holly observed and filed enough foolishness from the relationships of the people around her, uninterrupted and clearly, that she was set by young adulthood to start her gig. I can spot a loser from a mile away. There are signs, sayings, and even aromas that alert me to when one of my friends has bagged someone bogus. Tiesh is my friend with good sense, so I doubted that Michael would be horrible, but even your smartest friend can make an oopsie. I invited them to my Airbnb when I got to New Orleans for a sit-down in the house's really cutely decorated living area. But make no mistake about it. Tiesh and Michael were walking into an interrogation room. 

At first sight, Michael seemed sweet, handsome, and unassuming. This means nothing. My last friend who dated a guy with those same qualities found out six months in that he was bisexual with kids he didn't claim. It was imperative that I not be moved by any outside factors, like the huge smile Tiesh got when Michael spoke. It's cute but irrelevant. After some small talk, it was time to get down to business. 

"Are you going to marry Tiesh?" I asked him. I mean, come on, if not, why were we all there? 40 is different than 20. There is no time to waste. 

He said that he hoped to, if she said yes. And he went on to talk about his family and his job and his willingness to move to New Orleans to be with Tiesh if need be. He communicated clearly. No sexual undertones. Didn't seem annoyed, scared, or humored by my line of questioning. Showed me a picture of his grandkid. Helped me out of an overly plush chair my butt sank into before leaving. After he left, I sat silently with my thoughts in the bedroom, preparing a mental debrief for Tiesh for when she inevitably reached out for my opinion. After much deliberation, I concluded that for about an hour, I may have been in the company of a normal man. 

Yes, my findings are based on only what I have observed. For all I know, this guy could have a freezer bag full of babydoll heads in his car trunk. But I don't think that is the case. A lot of women do not agree with me, but I think normal is good. Over the years, normal has translated to boring. But let me tell you, in a world where men lie and cheat and have all types of freaky tricks up their sleeves, normal is what you want, especially in middle age. Desiring a man who keeps you on the edge of your seat with falsehoods and mind-bending lie-riddles is a young woman's game, and a fruitless one at that. Dealing with men with those qualities in your 20s, you will be lucky not to be loony by your 30s and out for blood by your 40s. You want a guy that you can believe that makes your blood pressure stabilize, and I think that Michael may be this man for Tiesh. 

I was happy to report this to her, and I am prayerful that 2026 brings normal guys for the rest of my single friends, in the event that Michael is not the last normal man left in America. 

The Homecoming Zero

Everyone who has gone to college is familiar with what is called "The Freshman Fifteen". This refers to when you inevitably gain fifteen pounds as a freshman, far away from your mama's grilled veggies and baked chicken and full of cafeteria fried fish and starchy carbs. By the second semester of freshman year, most girls get it together and start working out and eating right, afraid that they will no longer look hot in their club clothes. I am currently experiencing "The Homecoming Zero". This is where you are obese, but you make a crazy, impossible goal to be skinny by the next homecoming, only to end up losing no weight at all😞. 

Guys, I started off so good. My girl LD was my accountability partner. We shared our snacking struggles and took pics of our lunch to keep each other on the right track. I started wearing my Fitbit again. I cut back on sugar. I EVEN STARTED MEAL PREPPING DISGUSTING SALADS FOR LUNCH! Yet as the year went on, I began to get depressed. Seeing that I deal with my emotions by overeating, not eating to deal with my issues was making me very, very sad. Seven months in, gummy bears and sodas had made their way back into my diet. Now, homecoming is less than 30 days away, and I am royally screwed! 

Not only am I disappointed in myself, but I am not at all excited about seeing some of the girls I graduated with. Many of them have a house full of kids and yet they are still bikini ready. Their skin is flawless. Their titties sit pretty. Their butts are high and firm. It's like being in a very uncool version of The Twilight Zone! I at least wanted to be small enough to walk my campus without collapsing to the ground in the unyielding New Orleans heat. Sigh. Dream a little dream. In my defense, I wasn't really able to do that while I was in college. 

I am also upset that I will not be able to look as slutty as I wanted to for the club parties. I had big dreams of sheer, sheer, and more sheer. It looks like it is going to be another year of toe-tingling shapewear and sack-like granny dresses. No fun and no fair. My Fashion Nova Curve cart was TOGETHER, do you hear me?

Well, it's not time for homecoming yet. There is still time to starve. My family loves this. This is when I eat only when I absolutely have to, crankily barking and yelling at everyone around. I can also wear all black. Do they make burkas in plus sizes?

Homecoming Post 2- No Socials and the Flashback (part 1)

Last Friday around 1pm- Me, Aunty and Zay arrived at Xavier's Campus. It was buzzing with excited energy from students and alumni alike. It was a beautiful sight. A lot of laughing. A lot of hugging. A lot of people head-to-toe in Xavier merch. We went up to the bookstore which was crowded with people rummaging through Xavier tees and hats. My aunt and nephew went to go look at some items and I stood there, taking in the scene. However, I very quickly found myself in the middle of a number of Deltas wearing bedazzled tees that read "I am Fall '93 Delta Sigma Theta". Because of a very tragic situation that happened between me and a Delta 15 years ago (who still stands as one of only two people I have ever had to block on Facebook) I sometimes feel uneasy amidst the crimson tide, so I split. I wandered over to a room that I had no business being in and copped a squat. This room happened to be the press area for J. Alphonse Nicholson from P-Valley, who is a client of BOSS, one of my old classmates who is always calling shots and making moves. He said I could sit there as well as Aunty and Zay when they came around. Thank God! My feet were killing me. It pays to know powerful people in high places. 

Anywho, I was sitting there, minding my own business when a tall, handsome man peaked his head in the door. 

"Do you remember me?" he asked. 

"No Socials?" I asked. 

"Yep!" 

I couldn't believe it! I hadn't said his name out loud in over 10 years. I asked him what he was up to. He said that he does something with money, who knows? 

"Do you ever marry that girl?" I asked him, referring to the PYT he used to date when we were in school. 

"Which one?" he asked with a serious face. 

I shook my head. I guess that's a no. 

"Can I take your picture?" I asked, taking out my phone.

"Sure, but you can't post it," he said. And I am thinking to myself, Why would I want it other than to post it? To have as a keepsake?

I took the pic and we said our goodbyes. I looked at it. Man, he essentially looked the same. He was like a year older than me but looked five years younger! Still thin. No gray hair. He hadn't aged a day! That was pleasant, I thought to myself, even though I had a warning pain in my stomach. My gut is always warning me, but I couldn't imagine why it was this time. No Socials was cool! It's amazing what memories you can suppress if you try hard enough. 

Homecoming Post 1: Thirsty- The Story of 37 Savage

Everyone has qualities about themselves that they ignore and don't want to deal with. You may not be good with money. You may be selfish. I, sadly, am secretly thirsty. And unfortunately, this thirst is accompanied by a vibrant imagination that I use to daydream about elaborate...situations with men I went to college with. It's a disease really. Looking back, I was thirsty in college but there was no term for it then. I had a laundry list of guys that I was thirsty for, but one of my favorites was Blank Man. 

Admittedly, the first thing that attracted me to Blank Man was that he was obviously slept on. He was in college and he is now. And I am most definitely slept on. See the connection? I sometimes casually ask different girlfriends about what they think about him and they all respond with a heavy spirit of indifference. Of blah. Of whatever. More than one of them has said that they don't think he is cute which is an out-and-out lie! He is literally tall and handsome! I don't get it! 

Once he became Greek, I knew that he was going to become a nightmare and that groupies were going to swarm him like flies on poop. This always happens to boys after they cross, but it didn't happen to him. He became Greek and it was almost like girls forgot it happened as soon as it did. I would go fan girl inside whenever I saw him in his line jacket on the yard. He was adorable! Again, other girls seemed unenthused, stepping over him to get to the hottest, sexiest womanizer with a fresh fade. 

Well, flashback to the Xavier Homecoming Tailgate. I sat on the couch in my class's tent, seat twerking with Big Homie Sans to some bounce music when I saw Blank Man walk in, hugging everybody and dapping everybody up. I sat up straight. My internal thirstmeter slowly dialed up to the rhythm of a Big Freeda baseline. There he was: tall, dark, and handsome. And fatter. And visibly older. And mildly awkward. YUMMY! 

"Hey Blank Man!" I said in an overly feminine voice that made Big Homey Sans raise her professionally arched eyebrow. 

"Hey, what's up Holly?" he asked. 

"Nothing much. How have you been?" I asked, trying to keep the thirst under control. 

"Good, good."

 Are you married?" I asked. Yikes. Talk about not playing it cool. 

Cool your jets sex pot, Big Homey Sans said to me with her eyes. 

"No, I'm not," he said. He didn't pick up on the thirst because men are stupid. 

"Oh okay," I said. He moved his head back with wide eyes with a quickness that scared me. Sigh. He picked it up that time which is odd, because that time, I hadn't meant to be thirsty. I had used too much kaaaay in my okay.  He was standing and I was sitting, and he looked down at me with this look of confusion and shock and disbelief. Are you...flirting with me? his eyes asked. He looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or scream. 

No way! What is flirting? Is that a real thing? Use it in a sentence, I said with my eyes. 

Big Homie Sans shook her head, sipping on her cocktail and crossing her legs. 

The innocence in my lying eyes brought him back down to earth and he smiled. 

"It was good to see you Blank Man," I said with a wide, Girl Scout-esque smile. 

"It was good seeing you too!" Quick platonic hug. Friendly smile. 

I turned and looked to Big Homie Sans. She chuckled, nibbling on ice chips. 

It doesn't pay to be thirsty no, I said to myself, happy to have Toosie slid out of another potentially embarrassing situation. Next time I go to the tailgate, I will bring water. 

Homecoming

So this year marks 15 years since my college graduation and I have decided to go to my homecoming, as I did for my 10-year anniversary. On the one hand, I am excited. Excited to see old friends, excited to see New Orleans, excited to go on a trip. On the other hand, the very idea of seeing my peers makes me want to hurl. I'm not ashamed to admit that I am obsessed with my old college peers. I follow them on social media and take in their lives like junk food. Me on Instagram on any given day is the equivalent of eating 22 Big Macs back-to-back, inhaling without chewing images of weddings, gender reveals, promotions, home and car purchases, partying, traveling, etc. Sure, I understand that social media is simply an endless stream of someone's best moments. No one is posting images of eviction notices, being served divorce papers, or being diagnosed with a disease. However, I can't help but feel behind. I am 2.5 years short of 40 and single. The only thing I own outright is my debt. I am just now getting a MA degree. Once I receive it I will finally get to live at some standard of living...in middle age. A part of me wants to attend in a disguise but I have been told that my voice, figure, walk, laugh, and general energy is very identifiable. Everyone will know I am me, in a mask and black hoodie, trying to tiptoe through the crowd. I have seen the advertisements for the club parties that will be taking place. Honestly, the very idea of going to a club and standing for hours while watching people twerk makes me want to go lay down someplace. I'm hoping that my anxiety melts away the moment I get some gumbo in me and hug someone I haven't seen in years. If it doesn't, I can always post up in my Air B&B, watching my friends enjoy homecoming live through their Instastories. We'll call that a seclusion and chill. 

New Orleans Ya'll: Wrap Up

The N.O. has community gardens now, I'm down!

Streetcar fresh!

Lunch at Daisy Dukes: sirloin, gumbo, friend green tomatoes, and a biscuit. 

Relle and Kiki.

On Campus!

At the club. 

Smooth N' Shinge Go Pro Gro Launch Weekend begins!

Swag Bag!

 

 Breakfast.

Me and celeb stylist Larry Sims.

Go Pro Gro products.

Larry explaining the products.

Getting my hair did. 

On the way to dinner.

Last dinner of the weekend. 

The new homie Amy!

 

I had so much fun in New Orleans. I visited for the Smooth N' Shine Go Pro Gro Launch Weekend, but arrived a few days early to make a vaykay out of it. The highlights: I got to see my college friends and visit my revamped campus, met some cool journalists, hung out with celeb stylist Larry Sims, learned a lot about the new Go Pro Gro products, and made new friends...and ate so good!

What My Trip to New Orleans Taught Me

So a week ago I went to New Orleans to visit friends and for an event sponsored by Smooth 'n Shine. I went to school in New Orleans, and it's one of my favorite places ever. However, I hadn't been there pretty much since I graduated. Below are the things that my revisit to New Orleans taught/ reminded me.

1. Stay Focused: I have some friends that stayed in the city that have lost focus a little and gotten caught up in crazy. No crazy.
2. I'm Awesome: Sometimes the people in my life can make me feel like I'm stupid or not good enough. Visiting my college campus reminded me that I am the ish, so much the ish that I don't have time for foolishness.
3. Cocktail Free: There was a time when I could drink, but that time has passed. Like, really passed. I can sip on wine, but that is about it. No. Hard. Drinks.
4. I'm Out of Shape!: In college, I didn't have a car, so I walked everywhere. However, walking New Orleans during my visit made me feel like I was going to die! Cab please!
5. I'm a NATURAL People Person: I thrive around people. I am funny around people. I am the life of the party around people. Sadly, some people in my life have worked my nerves to the point that I want nothing to do with people. I can't allow that.
6. I'm Old: Again, there was a time that I could stay out LATE. Once, I stayed on Bourbon Street from like 8pm to 8am. That can not and would not happen today! I need to be tucked in my midnight at the latest.

Code Name: The Percolator

So I recently went to New Orleans and my friend Relle took me to this club called Vaso. It was pretty dead, but we went there, I suspect, because her girlfriend was the bartender. But that is neither here nor there. One of the only other people there was a man that called himself The Percolator. He had a lot of energy, but in between dancing, he told me his life story. Apparently, in his 20s, he was rich. He was a DJ and a promoter. However, his pesky meth habit broke him in more ways than one. He is 36 now, and got clean by sitting for days at the New Orleans River Walk, cold turkey. There was a bluegrass band there and he asked me to dance, as seen above. Very energetic and a little annoying, but a seemingly sweet guy.

Moments after this picture was taken, he left the club with a couple of other patrons, apparently to engage in a drug deal...that went wrong. The other patrons beat him almost unrecognizable and stole is wallet. Sigh, those New Orleans nights.

 

Snow, Snow Go Away

I should be on an Amtrak train right now, snacking on a bag of nine dollar Doritos and trying not to think about how badly I have to pee; I should be on my way to New Orleans. But instead, I am here, sitting at my computer and watching The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood for the 900th time, wishing I was sipping on a hand grenade.
Have you ever just felt like you belonged someplace? You just went somewhere and felt like you didn't understand why you weren't there all along? That is how I feel about New Orleans, even though I have little to nothing in common with the people of the city. But just being there, even in the bad areas, makes me happy- makes me just want to lie on the ground and draw and write poetry. The whole place encourages creativity, from the vibrant color pattern of the city and everyone's clothing to its old world charm. I even miss the bittersweet smell of piss and puke and spilled beer, especially living in Atlanta, a city that is quickly becoming a haven for the super rich, super gay, super chic, super saditty, and super obnoxious. Don't get me wrong, I love the A and it's beautiful array of wannabes, but I have found that if you stay here too long, you will literally begin to choke on everyone's designer labels and demo CDs.
So the snow is melting rapidly, and tomorrow, I will be back on my way to the N.O. where the air is dirty and everyone has an attitude. Ahh, it's like leaving home to visit a fairytale.