Boy Excited

As many of you know, I volunteer with teen girls. I met with them on Saturday, and many of them were giggling for no reason and walking around with huge, huge smiles. It doesn't take a brain surgeon to know what that means: they have boyfriends. One of my favorite girls who, until recently, only wanted to date a Korean boy similar to her K-Pop crushes has found a super tall boy at her school that she can not stop talking about. He is apparently the best thing to happen to high school since excuses to get out of gym. One of the other teens I mentor is quiet and moody and has found another equally quiet and moody boy to laugh on the phone with. He is into anime and making dance videos on Instagram.
Seeing them made me smile. I remember what it feels like to be genuinely excited about a guy. I would like that feeling again, but I told Kyndra on our ride to church that I am not sure I can ever be again. What my teen mentees don't know is that with every ounce of boy excitement you have, the bigger the shoe is that is inevitably going to drop. I have been excited about so many guys, from the one that had a fat fetish highlighted by the tattoo of a fat woman on his arm to the one that seemed really community minded but only wanted to get close to me to get me involved in a calling card pyramid scheme.  Now, whenever I even so much as see a cute guy, I imagine what could be wrong with him; the boatload of unnecessary drama he could bring into my life.
The last guy I was excited about was Third Ryan. His other shoe dropped when he told me he was in love with one of my best friends. That was the cherry on top of an already melting love banana split for me. Now I kind of look at guys the way I look at purses at the mall that I can't afford: from a distance with a sad face. Just as the purse would be my obsession before it was inevitably snatched from me at an Atlanta bus stop, that man would have me excited before he inevitably lied, revealed his array of side families, asked to borrow money, or ate off of my plate without asking. But hey, who says you can't be excited about an idea? I did. I think I said that.

Next Move, Best Move

Am I the only person who talks to their rideshare drivers about their personal life? I think I may be, because when I share the opinions on my life that the drivers give me with my friends, they stare at me with a blank face.
I recently told this one driver- a Rasta wannabe with stitch-in dreadlocks- about the situation with Third Ryan. For those of you who do no remember, Third Ryan was the man that I pined for for a WHOLE YEAR who told me casually that he "feels a connection" with one of my best friends. It was then that I decided to pack up my cookies and go home. A year was long enough. I had to pull a Maxine Waters and reclaim my time.
"So what are you going to do now?" Rasta asked.
"Uh, nothing."
"Nothing?!" Rasta was so shocked that I thought he was going to crash the car, his framed Bob Marley photo nearly sliding down the dashboard.
"Yeah, he likes my friend."
"So what?!" he demanded. "They aren't together. You have to make your next move your best move, get him to like you."
Okay. This is a PSA. What we are NOT going to do this year, in 2020, is advice the people in our lives that we love, like, and that even step into our Ubers that it is okay to waste time trying to get blind people to see how cool we are. It is the ULTIMATE waste of time! My whole 4 years of college was spent trying to get tall frat boys to realize that I was more awesome than their model girlfriends. Guess what: they didn't! I could have spent that time doing important stuff like drinking or twerking on Bourbon Street!
I have now come to a state of mind where I believe that people who are supposed to see your light shining will see it, plain and simple. My next and best move is moving on.

The End of Third Ryan

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

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

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

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