Brotherly Love - The Great Pen Pal Disaster

I want to be friends with one of my Xavier brothers. Nothing gross or romantic. I honestly would like to be his friend because he seems to have a really cool life, and, as a lover of stories, I would love to know more about it. Sadly, befriending men has always been tricky for me. Tricky and awkward. In college, I would often fall in love with guys that I befriended, which would cause some of these friendships to crash and burn. However, that won't be an issue now because I have no more love left to give. It went out the window with my dreams of ever having abs. 

If I am telling the truth, the biggest thing keeping me from reaching out to this guy is because of what happened a few years back. At the time, I was pen pals with two of my Xavier sisters. This was awesome for me, because I love to write and love getting mail. There is something about the written word that is different and way more exciting than verbal conversation. It is for me anyway. I enjoyed being pen pals with them so much that I decided that I wanted to have a boy pen pal too, and I knew just who I wanted it to be: 🍺. 🍺, much like my other Xavier brother, seemed to live a very charmed life. He traveled the world, hung out all the time with his friends and family who seemed to just be in love with him, even though he was hyper and extra, and he had a fulfilling job. This, as you already know, is the opposite of my life. I never go anywhere and can't get my "friends" to call me back. 

So, I decided to ask him to be my pen pal, and I was nervous about it. He and I were not friends in school, and I was afraid that he might think that the request was weird. Yet, against my nervous stomach, I asked him to be my pen pal in an Instagram message, and he wrote me an elegant, beautifully written letter telling me no because he didn't know how to write. I read the message twice and for some reason, perhaps out of hysterical embarrassment, it made me laugh. 

Fast forward a couple of weeks later, I ran into one of my Xavier sisters, Mona, at the grocery store. It is always good to see a college friend! She told me how she lost all this weight working out and eating better, and she filled me in on her new job. And just by chance, I told her about how I asked 🍺to be my pen pal and how he said no. I laughed but stopped laughing when I saw her mortified face. 

"Girl, of course he said no! You know what he thought you meant!"

I was confused. "What do you think he thought I meant?"

"Come on now, Holly. Pen pal. Pen. Penis. He thought you wanted to have sex with him!"

A ringing went off in my ears, and the whole grocery store stood still. Oh my God! There was no way that he thought that was what I meant, was it?

"You know he is friends with THE CREW. He probably told all of them how you slid in his DMs trying to f*&k!" she exclaimed. 

I raced home and read the message over a million times until I began to see all types of hidden meanings in it. I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, not blinking, envisioning him reading my message to the THE CREW and them laughing at me. I wanted to message him to let him know that that was not what I meant, but just in case he didn't think that was what I meant, I decided not to. Plus, sending messages is what got me in that mess. You know, I saw him at homecoming. I spoke to him and he spoke back, but only after his attempt to walk past me failed. Brutal. 

This I think about when I consider reaching out to another Xavier brother about being friends. The last thing I need is another guy I went to school with thinking I want his "pen". 

Homecoming Post 10 (Bonus)- The Gold and The Beautiful

Int. Bedroom of a Bayou Mansion- Night

HOLLY CLAY wakes up with a start in a beautifully decorated bedroom. She sits up, realizing that she is wearing a princess gown, think Tiana from The Princess and The Frog.

HOLLY

Where am I?

A grandfather clock strikes midnight in the corner. Holly gets up from the bed as there is a knock on the door. She races to the door and opens it to see CANE THE KAPPA on the porch. He is wearing a black and maroon suit and tails, and his hair is long, down to his waist.

HOLLY

Whoa. Did you get a relaxer?

CANE

I did. What do you think?

HOLLY

I can dig it daddy.

CANE

Good, because this Just for Me is just for you.

Cane enters the house as the chopped and screwed version of "Cupid" by 112 blares from someplace upstairs. He then begins to shimmy the 100 feet to the dining room. They have a seat at a long dining room table, think Beauty and the Beast.

HOLLY

Wow. This is gorgeous. I just...I don't know how I got here.

CANE

I guess the question is, how do any of us really get anywhere?

HOLLY

Uh...walking. Running. Skipping.

CANE

(tossing his outrageously long hair over his shoulder)

Or by floating on the wings of your love.

HOLLY

Ah Cane, that's so-

There is a loud knock on the front door.

HOLLY

Who the hell is it?!

Holly kicks off her crystal flats and slides to the door. She opens it to find CAPTAIN MORGAN.

HOLLY

Captain Morgan?! What do you want?

CAPTAIN MORGAN

Hey Holly. I just wanted to say that I am sorry.

HOLLY

Sorry for what?

CAPTAIN MORGAN

Nothing. I just heard that you like to hear men apologize for stuff.

HOLLY

True dat. But I'm in the middle of something here.

CAPTAIN MORGAN

Listen, I'm married. You don't know my wife, but just know that she's a baddie.

HOLLY

Of course.

CAPTAIN MORGAN

But I did want you to know that if I would have known your feelings for me your freshman year, I would have dropped that Miss Xavier and got with you.

HOLLY

No, you wouldn't have.

CAPTAIN MORGAN

No, I wouldn't have. But overlooking you was cold. Some may even say it was ice cold.

HOLLY

Alright. Okay. See you later bro.

Holly slams the door shut and races back to the dining room which has been transformed into a ballroom. Cane is twirling his kane to the slowed version of "Rain" by SWV. She steps on to the ballroom floor as diamonds begin to rain from the ceiling.

HOLLY

Diamonds!

CANE

Not just any diamonds. Kappa diamonds.

HOLLY

What is the difference between a real diamond and a Kappa diamond?

CANE

I don't know. What's the difference between a bad wig and a so-so sew-in?

HOLLY 

Can I touch your kane?

CANE

That depends. Are your hands clean?

HOLLY

As clean as they're gonna be.

The two race towards each other but stop midway as they hear "I'm in Love" by Ginuwine blaring from outside. Holly rushes to the window to see SPHINXIE VAN NO-STEP standing in the rain with a large boom box.

CANE

Man...you have a lot of dudes coming around here.

HOLLY

I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I will get rid of him.

Holly walks out a side door and the bayou has been transformed into a desert. She reaches out her hand. Snow is falling.

HOLLY

Sphinxie, it's freezing!

SPHINXIE

Is it? I can't tell, I have an icebox where my heart used to be!

That's all for now

Homecoming Post 8: Old- Treating HER-rectile Dysfunction

I just want you to know that this homecoming I had the best intentions. I was going to go to all of the events and take lots of pictures. I was going to twerk my away across every Xavier event! Spoiler alert: that did not happen. The first event I attended was on the yard on Friday. Getting out of my Uber, I had a strong urge to climb back in and go back to the Air B and B. Listening to the loud music and seeing the students bouncing around, I felt like I needed a good two-hour nap. After that, I was supposed to go to the day party, which I was actually excited about, but that plan got derailed after I ordered myself some Copeland's for dinner and decided to catch up on Grey's Anatomy. 

"So, you don't want to go to the club?" Big Homie Sans asked that Friday, disappointed. I snickered to myself. In college, I went out every weekend and didn't really want to go then, at 18! If Uber would have been around in 2003, I would have spent exactly five minutes at every party before returning back to the dorm to enjoy a hot shower with everyone gone. Looking at the party flyers with Big Homie Sans made me yawn. I'd have to get dressed and do my hair to go to said club, get a car and go to said club, stand in line at said club, try not to collapse from exhaustion at said club. God forbid I did a line dance. I just may have gone to the bathroom, locked myself in a stall, used my clutch bag as a pillow, and turned in for the night. 

Saturday night I could tell that I had gotten on Big Homie Sans's nerves. I had promised to go to the club party that night but had again gotten sidetracked by Copeland's and news clips from CBS Mornings. She was amped up on energy drinks and ready to boogie, and I was full of Oreo cheesecake and ready to count sheep. Watching her put on her eye makeup, I did feel a little sad. She was so excited to party, and I had absolutely no desire to go out at all. All I could think of was those erectile dysfunction commercials where they are like, "Is your energy down? Is it hard for you to get excited? Are you disappointing the woman in your life?" I looked up at Big Homie Sans on the edge of the bed, pouting at me. "You may have erectile dysfunction." Maybe I have HER-rectile Dysfunction or She E.D. 

Or I am old. 

You have to remember that I was the only girl in my kindergarten class that carried a purse! The only girl in middle school whose grandma set her hair with foam rollers. Now I am 38 and put going out to a club and having fun with friends in the same basket as doing Crossfit or climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. Maybe next year I will buy an overpriced section at the club with bottle service so I can sit and tap my toes to the music. Just don't say a word if you notice that I am wearing a floor length nightgown and watching Murder She Wrote on my phone. Real change takes time. 

Homecoming Post 3: CC is Too Nice for DST (A Cute Story)

I ran into CC at homecoming! 

CC was my friend Singalong's roommate. I thought that they were the oddest pair because Singalong was older than her, wildly outspoken, and could be a little...harsh. Especially if she did not know you. CC, on the other hand, was kind and sweet and downright adorable! She had the most babydoll-esque face. But they got a long really well. I was excited to catch up with her at homecoming. She walked over to me with a friend who went to XU who I did not remember but who had one of the best twist outs I've ever seen! 

"You know Singalong predicted that you were on line but I didn't believe her," I told her on the side of the bookstore. "I told her you could never be a Delta because you are too nice." She thought that that was funny, which gave me permission to tell the story. 

The Story

I cannot remember why I went down to Singalong's room but if I know our friendship well enough, we were probably meeting up to get something to eat. I walked in to see her in thought on her bed. 

"What's wrong?" I asked her. 

"Nothing. I just think that CC is on line to be a Delta."

I laughed out loud. "Your roommate CC? That's impossible! She is way too nice for DST."

Singalong nodded, as if she had considered this, but she stood firm in her conclusion. 

"Why do you think this?" I asked, but I knew the answer. At that point, enough of our friends had crossed to know the signs. I didn't know CC that well, but I knew her enough that if she was on line, I felt like I would have picked up on it myself. "Wait. Isn't the neophyte show like a few days from now?" I asked. I had seen the flyers up. 

"Yep."

I laughed again. "Come on Singalong. If she were on line, she would be coming in under those hiatus Deltas, the ones that just got back after they were kicked off the yard. We know all of them! They would have turned her into a complete nightmare by now! She surely wouldn't be skipping around here, smiling and waving to folks."

Singalong nodded. I was making an excellent point. But years of watching Ghost Writer would not allow the case to be closed without the proper investigation. We were going to have to search her closet. Clearly, if she was on line, there would be some kind of coming out outfit, right? For the show?

I skimmed through the clothes in her closet. CC was nothing if not neat. All I saw were jeans and tops. Looking back, I don't know what I expected to see. An elephant costume? A white turtleneck with glow in the dark red triangles on it?

I took out a black suit with a red and white pinstripes on it. 

"See, all she has is church clothes in here!" We laughed and I put the suit back in her closet. A few days later, when she crossed DST, she wore that very same suit. 

"I'm sorry I went through your closet CC," I told her, like 15 years later last week. 

She shrugged and laughed. "I would not have known if you would not have just told me just now."

See? What did I tell you. Adorable! 

Homecoming Post 1: The Legend of Sphinxie van No-Step

I am not going to lie: On Saturday, by the time I got to the homecoming tailgate, I was in a bit of a mood. I was hangry, my feet were hurting, and I could use a 6-hour nap. I also had on a jacket, and it was unexpectedly HOT. It was the type of heat that makes your eyeballs smoggy.

Why am I here? I asked myself, looking around at the boatloads of people that didn't seem to feel like they were in the devil's mouth. Even my aunty seemed oblivious, eagerly walking from tent to tent. I gotta go, I said to myself, turning on my heels. No sooner did I do that did I run into one of my favorite Alphas: Captain Morgan. This was interesting because the last time I remember seeing him was at my 10-year reunion. I walked over to give him a hug and he pulled me close whispering in my ear, "Don't say anything about the naked picture. My wife is here." That's a story for another time. He had also almost killed me three times in my early 20s. That's another-nother story for another-nother time. I'm not sure if his wife was there yesterday. The last person I remember him dating was that itsy-bitsy Miss Xavier with the big butt and smart mouth. We caught up for a hot second and he gave me a sweaty, alcoholy hug. God, his body felt strong. If my aunty had not come back over, I swear I would have bitten his neck. And if that would have happened, I'd be writing this from a self-imposed, overseas exile.

Once our convo was over, I told my aunty that I was ready to go. I was supposed to meet some people out there; however, being out there felt unbearable. So, I walked around a sea of middle-aged AKAs trying to do the latest line dance when I saw him: Sphinxie van No-Step!

No way! I said to myself. I swear to you, I manifested him! 

You see, my ability to develop a crush on Xavier men that have no idea who I am is legendary. I wish I could say that it was different with Sphinxie. Just recently, his picture had been posted on my friend's IG page and I messaged my friend Bell's hysterically. It's Sphinxie van No Step! I cried through the message. She replied quickly not missing a beat: My God! That brotha could not step. 

Until I saw him attempt to step, I had no idea that you could be Greek and not know how to. I figured if you didn't know how, you would be taught how. If this is the case, somehow Sphinxie slipped through the cracks. I stood in front of the University Center once and saw him and his line brothers performing in the tiny parking lot across the street from my dorm before a bunch of AKAs and doting girls. I mean, I was speechless. Never had I seen such jolty, uncoordinated movements in my life! With 50 AKAs clapping a rhythm to his ankles, he just couldn't get it. It looked like he was doing some ritualistic tribal dance. Aw, he's awkward, I thought, which made my heart smile. And you all know that once my heart starts smiling...

Then I got to know him briefly as the president of the NAACP. Little Miss Texas had invited me to a meeting only after explaining that I was not to humiliate her in any way. And I sat in that meeting watching him whisper in front of the classroom that he wanted everyone to quiet down so the meeting could start. No one was paying attention! Everyone was laughing and talking. I'm not even sure if they noticed him up there. Aw, he's soft spoken, I thought. Insert heart smile. Inevitably, Busty O'LoudMouth  busted into the room and yelled, "Hey, shut the hell up! Don't you see President Sphinxie is trying to start the meeting?!" It was so quiet you could hear a pen drop. 

My last crushable memory of Sphinxie was on a random New Orleans day. I remember thinking that if I had known I was going to run into him head-on, I wouldn't have dressed like an art teacher in a women's jail! I used to love tall tees and baggy jeans because I thought the look made me look thinner. It didn't. He looked up at me with those EYES, smiled with those TEETH, and waved. And I over-waved because I was probably more awkward than him! Aw, he's nice, I said, skipping to class. Heart Smile.

Homecoming Post 9: 37 Savage and the Bad Shot Shoot (A Cane the Kappa Story)

Once upon a time at Xavier University, I had devised an "airtight" plan to streak through this sorority's portion of the Fall 2004 Neophyte Show. This was back when all the Greek lines came out at the same time. And we would all gather in our newly purchased mall fits to watch our closest friends cross. Some girls I really, really liked crossed in that line, but I had had a BAD time with their elders my freshman year. In 2003, I served on the homecoming committee under the Miss Xavier at the time who was part of said sorority. Child, the abuse me and the other committee members underwent under that itty bitty tiny woman! I will never forget the committee chairman's face when she came into the room, denied our budget request, then told us our event plans sucked. Then there was the one that I chased across campus in the rain because she wouldn't let me walk with her under her enormous sorority umbrella. WE WERE GOING TO THE SAME PLACE! And of course, there was that gorgeous one whose name I don't recall who may have truly been the prettiest girl I'd ever seen in my life! She Rosa Parked me and made me get off of the sorority bench where I was sitting, rubbing my feet after a failed attempt to walk to class in Payless heels. Anyway, the goal was to drop my robe, run naked to the middle of the gym, do the tootsie roll, then run out the side door. I say all this to say that my streaking plan may have been better put together than my plan to get the attention of Cane the Kappa.

Cane is a mystery wrapped in a theory baked in suspense and I want to know him. I have wanted to know him for some time. He is one of those people that no one knows but everyone knows because you can't help but to know him. To me, he looks out of place even when he is blending in. And when I see him, drinking and being cool with his frat brothers, he reminds me of when I used to go to Que parties as a freshman with my fast friends and try to be fast too when I was an obvious mortified virgin.

Yes, it is true that I am a touch thirsty, but this is more than that. I have entered a season where I am just out here shooting shots, even if the odds are that the ball is going to ricochet off the rim and punch me in the face. So many people have died in my life in the past six years that I just want to do everything, even seemingly senseless things that could leave me looking dumb and feeling stupid. I believe this is referred to as living. Plus, I didn't want to leave things with the 10-year reunion bad hug. Another story for another time. 

I don't like going into any situation without a plan, and my plan for this situation was simple. After getting high off of Youtube videos on eye contact and divine feminine energy, my plan was to simply stare at him. That's right. I was going to focus my ancestral gifted sexiness, grudged up from my root chakra to my eyeballs where I would then stare him down like Cyclops from X-Men until the heat from my sensuous gaze burned into the side of his face. His eyes would then meet mine, and I would visually charm him, like cats charm birds out of trees. Then he would have no choice but to rest his head on my breasts and tell me all his secrets and fears. Those witchy ladies who wear waist beads on Youtube said it was a sure thing! 

It's not. 

It was just my luck that the Kappa tent was right next to the tent for the Class of 2007. I had never seen that many Kappas in one place ever, talking about whatever it is that Kappas talk about when they aren't twirling those cute little sticks. I was two hours into the tailgate before Cane emerged from the Kappa tent with the swag of a toddler that had just awoken from a nap. He stepped to the side of the tent, speaking to two girls who looked like twins that had really nice butts and a lot of hair.

Okay, I thought as I took a deep breath and than began to do my queen stare for what felt like an hour. It could not have been longer than a minute. It actually takes a lot to stare at a person for a long time. This I was not banking on. 

Okay, okay. I shook my head and started over again, this time getting the attention of one of the hair twins. She turned and waved to me and I waved back. Maybe I should have asked for her number because the queen stare was not working on Cane. I was beginning to get a headache. 

Before I could go prepare for round three of this poorly executed eye play, a Kappa came out of the tent wearing fire engine red leather pants (I can't make this up) and walked Cane back into the tent. 

No play from Cane in college. The bad hug. Immunity to my eye powers. I think we have to call this a wrap...until 2025 for the Xavier University 100th year anniversay. What can I say?I have never been good at taking a hint. 

Homecoming Post 3: The Mystery of Alderado Avacado

Whenever I get a call from Lady Chatsalot, I know that I am going to laugh my keister off. That, and get served a cup of piping hot tea! Lady Chatsalot is one of those girls that I knew in school, but we didn't get to really know each other until we graduated. She always has her finger on the pulse of what is going on with everything and everyone. And she is hilarious! 

"Oh girl, guess who I saw at the club!" she said, shaking her head into her computer camera. 

"Who?!" I asked. 

"Alderado Avacado!"

I thought about it for a moment before jumping out of my skin. "Do you mean -----?!"

She nodded. "Yes, girl!"

"What was he doing at the club?"

"I don't know, but when I talked to him, he said that I would probably be seeing more of him out and about."

"Girl, shut up! Does that mean that he isn't with Splitz anymore?"

"I don't know."

In college, I was so far out of Alderado Avacado's league that I don't think he knew who I was! He was just so handsome and charming and very much with Splitz, one of those girls that is so hot that you know that even in her 80s she is going to be fine! I saw him at the 10-year reunion at the club. I looked up and he was right beside me and I said, "-----!" He looked down and smiled, that million-dollar pearly white smile. God! What a dream boat!

We must have talked him up, because at the tailgate, while I was chatting with someone, I noticed two of the girls at the tent freeze. 

"What is going on?" I asked Sweets, one of my favorite girls from college. 

"Girl, Alderado Avacado just passed by."

  Again, I needed a minute. It is always weird to hear him referred to by his real name. "You mean -----?!"

She nodded with a smile. I mean, all the girls were crazy about this guy! 

"I don't know if he is divorced, but he is always in Cutie's face," Savannah said a couple of days later when I brought it up. Hmmm. So he is divorced, right? Maybe?

Let's be clear, I have no chance of ever getting with Alderado Avacado if he's divorced. For me, he is kind of like the lottery: I have no intention of playing, but I will tune in to the news to see what the jackpot is. And let's be clear, he is a jackpot. During the drive back to Atlanta, I wondered what it must be like to be wanted like that and know it! The things I could do with that type of power! I definitely wouldn't be paying my own bills, that's for damn sure. 

As for the status of Alderado Avacado, it is still a mystery, but the blood is in the water and the sharks are very much circlinng. But Splitz doesn't have to worry about me. I cain't swim. 

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 Post 9: Living Single

Let's go back to fall of 2003. My grandma, mom, aunt, and I stood to the side as one Lauchland Roberts carried my stuff to my dorm room at Katherine Drexel Hall. I was openly ogling this man as he, and this is not an exaggeration, carried my mini fridge to my room with one hand. He had pretty dark skin and had an earring in his ear. A boy with an earring. That was very hot to an 18-year-old me. Today, I see a young man with an earring in his ear and I clutch my purse and cross the street.
After everything was moved in my grandma summoned me outside to speak to me privately. She had been getting on to me all day because I'd had an attitude all day. I figured she was going to say something to me for staring at Lauchland. And she did...sort of.
"I saw you staring at that boy."
I said nothing.
"You know, most people find who they are going to marry in college," she continued. I squirmed, nervous that my ultra-conservative grandmother was going to say something about sex or condoms. "So, get your work done, but be aware."
"Aware?" Was she trying to tell me to marry Lauchland? I'd only known him for twenty minutes, but done! I mean, he had an earring!
My grandmother, who was nothing if not prepared, knew I would need a little help getting the attention of these potential suitors. So, she let me know that she had packed me a Ziplock bag of foam rollers and some Blue Magic Hair Grease in my trunk. Seeing that I had micro braids at the time, I had no intention of using those old-school rollers or that hair grease. But I smiled and nodded. Not for nothing, I would later serve on a homecoming committee for Lauchland's girlfriend at the time who happened to be Ms. Xavier. I used to wonder if she rolled her hair and if that was how she got Lauchland's attention. Maybe, maybe not. But she's married now and I'm not. Draw your own conclusions.
Obviously, I didn't take my grandma's advice which was why I had anxiety about attending homecoming. I was afraid that I was going to be the only person there that was single. Social media had led me to believe that everyone from my class was hitched with kids, living The Cosby Show life. However, upon arriving at school, I realized that ten years after graduation, life for many of us gals is less like The Cosby Show and more like Living Single.
All my single friends at homecoming looked amazing. They are all a lot of fun and have cool jobs. They look really cute in dresses and they smell really good. They like to dance and they travel the world. These are the super dope girls! It baffles me as to why they are single. They are babes! Bosses! And they all seem to be enjoying the frick out of life.
It wasn't until I hung out with these girls, twerking on the stage barefoot at The Masquerade, that I realized that being single isn't scary, but the rate that time is flying is. Ten years have felt like ten minutes! It could have easily have been junior year! I don't want to take a nap, wake up ten more years from now, and be in the same romantic situation. If I understood the concept of time when I was 18, I would have done as grandma suggested, I would have been more "aware". Who knows? Maybe I could have snagged one of those hot nerds from the engineering department.
Here in Atlanta, so many of the single women in my life are taking active steps to no longer be single. They are exercising because men like fit women. They are repairing their credit because men don't want a broke woman. They are going to shrinks to work out their childhood stuff because men don't like angry women. For me, all this legwork sounds exhausting, and I haven't seen proof that it works. The most I am willing to do at this point in my life is put my hair up in some foam rollers.

Homecoming Post 8: Kappa Krush part 2

Listening to Kappa Kakes talk to my friend at the Kappa tent during the homecoming tailgate was taking me from 0 to 100 real quick. My feet were hurting. I was thirsty. I wanted to sit down, and my hip was sore from falling in the club the night before. I was tired and I could feel myself getting crabby like a toddler, and watching Kappy Kakes' hazel eyes twinkle in the sunlight was, for some reason, pushing me to the edge.

Bored with their conversation, I turned my head to the right to give my nerves a break and there he was: Kappa Krush. While his frat brothers were serving food, taking pictures, and flirting with their fans, he was the cheese that stood alone, dancing excitedly with himself. But that wasn't the right time to approach. I had a plan.  

Yes, I had a plan. And just so you know, from the jump, this plan was full of holes and destined for failure. But, on the way to New Orleans, I had begun to think of all the guys I had liked in school that I hadn't told out of fear of humiliation. Now, they are married to chicks that aren't so beautiful that they couldn't have been me. The ones that sting are the guys that married fatties! Talk about missing the boat! Now, let me be clear, I in no way thought that Kappa Krush would be into me. Not even a little. But for some reason, I was determined to move forward with my plan. And my plan was simple: to get a hug. 

Getting a hug from a Kappa is like taking candy from a baby. They literally hand out girl hugs like free clinic brochures. But I felt like it would be suspicious to just show up at their tent, among all those wet and wavy freshman girls, looking for love. 

Plus, I'd had the same vision for our hug for the past thirteen years. It would take place at a club. "Flex" by Mad Cobra would be playing. We would float to each other and I would fall into his arms as the club applauded. Then, a magic carpet would come, pick us up, and take us somewhere sacred and special, like the Waffle House. #allstarwithgrits

However, by that night I had talked myself out of the plan. I had decided against going to the party at Metro and instead wanted to stay in bed and watch some Law And Order SVU reruns. Then my roommate for the trip, Dizzle, came back to the room TURNED UP and told me that we were going. She had a fantasy she wanted to play out herself which included me, her, and all of our friends dancing to "Wipe Me Down". 

So off to Metro I went with a very, very lit Dizzle. And I ran into a ton of guys from the crush list. You know, the all-stars: Number 5, BobTheBuilder, Cardio Cutie, TheMartin. But, by the time the DJ had gotten to the Houston mix, I was too tired to do The Southside. I decided to Uber back to the hotel. Before I left the dance floor, I stood against the wall to put my shoes back on only to see that I was standing right next to Kappa Krush. 

Isn't it funny how things work out? He was just standing there, looking out onto the dance floor. 

"Hey!" I spat, a bit too loudly, even for the club. 

He looked down at me. "Oh hey."

I then proceeded to receive the most lack-luster side hug I had ever received in my life! I don't know what I had expected a hug from him to feel like, but the club definitely didn't break into "A Whole New World" from Aladdin. It lasted three seconds and then he walked away. A crush thirteen years in the making folks! I felt like someone had let the air out of my balloon. 

I spent the rest of the night crashing the VIP section of some very hot, hot, hot Deltas. Talking to them took my mind off of the stupid expectations I had put into a crush on a man that didn't know me from Adam. It can't possibly be healthy to live this deep in a fantasy world, could it? All that time I had spent daydreaming about boys that didn't give a shit I could have put into finding a real man that gave real hugs. I decided then and there I needed to come back to life, back to reality. 

The reggae mix came on and I turned my head to see a very drunk boy from my class slow winding with himself, laughing at himself while he sipped on a drink. 

"Having fun?" I yelled at him. 

He smiled and nodded, boy twerking to Wayne Wonder. 

Being dorky like that will get you put on the crush list...#SigmaSauced

Homecoming Post 7: 33 and Me

I will be 33 in less than a month. Believe it or not, I had almost forgotten, until I went to homecoming and remembered that once upon a time, I used to walk up and down the campus multiple times a day. Up stairs and down stairs. Across the canal and back again. Oh to be 19, because on the verge of 33, all I wanted to do was sit down someplace and take a nap. Yes, homecoming taught me somethings about myself as an old woman. Below are some points.

I can party...just not all night
When I was a sophomore, me and two of my friends decided to literally stay on Bourbon Street from dusk until dawn. We stayed at the club until we were put out for falling asleep on the stage at around 7am. I don't know why we would do something that stupid. During homecoming, I felt like I was winning, leaving each party promptly at 1:30am. I can't be cute if I don't get enough sleep. Which brings me to my next point.

I have a bedtime

Yes, I am in my 30s with a bedtime and I don't care how much of a lame that makes me. I. Need. My. Rest. Thumbs up to the hotties I saw on campus who I saw at the club the night before who left after me and were still cute in the morning. I know I make being cute look easy, but it ain't. It's a delicate combination of water consumption, fish oil tablets, and sleep that is keeping me alive and pretty. 

I hate shoes 

Once upon a time, I would be be uncomfortable on purpose just to be cute. Tight skirts and dresses. Yass girl, I tried it! Not today. I may be able to tolerate uncomfortable clothes, but not shoes. When my feet hurt, I have to kick my shoes off. In the grocery store. In church. At the club. I can not stand to be in shoes. My feet have to be free! I enjoyed being barefoot at the club all of homecoming until I saw some little shit taking a picture of my feet. I'd like to say this made me put my shoes back on. It didn't. 

I think all men are fine 

At the tailgate, everyone guy I saw looked good. They all looked young. They all looked buff. They were all hotties. After having a who's cute powwow with friends, I was informed that I must have been seeing things. They are all fat, not buff, and were definitely hotter in college. I disagree. They have all aged like fine wine to me. Those advanced degrees have done their bodies good honey! 

I no longer have an alcohol tolerance 

Club night one: I had an amaretto sour, heavy ice. Club night two: I had a Ciroc and cranberry that had me sweatin'! Club night three: I crashed someone's VIP and got some cranberry juice. The moral of the story: my drinking days are over. I have lost a taste for alcohol, and the little bit that I do drink nearly knocks me off my feet. #byebyehandgrenadedays

I turn 33 right before Christmas, and I suspect as my 33rd year goes on my list will get longer. And I don't care, another symptom of old age. 

Homecoming Post 6: Kappa Krush pt. 1

I don't know what you were doing in college, but I was pretending to study, looking for anyone, ANYONE, to do my hair, and nursing crushes on numerous young men that had no idea who I was. The list of loves was so long that I couldn't even keep track. It didn't take much to get added to the list either. A guy could have brushed past me in the bookstore, looked at me briefly on his way to looking at someone else. Guys would fall off. Guys would would get added. I mean, it was really unreal. I remember all of their faces, some of their names. But no crush is as clear in my mind as the crush I had on Kappa Krush.
Like most guys on campus, I had no idea who Kappa Krush was until he crossed. I had seen him around, but he was pretty unremarkable. I had taken note that he was taller than me, but other than that, he was not on my radar. And then came the Neophyte Show. I sat on the bottom bleacher on the right side of The Barn with the homies, enjoying the show. But when it was time for The Kappas to come out I sat back and yawned. Never been a Kappa fan. I found them ALL to be irritating, and I was not surprised that they were crossing literally every boy that had irritated me since I had arrived on the campus...except the tall boy.
"Hey, it's the tall boy," I told my friend. I remember thinking that it was stupid that they put a disguise on him because it was so obvious who he was. And after he took off his mask, I watched him adorably fumble through their entire routine. The boy was tone death. A fact that I knew he knew because I could see him counting his steps as he did them. How sweet! Nerdy things like that will get you added to the crush list...
I told friends that I had a crush on this guy, and they didn't play along with it like they did with my other fly-by-night crushes. They all gave me very, VERY negative feedback. I think that they were afraid that if they didn't bash him, I may do something stupid, like tell him. These were the same friends that had witnessed the nightmare that was me writing basketball player Tim Green a literal four-page love letter, spraying it with Victoria Secret body spray, sealing it with an ACTUAL KISS, and putting it on the windshield of his truck. Luckily it was retrieved and he never knew about it. I was warned that if I so much as hinted at this crush as I had with Tim, I would be publicly humiliated by ALL of the Kappas- the bald one, that one that sang, the one that dated the AKA, the one with the big eyes, the one who wore the shades, the one with the green eyes. ALL. OF. THEM. I didn't put it passed a boy to be mean to me. Just that last year I had been attacked by the entire basketball team (a post for another day)!
But then I had an interaction with Kappa Krush.
I was in the bookstore with my bisexual homegirl and we were standing behind him in the checkout line. She was going on and on about a girl that wouldn't get the point about their relationship being over.
"I don't get it," she said. "She won't leave me alone."
"Please. You used that girl like a moist towelette," I said, rolling my eyes.
Kappa Krush turned around and laughed. "That's a new one," he said, then went on to ring up his stuff. I could feel my friend tense up. She knew he was on the list and how little it took for me to go overboard.
"Do we need to talk about that?" she asked as we left the bookstore.
"About what?" I asked while thinking, About the fact that we're getting married?! I literally skipped back to the dorm, happy that Kappa Krush, as I had suspected, wasn't a complete douche like the other ones. He was nice!
Now, fast forward to last week at the homecoming tailgate and what would become the end of my 13-year delusion.

Homecoming Post 5: Clay and the Baby AKA

I wasn't on my feet for 20 minutes during the homecoming step show before my feet started to hurt. You see, I wear really cheap shoes with no arch support. So I copped a squat in front of the University Center to rest and watch the crowd. While I was doing so, an adorable little AKA took a seat next to me. She too was experiencing foot pain from walking up and down the campus in high heels. We got to chattin', me and this adorable 20-year-old junior (let's call her Adorable), and I decided to impart some wisdom to her. I decided to tell her the things that no one told me when I was a young woman at Xavier. 

1. I told her that if she didn't want to wear heels every day, she didn't have to, no matter what her prophytes said. I reminded her that she bought her letters outright, and if she wanted to attend the rest of the homecoming events in house shoes or a worn pair of Chucks, she could. I actually encouraged her to. Your college years should be partially dedicated to challenging the system. 
2. I advised her not to be a whore. I know that it is no longer PC to slut-shame, but that if she could help it, she should keep the mileage low on her jayjay. She doesn't want to get to 30 and need a trade in. 
3. She said that she didn't have a boyfriend, so I told her not to sweat the guy she likes that may not seem interested. I guaranteed her that at her ten-year reunion, he will be depressed and divorced and ripe for the picking. Patience wins the race!
4. I told her about Jasmine, the scary AKA from when I was a freshman. She made everyone's butt cheeks clench whenever she came around. I asked her to stay sweet but do not let the legend of Jasmine die. #remembertheculture
5. When I was a student at Xavier, I tried to attend everything because, when I didn't, everyone talked about what I missed like it was the best thing ever. So I let her know that there is always another party or event to attend and to not be afraid to miss out. She can stay in her room and give herself a facial or do her toes. There is always next weekend. 

And we chatted about other stuff. I told her about the time I sat on the AKA bench beside St. Joe to rest my feet after a failed attempt to walk to class in heels. An AKA came over and talked to me for about five minutes before telling me to get up. She didn't move until I was successfully limping off to class. LOLs, that's one of my favorite freshman moments.

I felt good afterward, unloading all my knowledge and experience on Adorable, but if she is anything like me, she will forget everything I said and make her own mistakes. This is the beauty of being young. 

Homecoming Post 4:The Hot Girl Rule

Let's go back to the night that Ashley the Rude flipped her hair in my face. Shortly after I recovered from that indignity, I saw THE Donnalyn Parriwinkle. I'm going to be honest: I am a fan of Donnalyn Parriwinkle, even though I am positive she doesn't know my name. I'm honestly quite interested in knowing what she thinks my name is. I bet you it's Debbie. I have been told that I look like a Debbie.
I saw Donnalyn for the first time my freshman year at a basketball game. She was talking pretty loudly in my ear to some guy, and I turned around to say something mean to her and was taken aback by how hot she was. From that point on, she was kind of always on my radar.
So again, lets go back to moments after the hair flip that, somehow, Ethan just happened to miss. We were talking when Donnalyn, followed by a fembot army, marched into the club like she owned the place.
"Donnalyn!"I yelled.
She didn't hear me, but her friend did and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around and I called her over. Moments after I did it, watching her walk over to me, alarms when off in my head. "Abort! Abort!" I was thinking in my head. I didn't want to be seen anywhere near this girl! She looked entirely too hot!
Before I left the hotel, I thought I looked cute. I had on a long maroon tunic and a pair of black leggings with my cream jacket. Looking back, I looked more like a stay at home mom going to pick up her twins from pre-K. As I packed for homecoming, I just threw the stuff I normally wear in a luggage. I forgot how cute these XU girls are at all times! This chick had on a fishnet blouse and a brassiere! YES! A fishnet blouse and a brassiere!
We greeted each other and it became incredibly evident, even though she was being polite, that she had no idea who I or Ethan was.
"Can I take your picture?" I asked. I was committed to taking hundreds of homecoming pics to blog with and post later.
"Sure, let's be in it together," she said with a smile. But I knew what she was doing. She was implementing the Hot Girl Rule.
Just in case you didn't know it, unless it is a selfie, hot girls have stopped taking pictures alone. They don't know what you are going to do with them. You being in the pic with them ensures that you don't do anything stupid with their likeness. What she didn't know is that I have my own Hot Girl Rule. I refuse to be photographed with them ever.
"I will take the pic," said Ethan the Clueless.
So there I stood, ten times fatter and taller than Donnalyn, smiling for a picture that I knew was going to be bad.
After the pic, Ethan, Donnalyn, and I huddled around my phone and looked down at the worst picture I have ever taken.
"Oh my God! I look terrible!" I cried, mortified.
"Yeah," Donnalyn said, looking down at the pic. "When you show people, just tell them that you were drunk."
Drunk. Right.
I work from home and I have gotten in the habit of being super casual at all times. Seeing my peers in jumpsuits and skirt sets and dresses with holes in the sides reminded me that I am too young to fall all the way off, even though doing so is sooo comfortable! It doesn't hurt to put forward some effort once in a while. I mean, even Ethan had on a bow tie. Next year I will do better. Not fishnet better. But better.

Homecoming Post 3: Meeting in the Ladies Room

Upon arriving in the fall of 2003 to college, I thought I was all that for about ten minutes. I was wearing gold hoops, a tall tee that made me look shapeless and wide-legged jeans. Then I saw the upperclassman girls and wanted to run back to my dorm room and crawl under the bed! They were all GORGEOUS! And they just seemed to have it all together. They were walking in heels and it didn't even look like their feet hurt. Their clothes fit properly. And they had on real makeup, not the lip liner and Carmax I was rockin'. I remember wanting to just walk among these glamazons, which would have been hard to do when they were wearing those super cute Timberland heels and I was wearing scuffed Reeboks. I just wanted to be grown like them.
Fast forward to last week. I was at a club in New Orleans feeling cute in a pink peplum top and animal print jacket. Then I walked into the bathroom and saw three women, each of them in red bottoms that didn't seem to be making their feet hurt. Their dresses were sparkly, their hair was flat ironed to perfection, and they smelled of Dove soap and Chanel Mademoiselle. Yes, they smelled like upperclassman girls. And, as if it was 13 years ago, I faded into the background, making myself invisible, just to hear the cool girls talk.
"I told my husband that I will support him getting his MBA, but I don't understand why he would get it now. He is making so much money already," Pink Sparkle Dress said.
"I know. My husband also wants to continue his education, but our son is about to start private school. I just don't think getting his Ph.D. right now would work," said Gold Sparkle Dress. "He's trying to squeeze pieces of our ten-year plan into our five-year plan and that gives me anxiety."
"I know!" said Blue Sparkle Dress. "It has to be about what is right for our family and what makes sense."
They all nodded in agreement. Man, even in the ladies room, they were adulting like crazy. And, just as I had years before, I just wanted to be apart of the conversation. I thought of something cool to say, which was going to be, "What does it matter? Aren't you all doctors?", but before I could say it, in Holly fashion, I did something else to get their attention. I sneezed.
They stopped talking and turned and looked at me blankly as they had in the past in the lunch line.
"Bless you," one of them said.
"Thank you," I replied.
They all threw their napkins in the trash simultaneously, then walked past me out of the bathroom.
I have to say, I am way more confident in myself than when I was at 18. But I wonder: even when you are as awesome as I am, do you ever stop wanting to be one of the cool girls? The together girls? Now I understand that I don't want to be them as much as I would like to take on some of their qualities. I'd definitely like to be more polished and seen as more serious. But unlike when I was 18, I am no longer willing to lose myself. So I smell like Caress and Bath and Body Works Body Spray I was given for my birthday? I don't have a husband in business school but I do have my own business. Maybe there is more than one way to be a cool girl. I'm banking on it, because I definitely don't ever plan to learn to walk in heels.

Homecoming Post 2: Sand to the Beach

My first day on the campus of my college, I saw a bunch of interesting stuff. I saw my old speech teacher, class of '97, drunk. This teacher introduced me to the guy that plays Basie Skanks on the show Greenleaf. I ran into one of my favorite nuns (I went to a Catholic college). But one thing that I found, well, interesting, was the number of my classmates that brought their spouses to the homecoming. Question: WHY ON EARTH WOULD SOMEONE BRING THEIR SPOUSE TO HOMECOMING? Is that not the prime example of bringing sand to the beach?

I mean, I really thought about this. Why would you bring your spouse, who most likely didn't go to the school, to your homecoming? They don't know anyone, and you are going to spend a chunk of your time (that could be spent drinking) introducing them to people that you yourself haven't talked to in years. I met a number of significant others who were all nice, but they seemed bored. I was bored for them. When I got tired, I took an Uber back to my hotel. You can't Uber back to Chicago or wherever you came from. 

Immediately, I thought that this had something to do with lack of trust. Husband comes with Wife because he doesn't trust her to come alone. Wife brings Husband because she doesn't trust him to spend time at home alone without her. So they stay bound to each other with invisible handcuffs, smiling all the while and being social, while keeping a watchful eye out for one another. This is possible. 

On the flip side, one may actually want to introduce their spouse to the life that they once lived at the college they once attended. They may actually find joy in introducing their spouse to their old friends and teachers. I would find no joy in this at all. In fact, it would annoy me, rehashing pieces of my past every fifteen minutes. 

Then I had to take off my hater glasses and really reflect: Holly, why would you bring your husband, if you were married, to your homecoming? I would do it for one reason and one reason only: TO SHOW OFF! I never had a boyfriend during my college days, so I would bring my husband and wear him like a cute purse, just to prove to my classmates (who, in reality, probably wouldn't care) that I could actually pull a man. And I would dress him up cute and take him to everything, posing for pics with him with my hand on his chest, the diamonds of my wedding ring catching the flash of the camera. Not for nothing, many of my old peers have some FINE husbands. I mean, really fun 8s out of 10s. 

As a single, thirsty homecoming goer, I will say that seeing people paired off helped me decipher who was attached and who wasn't. It also helped to remind me of the ultimate goal: to find a man of my own and start my own family one day. Seeing girls I knew when I was 18 married with a kid at 32 showed me that this is not only possible but ideal. I actually found myself fantasizing about what my husband would be like when I get one. I will tell you about him here. I'm totally not bringing him to homecoming. 

The Hair Flip

So I went to my homecoming, and shut up. I know that I said that I wasn't going to go because of the anxiety that I was having about it, but I have to say, it was a lot of fun and I am very glad that I went. For one, I thought that I would be the only single, fat person there. Not the case. And no one cared! Everyone was just happy to see everyone, and there was a good time had by all.
However, I am sad to report that some things about the people that I went to school with have not changed. Some of my female peers are still as terminally rude as they were ten years ago.
Once upon a time, about 11 years ago, I had a communications class with this girl named Ashley. I didn't know Ashley well, but I could tell by her attitude that she was one of those petite girls with long, flat-ironed hair that liked to flirt and felt like the world should revolve around her. During a study session, she referred to a male friend of mine that had just crossed Alpha Phi Alpha as fat multiple times. Number one: the boy was not fat. Number two: who uses the word fat so openly around a fat person? I tell you who: Ashley. Ashley the Rude.
Anywho, the first night of homecoming I found myself at a club for an alumni dance party. I was the first one there because I am old and punctual, and if my friend Ethan would not have agreed to meet me there, I would have gone home at 9:30pm. I mean, I really felt like a fish out of water. All I kept thinking was that the music was hella loud and that the young girls that were there needed to go home and change into something more appropriate.
Ethan got there as soon as I had decided to leave, and we stood at one of those tall tables and talked. In mid-sentence, I hear someone yell, "Ethan!" I turned around and who was it but Ashley the Rude. She is still just as cute as she always has been and had on this dope black sweatsuit. Her hair, as usual, was heat damaged to the side.
"Hi Ashley," I said, as she ignored me, stepped in front of me, and gave Ethan the warmest welcome I have ever seen in my life. I half expected him to pick her up, kiss her, and spin in a circle. They caught up briefly, and as Ashley motioned to leave, I said, "Bye Ashley." Homegirl didn't turn around, she simply flipped her hair in my face and walked away to dance with her other rude ass friends. She left me there with a tight face, blinking profusely, in a state of disbelief.
That night, I didn't really dance. I had a good time watching the youngins twerk and hearing my favorite songs on good speakers. My feet began to hurt, so I stood barefoot, rocking side to side to Cardi B, eating ice out of my cup. But on the way back to the hotel in my Uber, I realized that there is some comfort in things not changing for better or worse. Ashley the Rude is still rude. I still hate standing at the club. My classmates still look good. New Orleans is still fun. It's nice to know that as the world kicks your butt, there is still a mislead girl in a tracksuit that will flip her hair in your face for old times sake. This, my friends, is the definition of comforting.

XULA HAPPY

With  all the changes that have happened at Xavier University, I for one am still happy
to see that the kids are still goofy.