Not The Gram! pt 3.5

I wrote this live from the breast imaging waiting room:

The gown they gave me is musty. They don't let you wear deodorant to the appointment. I don't get a pretty pink gown. The ones in my size are gray. GRAY! I guess there is even size discrimination in the breast health community. 

The scene in this waiting room is grim y'all. The Latina lady across from me looks like she is about to cry. I'd like to hug her, but she looks like she'd scream. This would be a great time to practice my stand up. 

"So I'm here because they think they saw something in my left boob. Can you believe that? They think. Well I think when I get the bill for this sh$t, I'm throwing it in the trash!"

"I was recently ghosted by a guy who wanted our first date to be me coming to his apartment to chill. He said he wanted to watch TV. I guess there were some new episodes of '41, Single, and Dumb' coming on the Desperate Channel. Maybe I sent him mixed signals. When he asked me for a pic of my vag, I sent him a picture of a sad face emoji with a party hat on. "

"Hey sis over there giggling to yourself, you good? I'm not mad or anything. I wish I would have come here drunk too. Come on lady, sip and pass!"

I decide against doing my routine. Believe it or not, a breast imaging waiting area is the last place you want to make jokes. Nothing is funny. 

Not the Gram pt. 3

Yesterday, my mammogram results hit MyChart in the heat of the night. Maria told me to open them. She said that when test results are dropped on MyChart, they have already been looked at and they are typically good news because, if news is bad, they have to call you to discuss it. They can't leave you to try to figure out medical jargon on your own with a poopy diagnosis. This, my friends, is untrue. 

The first thing I saw when I opened my results this morning, against my better judgement, was a note that said the results HAD NOT been reviewed by a medical team. I attempted to read the first sentence, got scared, and got the hell out of there. I reached out to my doctor and she said that additional imagery was needed. This was super alarming because, after the the world's worst mammogram, I was called in again to have more imagery done. For those of you having trouble keeping count, my results suggested I come in for more images for A THIRD TIME. No bueno. Apparently, something is up with my left boob. The bigger boob. The problem boob. 

I wish I could tell you that I handled this with a level head, but I sprung into a panic and hysterical tears while my doctor patiently listened to me cry. I love her, she's a real doll. I let her know that I am broke, and if I have breast cancer, I will die of it because I have no money. I told her I just want my boobs removed but she said that was a fat chance if nothing is wrong. I cannot stress out like this annually. I'm not married. Not having a baby. Not desperate to keep my breasts around for bikini season. The anxiety is too much, take them! I can't live in this constant fear that something is wrong and that I'm going to die. I'm not ready to die! 

Winfrey allowed me to cry to her on the phone this morning about this as she drove to work. As is becoming customary with Risky Business, she was too busy to talk to me. P is not talking to me for reasons unknown and I am still dealing with that all-too-familiar sting of being ghosted. Once I got off the phone with Winfrey, I cried in between broken sleep. I gotta tell y'all, I'm over this s$#t!

Grown and Graphic

Once you hit aunty status, it is important that you allow the little nieces and nephews of your life, both biological and community-wise, to live their lives as young adults. This can be difficult, especially when you remember them as babies. Coming to terms with the fact they they are new growns can be hard, and even shocking. Let me explain. 

Admittedly, shamefully, I keep up with some "grown-up" accounts on socials. And I say keep up because I don't follow them because I don't want people to know I follow them. I don't want people thinking I am who I am😞🫤🤫🤐 Anyway, I was on socials this morning, looking at a post from one of these said accounts and saw that one of my children had liked one of their posts. I screamed and flipped my phone over! Why is one of my children online looking at filth?! I mean, my heart was racing! 

First off, the very idea that one of the 20-somethings I helped raise could be on the same type of naughty time I'm on is disgusting! It's like finding out that your stuffed animal has an OF account. Secondly, how did they find out about this social medialite? I hope they aren't being influenced in real life by people like secret me! If this particular son or daughter is out there making things happen like were in this post - out there consorting with freaks and loosie goosies - I am going to die! 

My first instinct was to call this person's parents, but I couldn't tell on their child without telling on myself. Plus, what was I going to say? Your kid is grown doing grown stuff? Just because you like a post about something doesn't mean you do it. Case in point, I like a lot of posts about cooking and cleaning. Also, I'm an aunty! Aunties don't snitch. 

Naw, we don't snitch but now I am keeping an eye on this rogue God child of mine. They better not be up to any mess, but I respect their right to be. Kinky recognize Kinky. 

3 Weeks A Ghost

I'm not familiar with the rules, but how long can you go without hearing from a guy before you can confidently say you have been ghosted? I have not heard from New Man in three days after talking to him consistently for three weeks. He just kind of poofed and vanished. He didn't rub me as a vanisher but at last, here we are. We hadn't had an argument or disagreement yet. All our convos and texts were cute and pleasant. We talked about meeting up. Now he's gone. My friend Maria says it may be too soon to declare a Ghosting but I gotta say, it sure feels like one. He went from checking in with me and sending me videos of his dinner to going completely silent. I asked myself all the questions women ask. Is he sick? Is he dead? Is he working some type of 24hr overtime? Is his phone broken? Then, of course, the questions went sideways. Did he get back with an ex? Was he married the entire time? Was he a government spy hired to make me fall for him so I would divulge my lemon pepper greens recipe? Let's be real, these are all valid possibilities! Man, I was starting to like him! Why do men do this kind of stuff? Do lesbians have to deal with this behavior? I have been advised to wait a few more days. Okay. But then, after that, I have to mentally send him to The Island of Misfit Men. I have to say though, I miss hearing his country accent and ridiculous, unbelievable stories. I miss receiving clips about his incredibly unhealthy meals. How unfortunate. 

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 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.