No Need Necessary

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

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

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

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

Big No Talk

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

Mop Drop

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

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

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

The Worst Block Spin Ever

One of my good girlfriends from high school casually told me during our last conversation that she is currently seeing her old boyfriend from back in the day, when things were NOT cool. He used to hit her, and I was beyond joyous when she finally dropped him. To hear that, after over 20 years, they are dating again made me so sick that I literally almost threw up. I thought that this guy was effectively exercised from her life years ago, only to find out that they have always kind of kept in touch. Now, he has somehow slithered his way back into the picture, and I am not excited about it at. all. I don't like him. 

"You don't know him," she said when I told her as much.  "You only know the him that I told you about. We were kids, and I did a lot of bad stuff too."

She then began to discuss his journey to healing and manhood and how he is so cool, calm, and collected now. He was abusive because that is what he saw growing up. After years of therapy, he now knows how to communicate. They have even already had their first argument, and no one got slapped. He is not the same guy that he was when he was a "kid". 

It was hard for me to not scream! Part of the reason why this whole thing sounds outrageous to me is because I guess I don't believe that people can fully change. The base of who you are is what it is going to be as soon as you get here. All other changes are surface-level, according to me. So when she tells me that this guy has changed, I not only can't believe it, I don't believe that it is legitimately possible, but she does. Also, I know that they say that by middle age, you have probably dated or met your forever person already. And that's fine if that's true, but could the universe make sure that the block spin doesn't stop at the doorstep of someone who caused you dramatic trauma and pain? I'm also annoyed with myself because I am supposed to believe that all change is possible through Christ Jesus. Watch me give myself the side eye 😒 Years of watching Lifetime movies has shown me otherwise. 

We pretty much agreed to disagree on whether or not this is a good idea, and I let her know as calmly and diplomatically as possible that I am not here for this but I am here for her. Men are in the news straight up unaliving their partners.  This is serious! Serious and unreal. 

Do Better Holly

One of my friends recently had a come-to-Jesus talk with me about how she feels that I am not there for her in the way that she is there for me. She feels that I am not present. Things have been so hectic lately that I forgot to wish my other friend a happy birthday. I can be so high and mighty about how my friends show up for me, yet lately, I have been the one clearly dropping the ball, big time. 

"Do better, Holly," my friend Cali said to me as I complained about this; a simple, obvious solution for a huge problem. She is right. I do need to do better. But how do you do better when you hardly have the energy to do anything? I am so exhausted that you'd think that I wake up every morning at the crack of dawn and sprint around my neighborhood. To be clear, I do not. I just lounge around like an obese house cat, groaning at the thought of all the work that I have to do to improve my life. When I was a kid, I used to fantasize about what it would be like to open my door and receive a huge million-dollar check from Ed McMahon. Although Ed went on to glory in 2009, it would be great if he could come back to life and to my door to bring me an energy drink and supplements. Maybe he could bring me a really strong coffee with two shots of confidence and a dollop of drive. 

Today, I have so much to do that I have nothing to do. But one thing I must do, other than get my life together, is check in on the people who care about me. No matter how broke, sad, depressed, alone, tired, aggravated, irritated, sleepy, and overwhelmed I am, I can not screw up my remaining friendships. I refuse to become the friend that I often complain about, and I am committed to being better...after I wake up from a nap. 

Priorities

Call me a big baby, but for once, before I leave this planet, I would like to be prioritized by someone. These guys I have been talking to have jobs and kids and parents and house plants so I am last with them. My friends only call me on their way to a date or in the line at Wendy's. I'm just a good laugh on the way to doing more important things. People respond to my texts when they f*$cking feel like it. The world is on fire and I am the lady people push to the side so they can loot TVs. This used to make me sad. Then it made me angry. Now it's just a fact. The sky is blue. Pu**y is pink. I am ignored. I've heard of disregarded middle-aged women buying prioritization from YNs from TikTok. I'm not mad at it for those women that want it, but can't someone prioritize me without my having to take off my underwear? It's looking more and more like the answer is no. Oh well. You can't get your way all the time. 

What About Your Friends?

At my big age, I can not believe that I am still having to ask myself what true friendship is. For some reason, I have a problem with simply diffriciating my friend-friends from acquaintances, or recognizing when people need to be moved from one box to the other or erased altogether. I have had this same issue since grade school, and at this point, I am categorizing this as a mental illness. Apparently, I can not separate what things were from what things are. When I think of someone in my life, I often think about the good old days and not what the situation currently is. For example, when I think of Blinky, I think of all the laughs we had in high school, when she was my dearest friend, and not the fact that she evades me now, which would mean that we aren't as close, but in my mind, Blinky is still my A1 Day 1, even though the proof is not in that pudding. 

I have to say, I have been blessed when it comes to friends. There are people in my life so amazing that it is clear that God has put them within my reach, and I am so grateful for them. Yet, there are also people that I pour energy into that I suspect wouldn't find out if I died for about two years from now if I dropped dead this morning. They come in and out of my life and consistently leave me hanging. But I show up ready for duty for them. I told you, mental illness. 

I no longer make New Years resolutions, but I am making it a point to do better when it comes to this once and for all. If I can better streamline where my love and attention needs to go, I think I will have more energy and be a lot less stressed. I will keep you posted on how things go, but if current behavior is a predictor of future behavior, I am not expecting success. 

Embracing the Mental

I have a friend who lost their mind. When it happened in my 20s, I was so sad and confused and shocked. What could happen that young to cause one to lose it? Everyone around me was so optimistic about their futures. When I heard what had happened to my friend, it really felt like there was a fallen soldier that both me and our mutual friends were leaving behind. Today, I see the situation and mental illness a whole lot differently. Honey, we are all one missed crazy pill dose or therapy session away from dropping our baskets. 

Throughout my life, there have been commonalities amongst my peers. There were points where everyone was in a bad relationship, or trying to lose weight, or looking for a new job, or moving. At some point, the commonality became that everyone was depressed. I can not pinpoint when this exact time was because no one was talking about it. Everyone was just getting put on meds and getting a shrink in secret. I didn't get let in on what was going on until I myself got depressed and started talking to people about it. I couldn't believe that the people I love the most, the people that I talk to regularly, were secretly navigating their mental health. If I had not told them how I was doing, I am pretty sure the secret would have stayed under their hats. 

It can also go in the opposite direction. The downside about being friends with a lot of scholars is that they tend to academicize (I thought I was making a new word, but it's a real word already) everything they are going through. For some reason, turning everything into a potential Ted Talk makes it easier for them to digest. Your hard time may be worth it if it gets turned into an Oprah's Book Club selection. My brain doesn't work that way. It's much easier for me to acknowledge that my life is in the sh*tter and try to make moves from there, minus the panel discussion. Sometimes I think of how much less pressure it would be for those in my ecosystem to just say, "Yeah, I got down. Maybe even beyond down, and now I am getting back up" without all the extra fluff. 

With this in mind, I see my "fallen" friend differently. They were not a mess or a disappointment; they were brave and a trailblazer. It must have been so hard for them to admit that something was up when life was coming up roses for everyone around them. They had to be afraid that people wouldn't understand. I didn't, but I totally do now. If I could talk to the youngins coming up behind me, I would greet them with open arms at the gates to Crazy Town. I'd let them know they were amongst friends. No more leaving friends behind. 

13 Pounds

Last week, I had a gyno appointment at the hospital. Like most women, I wasn't jumping for joy for the appointment, but when you are a woman, you can not avoid these things. One of the reasons I was not excited was because I was going to ride into the city with my aunt to save money, and she would drop me off at the hospital on the way to work. I miscalculated how long I would be waiting for my appointment. It was a whopping three hours! When it was finally time for my appointment, I could hardly keep my eyes open! Another reason I was not excited for my appointment was because I was not looking forward to getting weighed. 

Let me tell you, nothing can ruin my day like getting weighed. However, I decided to force myself to get weighed so I could see how much weight I had gained. Even with changes in diet, I was feeling more sluggish and even heavier than usual. I was not excited. When the moment of truth came, I stood on the scale and cleared my head completely, a trick I found keeps me from screaming when I see the usually tragic number. When my weight came up on the digital screen, I was shocked. I had lost 13 pounds! 

This may not sound like a lot to you, but it is beyond a lot for me. I was beginning to think that I literally could not lose weight, seeing that I never do. I have consistently gotten bigger my whole life. I didn't even lose weight in New Orleans, walking to my classes in 120-degree heat! Yet somehow, I had lost 13 pounds. For the first time ever, I was feeling hopeful about my weight. I felt like I was going to burst!

Of course, I had to tell a few of my girlfriends. I mean, this was really momentous! Out of the seven friends that I told, only about half of them seemed genuinely excited for me. The other half had very low energy, disappointing responses. However, I was not surprised. 

For years, my friends (particularly the ones from college) have been hammering me to lose weight. To diet. To exercise. A few years ago, I got serious and tried to diet on my own and was excited to talk about it with my friends. The excitement results were about the same, and this made me sad. I figured that my friends didn't really think I could make any positive changes in my life in this area, or maybe even thought I was lying. 

But after talking to my friends, I realized that the reasoning was more maniacal: they didn't want me to lose weight. Not really. 

This was a sour pill to swallow, but follow me here. Life deals you a lot of punches and a lot of change. Moves. Deaths. Promotions. Layoffs. Loves. Breakups. However, in all of this, there is one constant: Holly is and probably will always be fat. Not just fat, but really fat. No matter how bad or tough their lives were, mine would always be worse because of my weight and all that entails. Even if the worst thing ever happened to them, that would be okay, because at least, at the end of the day, they weren't me. Many of them couldn't even imagine my pathetic existence. No boyfriend. No cute mini dresses. No travel on an airplane. I really do believe that this gives them comfort. A lot of comfort. 

This all sounds horrible, right? Who wants to believe that the people who "love" them would bask in the glory of their bad health? Believe you me, it happens. 

If I lose anything else, I'm keeping it to myself. You won't be able to tell I've lost anything until I hit big numbers anyway. Plus, the lackluster reaction kind of hurts my feelings. Who wants to feel like they aren't supported by their support system?

The Case of the 40s

I don't know where I thought I was going to be at 40 years old, but I'm positive it's not here. And by here, of course, I mean nowhere doing nothing. 

When I was in my early - mid 20s, I used to throw myself hotel room birthday parties. I was so excited about them! I got such a kick out of planning them and figuring out what I was going to wear. If I could go back in time, I would tell myself to live it up, because sugar would go to sh*t, literally for the next 15 years. 

The other day, I had a dream that I was panicked, planning for a party at a big mansion. I was running around trying to get food and drinks for my guests, and I hired Kid Rock to do the photography and videography. I used to love him in high school. Not so much now. I think that we can agree that he's a little different now. Anywho, I woke up and figured that the dream was telling me that I wanted to have a birthday party for my 40th. 

On social media, I have seen my friends celebrate their 40ths in a whole bunch of fun and cute ways. International trips. Girls nights. Cruises. Family fun days. Spa weekends. Elaborate dinners. You name it! The last time I attempted to throw a movie night for my birthday, I invited a whole bunch of folks and only one person showed up. Luckily, it was one of my good friends. We drank sparkling apple juice and talked over tacos. It was a nice night, but a painful reminder that my friends either don't like me or don't give a crap. I would like to have a party because it would be nice to be excited about something, but if no one showed, I'd be crushed and disappointed, and I can't risk that. I am already crushed and disappointed, just living day-to-day. 

Right now, I am leaning towards getting an AirBnB for a weekend, turning out all the lights, and laying face first into a bed pillow, groaning. That may sound depressing, but it is actually one of my favorite things to do. I will keep you posted on my plans, or lack thereof. 

Friendly Fired

You know, as a kid thinking about what my life would be like as an adult, I didn't think that I would be on the eve of being 39 with friendship problems, but here I am. Earlier this year, it came to me that I had friends in my life that didn't like me. It just popped into my head, and I didn't know what to do with this information. I mean, what can you do with that information? Months later, I can tell you that one of my friendships is pretty much over and the other is on life support with little chance of survival. The way things are going, I may be sailing into middle age solo. 

As sad as I am to be going into the new year short some homies, I do have to say that I am proud of myself. I am taking this so well that even I am shocked! But as I have heard many a comedian say, the older you get the less you care. 20-something year old me would have taken to the bed in tears. I find myself too tired from life's stresses to have a reaction this go around. I just find myself shaking my head about the situation before rolling over to get more sleep. Let's hear it for growth! 

Just a thought: you know how they are always doing reboots of TV shows from back in the day? I think that they should do one of like The Babysitter's Club where our favorite childhood characters, now well into their 50s, have decided to stop talking to each other after begrudgingly deciding to sell their multimillion dollar babysitting app. Claudia and Mary Ann were over it and ready to sell. Kristy wanted them to sell and stay on as creative directors. Dawn was with what everyone else wanted to do and Jessie wanted to go global. Now no one is speaking. It's important to prepare kids for the future. 

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! 

Engagement and the Retired Thug

My friend Angela recently had a Netflix and Chill day date that she was very excited about. Whenever she tells me about a new beau I hold my breath, because she is a notoriously bad partner picker, primarily because she is a heavy proponent of thug love. And I have been here through all of them: the trapper, the rapper, the swinger with OCD. Before she even got started with the story, I was already preparing myself for the BS. 

Apparently, this guy is not a thug...he's a retired thug. He's gone legit everybody, making gourmet food for a laundry list of clients. She said that he opened her car door for her and was a real gentleman. He actually sounded like he may not suck until she told me that he is engaged. 

I swear, anything flies in Atlanta. How do you date someone who is engaged?! I know that people are grown and that they are going to do what they are going to do, but Angela's baby daddy was a cheater. She has been cheated on before. I brought this to her attention and her response was, "Yeah, I felt some type of way about it. But I'm bored."

?

She assures me that the retired thug is nothing serious. She says he has proven that he can't be taken seriously because he is engaged and dating. That's the understatement of the season! As I continued to listen to the deets about the day date, I thought about his fiancé who was possibly snuggled with him at that very moment. I also thought about the boulder of karma that could be rolling full speed at my friend's face. Listen, when I was younger and did something stupid that was karma-able, I would dedicate some months to the universe for forgiveness. These days, I try to stay on the straight and narrow. I don't have months to give away! And neither does Angela. I see this going nowhere fast, hopefully. It's hard to watch friends you loved do dumb ish. 

Don't Speak

In most of my friendships, I feel like I am the chaser. I am the one that calls and checks in and sees how everyone is doing. I like talking on the phone and catching up, but everyone in my life is busy with their kids, relationships, and work, so they don't be having time like that to chat which, I'm going to be honest, makes me sad. I feel like I am by myself all the time, most likely because I am. But I have grown tired of being the one always reaching out. It makes me feel stupid and like a nuisance. So recently I decided to just leave folks alone until someone calls me. My biggest fear was confirmed: no one missed me. Sigh. I'm so tired of feeling like my feelings are hurt all the time. Tired of solitude. It all just makes me want to lay down someplace. Don't worry ya'll. I start therapy again next week. 

Picture Imperfect

So a friend of mine asked if it was cool if she tried to hook me up with her husband's friend. Apparently, she got the idea that this may be a good idea after hearing me complain about my loneliness during my Zoom birthday party. I have to say that I am shocked. None of my friends have ever tried to hook me up with anyone ever not ever not once. I lie. My freshman year of college, Big Homie Sans tried to hook me up with this dude named Carl. She figured that it was a match made in purgatory because we were both fat. He was...interesting. Imagine Egor from Winnie The Pooh with an afro. Boy, this was one unhappy guy. Lucky for me, I am into unhappy people. He wasn't into me though. After innocently calling him on New Year's of 2004 to wish him a happy holiday, he very aggressively rejected me like a poorly transplanted kidney. So again I was shocked when my friend circled back and asked if it was okay to give dude my social media handles. WHAT? Of course! I then went to my Instagram just because. Yikes. 

There is nothing about my social media that displays me as hot. There is nothing about my social media that displays me as sexy. There is nothing about my social media that displays me as interesting, fun, cute, bangable, or remotely smashable at all! The only thing my IG makes clear is that I exist. That. Is. It. I scrolled through three years of pics and I was so disappointed. There was not one picture that would make me want to get to know me if I was a man. A man or even a woman looking for a platonic bestie! I don't have not one pic of me posted on the hood of a luxury vehicle. There are no pics of me smiling seductively at my fancily plated dinner. No pic of me from the back, standing with my hands outstretched on top of a mountain. It's depressing!

"You don't want a guy who wants you for your pics. You want a man that wants to get to know you," said Tiesha. What a good friend. She had time for my bellyaching even as she recovered from COVID. But she was mistaken and had no room to talk. All of her pictures, even the most casual ones, make it clear that she has a showstopping rack and good skin. 

"I am going to call Von and see if I can get booked for one of his sexy, boudoir photoshoots," I grumped into the phone. I was half kidding. Even if I had the $3 Trillion bucks to book the shoot, I'm not that excited about a guy I went to college with seeing me hogtied in a thong. Tiesha let out a sigh/moan/cough. I don't think she was crazy about the idea either. 

When I was too young to understand what she was talking about, an older woman in my grandma's retirement home told me in a hushed voice that men are visual creatures. I guess she thought to tell me this after watching me rub melted chocolate across my t-shirt and the lap of my jeans. I hope that this is not true, for I haven't taken a flattering pic in years! How does Megan the Stallion do it? Rubi Rose? Oprah? On top of this, my desire to get dressed up and be presentable dies with every passing day! But now that I am aware that folks are out here asking for socials...God, why do I even still care? If a picture is worth a thousand words, a few of mine are over it and exhausted with the process. 

Money Talks

"I made bipityblahdumpity this year in sales," Mary said. She was sitting on a bar stool, sipping on a cocktail that matched her lipstick, wearing a pair of glasses from her own collection. She, me, and Carolita were reunited for our quarterly supper club outings which took a hiatus during COVID. We were at one of those Atlanta dives where the waitresses have fat asses and visible lace fronts. The music being played was suitable for a middle-tier strip joint or, in this case, waiting over two hours for overcooked, oily fried green tomatoes. "Twipitiydobitty sustainable business model," she went on to say. "...investments with a poopity return over a 12-month minimum."

I could feel my eyes glazing over, so I looked to Carolita for clarification, only to become even more lost. 

"Me and my sister do a yaddayadda."

"What's that?" Mary asked. 

"That's where you twinkletwinkle on a star for a diddybop," she explained. 

I just stood there, my eyes bouncing between the two of them. What were they talking about?! And why didn't I know what they were talking about? And how did they have money to do all this stuff? Oh right, they have real jobs, I thought to myself. That and some deep well of knowledge around money that I just do not have. I am literally two years away from 40 and know as much about investing as a newborn! I guess I should start hoarding the canned goods now for darker days. 

I read somewhere once that how you were raised has a lot to do with your attitude toward money. Carolita was raised in a solid two-parent home. Granted I don't know all the details, but I don't think that she ever had to sell water on the side of the expressway to make ends meet. Mary is the daughter of hardworking Nigerians. My grandmother was literally scared to spend money while I had witnessed my mom write checks for food at the Winn-Dixie with her fingers crossed. I guess I fall someplace in between the two of them. 

"If I had a thousand dollars to invest, where would you advise me to put it?" I asked Mary. This was a serious question. 

"That's a hard question," she said, sipping on one of those really skinny cocktail straws. I am assuming that this is a hard question because a thousand bucks is the equivalent of five cents in the investment game. 

This conversation lingered on my mind, even after the dinner. I want to be a lady boss too! How can I be down? 

"Well, I am not balling like them," Tasha assured me when I told her about what we had talked about. For a split second I felt relieved. Maybe I could have a roommate who I knew in the low-income nursing facility. But then she went on to talk about how her grandparents were leaving her property when they die and how her mom hand been saving and investing for her since the womb! 

I got off the phone and just stared at the wall in silence. How did I allow this to happen to me?! I can't be the little old lady who lived in her shoes because I only have one good pair! I am going to be the angry old lady who fashioned a tent out of her plus-size maxi dresses to squat under a bridge. I should have been more motivated! I saw how not having money stressed out my mother. And it's not like I ever deluded myself into believing that some man was going to come a long and support me. Men have always picked over me like rotten fruit and the ones that didn't wanted money from me! Now I am skidding towards middle age without a pot to piss in! As you know I am a writer; I love a good story. But not even I want to know how the story ends for the almost 40-year-old that didn't prepare appropriately for life. 

I can't whine about this anymore. My anxiety is rising. Plus, time is money. 

Homecoming

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

My Red Hot Diflucan Summer

Do you remember that tiny pocket of time before the Delta strain of COVID chased us back in the house where we were actually enjoying a Hot Vax Summer? I use the word "we" as I refer to the culture. I wasn't participating in any of those brunches or birthday parties highlighted on social media. I was at home whimpering over my throbbing, itchy vagina. 

Many of my friends don't understand how I made it to nearly middle age without ever having a yeast infection and neither do I. I mean, when I was 18 I was wearing thongs to class in 700 degree New Orleans heat and was somehow spared. However, my good luck was no match for being put on an antibiotic for a toothache I was having. 

I'm surprised you didn't hear about it before now. I called any friend that would listen, complaining and whining. 

"Stop drinking cranberry juice!" Jamaica screamed into the phone. "That is for a UTI! Drink more water! The sugar is feeding the yeast!" This she tells me as I literally had a straw in a family-sized jug of Ocean Spray! 

"I know that you took a Diflucan Holly, but you can also use a vaginal anti-fungal," my mentor assured me. "Nothing will happen." I didn't believe her. I was fearful that I could die from some sort of vaginal overdose. In my defense, I was being irrational. It was hard to sleep, seeing that my gyn had a thick, heavy, heartbeat that rung in my ears whenever I closed my eyes. 

To add annoyance to injury, I sent my aunt to CVS to get me Monistat 1, a one-and-done treatment, and she came back with Monistat 7, a seven-day treatment! The treatment comes with these plastic pipe-like things. Who wants to be plastic-pipin' it for 7 days? Not I said the cat! 

"Oh shut up pampered pussy and use the damn cream!" Winfrey hollered at me, irritated by my sobbing into the phone. Tortilla was my only friend that showed me any compassion. She didn't make fun of my irrational fear of anti-itch cream. She's very patient with my phobias. 

The fact that women get these, some even chronically, should be front-page news! But just in case you haven't gotten one, let me leave you with some adjectives: itchy, throbbing, swollen. It's way worse than those treatment commercials lead you to believe. They will have you thinking that a yeast infection is just mildly uncomfortable. NOT! It's hellacious! 

Luckily, I lived through it to tell you about it, but it was touch and go for a minute there. Just know you have a sister in me when you inevitably end up yeasty, your cookie smelling like a medicated piece of toast. Aw, to be a woman. 

Life Is A Scratched Cell Phone Screen

Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while know that I have always been a little sensitive to time, especially in regards to aging and missed opportunities. Time has been showing up as a theme for me over the past few weeks. Young women that I mentored when they were in middle school just graduated college in May. My little brother just turned 30, and while I was twiddling my thumbs on whether or not to go to grad school, many of my friends enrolled and are now finishing up Ph.D. programs. And at 36, I have now gotten to a place where people who are WAY older than me feel comfortable reminding me that I am almost 40. It's an awkward place to be- kinda young and sorta old at the same time. But I assumed that no one else my age cared about these things, especially not my college friends. When I go on Instagram, they are all drinking artisanal beers in their $600,000 homes. This is why my meet-up with my old friend Tanya was curious. 

Tanya is that friend that you don't speak to for months, and when you reunite, it is like no time has passed. We knew each other at our most ratchet: as freshmen in college. There was really no one better to twerk and drink the days away with. She is a man-magnet because she is so fun and funny. She is strong and independent and often felt like a butterfly that you just couldn't catch. So you can imagine how weird it was to meet up with my butterfly after not hearing from her for a couple of years, only to find that her wings are sprained and bandaged. 

Why? Well, you guessed it- a man! She is going through a nasty breakup with her boyfriend of eight years. They lived together and now have to vacate their condo because neither of them can afford it on their own. Now she and her son have to uproot their lives and start over with the help of her family, who NEVER liked this guy. I have never met him, but I don't like him either. She told me about how she played nursey for him when he was sick, how she led the household when he lost his job, and even let some relationships die because he required so much attention, only for him to text her all through our girl date about how he didn't approve of her being out. I couldn't believe that my independent friend had hitched her wagon to someone that seemed VERY controlling and immature. She even told me that they keep their GPS on on their phones so they always know where they are when they are apart. WHAT?!

As you can imagine, she was pretty down. And not just because she has gotten to a point where she can't stand someone that she once loved, but because of the time that has been wasted. Eight years. You know, when you are in your 20s, you are taught to never look at time as a waste because you learned something during a situation. By my age, if you are smart, you have learned that that is a lie! You can learn life lessons in a relationship, on a job, or any other situation and still come out knowing and feeling that the whole thing was a huge waste! You cannot get time back. You cannot! It is the one thing we all lose repeatedly that is not coming back to us. Eight Years. She got with this guy when she was 27. Now she is almost 40. 

Before we parted ways, I took out my phone to take a picture of us and noticed that my screen was cracked. 

"Aw man!" I said. "Well, life is like a scratched cell phone screen," I joke. 

"Isn't it?" she asked, flatly. 

Touche Tanya. Yeah it is. Life looks all beautiful in HD until something comes along and scratches our view. Hopefully, our scratch isn't an 8-year all-consuming love drain that is going to be a nightmare to get over. 

The good thing is that Tanya is strong and amazing and will get over this and find love again. It's not like she has a choice. Like me, she is almost 40. She doesn't have the time to do anything else but move on. 

Don't Be Anal

Izzy and her sortabae, let's call him Joe, are about as complicated as complicated can get. Their texts to each other are these mind bending, incomprehensible riddles that leave each of them guessing and scratching their heads. I can't tell you the amount of brain power that she and I have invested into trying to figure out what he meant, and how much time she has put in to sending him messages that are just as confusing. 

But today the texts got shockingly clear. Joe says that he likes her, that he thinks that she may be "the one", but certain needs of his aren't being met...like anal sex. 

I found myself laughing uncontrollably. Apparently, I am one of the last folks on earth that thought anal sex wasn't an actually thing. But it wasn't a joke, and Izzy saw his response to be a door opening to relationship negotiations. 

"If I am going to do that, than we are going to have to start going on dates. He is going to have to start hugging me more and responding more to my texts," Izzy said, outlining her list of demands. 

Again, I was at a loss for words. But only for a second. "Are you serious? Girl, nothing is worth literally giving up your booty!" I shouted. 

I know that in relationships, you have to compromise, but geez, aren't we supposed to draw the line somewhere? Izzy insists that more people are into it than I think. This could be true. I didn't think that people were really into French kissing but I was wrong about that. I guess my question is this: once that is given up, what is next? Izzy says that saying that she will do it and stringing him a long is still on the table. I don't know. I don't see a man that is really into that letting it go if he doesn't get it. But again, I've been wrong about these things before.