The Last Normal Man in America

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Homecoming Post 8: Get Back for the Gotaway

So, I have been talking to friends, getting everyone's debriefings of Xavier's AMAZING Centennial Homecoming, and some of us 30+ ladies have been a touch naughty. You know what I'm talking about. Coming back to campus, trying to rekindle love affairs with those ones that got away. I mean, this would be cool if many of our Xavier brothers weren't married, otherwise coupled, or lying about not being married or otherwise coupled. Obviously, we all read that same horrifying article that said that by our age, we have probably met or even dated our forever person. I just want to apologize to all of you for being judgmental. I can be so high and mighty sometimes. I was prepared to call all of you to the administration building steps for a stern talking to until I had to remind myself that I'd had plans to almost do the same exact thing.  

Anyone who knows me knows that I stayed in love with someone my whole four years of college. Of course, all of these loves were unrequited. The African Alpha, the light-skinnededed Kappa, the Sigma with the weird last name, and ALL the Omegas. They were all Prince Charmings in my eyes until a guy held the door open for me coming out of the library, and I fell in love with him, too. Yet out of nowhere, I met this guy who was a dork and weird and funny and taller than me, and I thought that he was the best thing since gauchos. Sidebar: Do you all remember gauchos? When are they going to bring those back? What an easy and comfortable pair of pants! Sure, they gave you camel toe, but they were the perfect airy, light choice for the summer walking to class. Anyway, we will call this guy Twinkle. 

I have not seen Twinkle in person in ages, and I know for sure that he had no interest in me. I was friend-zoned to the furthest extent of the cosmos. But he was still nice to me anyway and didn't care that I followed him around. He was just a cool dude. Then I graduated and he married one of the Elephant People. Sometimes, I think about inquiring about him to one of the Elephant People because there are Elephant People who are my people. However, I am not sure how they will receive my inquiry. Will they be receiving it as one of my people or one of the Elephant People, because if the inquiry is received as one of my people, that Elephant Person will tell me to shut up and sit down somewhere, but if they take in my inquiry as one of the Elephant People, then they will order my assassination. I really don't want it with the herd. You get me? You get me. 

I imagined what it would have been like if I had run into Twinkle at homecoming. I would not have been as brave as some of you. I just would have settled for seeing him. If I even thought of approaching him, I imagine one of the Elephant People would have done me in with one of those guns from No Country for Old Men. 

My friend DZ used to say that she had a place in her heart for all of her loves. If this is true, if we actually do store the feelings in our hearts for our lost loves, that may have to do for most of us. It is better to hold on to our memories and dignity than end up losing our teeth because of a pissed off girlfriend. By this age, we probably all have a few that we think got away. But let's be realistic. Even if we are hot and they are single, there is a slim chance that we will be getting them back. Don't cry about it girl! You can always see what's up at your high school reunion. 

Homecoming Post 7: Justin Did Something to Deirdra pt. 2

As I get older, my tolerance for nonsense is getting pretty thin. This is saying a lot, because it wasn't high to begin with. I find that things get on my nerves really easily, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to not say what is on my mind. So as you can probably guess, being around Justin for any length of time has become excruciating. Two years ago, I talked about how something happened between Justin and my friend Deirdra of a sexual nature when we were in college, which I believe was the catalyst behind what would become a very serious and long-lasting mental health struggle for her. And as I spoke to him at one of our homecoming events, I could only imagine how fake I had to look laughing and shooting the sh*t with him. What would Deirdra have said if she had walked into the University Center at the very same time that I was talking to him about his new job?

Here is the thing: Justin has become part of my inner circle because of my other friends. He is funny. He is cool. He is nice. And because I have gotten closer to him over the years, I have these conflicting feelings of friend love for him. Yet my affections for him and my secret disdain for him mix in my stomach like oil and water. Sometimes the rage and the queeziness that I feel when I am around him confuses me so terribly that I don't know whether or not I want to scream or throw up. As he went on and on about this job, I just wanted to grab him up by his shirt collar and scream, "What did you do to Deirdra, you dipsh*t?! And I want the real story, not the crap you told the administration!"

I doubt that he would be honest with me. Deirdra didn't even tell me the whole story, just enough so that I would understand why she was upset. Yet, understanding what she has gone through emotionally, even a little bit, you would surmise that there was a lot she was keeping under her hat. She was private and proud in that way. People have the absolute right to tell their stories to whom they want to when they want to. Yet, all through homecoming, I thought of how messed up it was that he was doing the Xavier dance, and Deirdra is lost in the wind. I haven't heard from her in years, and the last time we spoke, she was very against coming to Xavier for any reason. 

As long as this guy is a part of my friend group, I am going to struggle with this, and quite frankly, it makes me feel icky. Am I dealing with a psycho who can do something bad to someone, then move on, or a guy that did something bad when he was young and then grew up and past it? If I could ask him about it, would he be remorseful if he copped to it at all? I guess the plan from my end is to continue to keep my trap shut. Deirdra would want me to. Luckily, I don't have to see Justin all the time. I hear more about him because the people in my life are crazy about him. On those rare occasions when he comes around, I guess I just have to crank up the phony. I don't know how people can actively be fake. When I am called to do it, it exhausts me. 

Homecoming Post 6: Matchmaking' and Marriage Breakin'

Several of my friends are getting divorced. Some of these divorces I am really surprised about. It's hard to see a couple uncouple, but on the other hand, I've got some single friends ready for their turns at bat, so let's get the divorce ball rolling!

I've always enjoyed playing matchmaker, but it was not until the event on the yard that I realized how critical my self-appointed role as a love connector is. All my homegirls looked fabulous and moisturized, but they were all equipped with their perimenopausal hand fans. All the guys had their I-have-a-child-in-middle-school dad bellies. For once, I wasn't the only person complaining about wanting to sit down and being tired. We are getting old! A young student told me that he was born the year I graduated! Those of us that are still single have hit a fork in the road, especially if we want babies or to not be the oldest papa at the high school graduation. We've either gotta poop or get off the pot. There is no such thing as sloppy seconds anymore. We've gotta put our hat in the game before the buffet closes. 

A part of me wants all these couples to reconcile because duh, it's dusty out here! However, if God has willed for these unions to perish, I need to know for sure. There are coffee dates that need to be scheduled; late in life babies that need to be created. 

Homecoming Post 5: Invisiblisha: Another Drexel Wife Mystery

I ran into Golden Boy on the yard, and by ran into, I mean I was sitting down and he walked in front of me. I never miss an opportunity to hug him because I'm a creeper, and I can feel his muscles through his shirt, and if I hug him strategically, I can rub his back and arms in one smooth swoop, a move I creatively call "The Holly". But I didn't get to Holly him this go round. He seemed to be very worried and preoccupied. 

"What's wrong?" I asked. 

He turned his back to me and looked out into the huge crowd. " I can't find Invisiblisha, my wife," he said, distracted, before he ran off.

I jumped when I heard Golden Boy say wife. It was weird, like hearing a baby curse. I know he has a wife, just like I know the moon is made of cheese. However, like many Drexel wives, she is a bit of an urban legend. On top of that, it is hard to believe that Golden Boy even has a wife, considering what a mimbo he used to be. He also reminded me of a Black Fonzie from Happy Days. Did The Fonz ever get married?

The only girlfriend I knew him to have in school was older than us and scary. Bossy Boots had a way of ordering people around that should be studied by the Navy Seals. After that, it was a revolving door of girls he didn't seem too attached to, and the ones he didn't bone he'd dry hump on the dance floor. Some girls have all the luck. 

I remember I told him once when we were in school that I had heard a group of girls referring to him as a ho, but that I stepped in and told them that wasn't true. 

"Aw, yes, it is," he'd said. He had on his Greek jacket, collar popped, and was sitting in a chair with his feet up on a table in the University Center because he was cool like that. "But it's good to know someone is standing up for me out here."

I watched as Golden Boy pushed through the crowd, looking for his wife. I mean, he was really looking for her. This made me wonder what type of woman can make a promiscuous boy turn into the type of grown man who looks like he is going to cry if he gets separated from her in a crowd. 

That is where my investigation began. 

THE INVESTIGATION 

It is important that you understand my dedication to solving a puzzle to get the footwork it took to find info on this woman. I promise you, I asked every other person who passed me at the tailgate, "Do you know this lady?" And from this Pulitzer-worthy journalistic labor, I discovered two things: she is alive and biologically female. WHAT IS IT WITH THESE DREXEL WIVES?! Are they all farts in the wind? Sitting under the tailgate tent of people who didn't know me and were obviously wondering where I came from, I could feel Invisiblisha in the atmosphere. Breathing. Surveying. Thinking. Ovulating. I have never been married, so I think that a reason why the Invisiblisha caliber of wife confuses me is because if I did have a husband, everyone on Earth would know we were together. People would recognize me from a mile away. I am constantly confused by these Invisiblishas who let their husbands free, out into the wild to be groped by weirdos like me. 

Although I couldn't tell Invisiblisha from a hole in the wall, if she's reading this, I want her to know I see her in the shadows, very much giving Carmen Sandiego vibes. Funny, I don't think anyone ever found Carmen either. 

Homecoming Post 4: Holls and the Throuple

There were a lot of people that I wanted to see at homecoming. Two people that I felt it was imperative to see were Sexy Koala and Hot Wife to potentially discuss being a third in their marriage. They just seem really cool, and I'm in desperate need of a future. After I graduated from college, people told me to get a job and a car, but no one, NO ONE, suggested that I get a future. Turns out, that's important. 

Sexy Koala is tall and cute. I thought so even in school. But what's way more importante than his being tall and cute is that he has a job. I looked him up on LinkedIn. He works someplace I've never heard of, doing something I don't understand. Who can deduce what anyone does with these new-age fancy job titles?? What I have deduced from social media is that he makes money. I don't, so I think he and I would complement each other well in this way. 

Oddly enough, the desire to be a part of Sexy Koala's marriage is not rooted in Sexy Koala; it's rooted in the persona of his hot wife whom I affectionately refer to as Hot Wife. Homegirl has it going on! From what I can see on Instagram, she is living the soft life, and I want in! She's always smiling and happy. Never looks stressed. Once, I saw a pic of her in a hammock. Now you know you are in your soft girl era when you are chillin' in a hammock! I want a soft life. My life is hard, and I want out! All I do is worry about money and bills and the new season of Stranger Things. I too want cool clothes and vacations and gourmet birthday cakes with fancy sparkler candles. I guess that all comes with marrying a provider. That's another thing no one told me to make sure I got: a provider. Damn it! 

I Googled how to approach an existing couple about entering into a throuple, and I didn't like what I read. I in no way want to infringe on their love, but I think I'd be a good helping hand. I like to cook and fold clothes. Hot Wife would still have time to get her nails done, and in return for my hard work, Sexy Koala could take on my student loan payments and phone bill. 

I was excited to see that Sexy Koala came to homecoming, but I didn't see his wife. This sucked because I'd really be making my pitch to her. I think that as a woman, she'd better understand the benefit of having a humorous, live-in maid. As smart as Sexy Koala was in school, I think the concept would go right over his head. 

A part of me is bitter that it has come to this for me, but I'm 40. I can either cry about it or actively begin exploring solutions, and yes, some of them may not be traditional. Just know that when you are in a soul-squeezing rush to find healthcare and stable shelter, traditions of olden days have to fall by the wayside. 

I have a message to them both that I can't send because I keep editing it. My proposal has to be perfect before I reach out. Until then, sadly, it's back to the hardness of it all. Ick. 

Homecoming Post 3: Bells and the Bulldog

Isn't it funny how a situation can be hilarious to you but traumatizing to someone else? That is how the situation with Bulldog is for me and Bells. I still chuckle about it to myself today, and up until the tailgate, the whole ordeal still gave her panic attacks. 

Back in the day when things were cool, Bells and I went to a party at this club called The Bourbon Room. I remember it being a good time, and at some point, Bells and I took a seat at a booth to sip on our drinks. While we were being grown and sexy, Bulldog and one of his frat brothers walked over to our booth. I could tell from Bells's face that she was annoyed. I wasn't. I had gotten to know Bulldog from my Small Group Communication class. He had a reputation for being a little extra, but he was cool and funny once you got to know him. He and his friend said hi to us both, but it was clear that Bulldog had made his way over to talk to Bells. 

"Can I get you a drink?" Bulldog asked Bells. 

Bells smiled and told Bulldog, "No, thank you, I already have a drink."

I felt kind of bad in that moment. I knew that sting of being ignored by guys, but it had to sting worse to approach a woman and be rejected. 

Bulldog stood there for a second, as if he was about to say something, but instead, he pulled out his bare pe*is and made it swirl in a circle right there at the booth! 

I rocked back and forth for a full minute before letting out an explosive laugh! I'm not going to lie, I peed on myself a little. 

"Brother Bulldog, what are you doing?!" his frat brother exclaimed before pushing him away from the table. 

Needless to say, Bells didn't think that the incident was funny then, and she definitely doesn't think it is funny now. 

"If I see him at homecoming, I am going to scream," she told me the week or so before we were to leave for New Orleans. 

"He's married with kids now. I'm sure he's not still whipping out his ween and showing it to people," I offered. 

"I don't care," she said sternly. 

It is so funny how times have changed. If Bulldog had tried that today with a girl, he would have been arrested, thrown out of school, canceled, then put in a rocket and shot to the sun, and no one would have thought twice about it. Back then, the whole thing was just a highlight in a night out story to be told over breakfast. 

I assumed that Bulldog was going to be at homecoming, and I was right. He is full of school spirit, and he is also cool with one of Bells's best buds. At some point during the tailgate, her friend facilitated a brief convo between the two that, according to Bells, ended in a handshake. 

"See. Now you all are besties," I joked. 

"I wouldn't go that far," she griped. 

Here's hopin' 😊

Homecoming Post 2: Cane the Kappa- The Untold Story

I believe in aliens. I believe that at one point, dolphins could walk and talk like humans. And, because my grandma is from the Midwest, I believe that spaghetti and fried fish is an actual meal. But I think what makes me truly delulu is the imaginary anything I have created in my mind with Cane the Kappa. 
I remember when I first saw Cane, and this was before he became a Kappa. He was walking behind St. Jo with a bunch of volleyballs or basketballs or something. I know nothing about sports. He was unassuming, just a tall, thin, very light-skinned boy taking a stroll with a bunch of balls. He was cute, and I decided, in accordance with fulfilling my personal goal of becoming besties with only hot guys, I would approach him next year, my sophomore year, when I came back to school skinny , and make him my friend. Let's just say that the Kappas got to him before this goal could be actualized. I remember his probate show. I knew it was him before he took off his little disguise. The dream died, and he became XU-famous. This is all just background for the story I'm about to tell you now, which led to me having a question for him for 23 years. 
THE STORY
One very early morning in 2004 or 5, I was thrown out of the 24-hour study room for falling asleep and snoring. I walked out the side of the library, passed the tennis courts, and around to where the old student center used to be. There was an AKA seating situation over there, and I saw Cane canoodling with Pretty Africa, that super-tall AKA who used to wear kente prints with her Greek gear. They looked so in love, and the sight made me smile all the way back to the dorm. If Cane and I were not meant to be, at least he would be with someone cool. I couldn't wait to see them during the day as a couple, but never did. It dawned on me that I had probably witnessed the fruit of a secret love affair like from the soap operas! I wanted to ask him about it, but he was ALWAYS with the Kappas, which I could have handled if it weren't for the little mean one. But not the one you are thinking of, the other one. 
THE CONVERSATION 
My conversation with Cane left me with more questions than answers. It was hot the day of the tailgate, and watching people try to stay cool was making me feel hotter. I just happened to look over my shoulder, and there was Cane, walking alone, just as I'd first seen him years earlier, only with no balls. He also looked shorter. 
"Cane!" I called.
To my surprise, he walked over to me and gave me a church hug. He was drinking out of a beer can in a paper bag, and he wore a designer fanny pack across his chest like a Girl Scout sash. 
"I have a question for you, one question, two parts," I began. "I've been wanting to ask you this question for years."
I have to admit, I was excited. I wanted the tea on what I assumed was a whirlwind romance between him and Pretty Africa. 
"Okay," he said. It was a million degrees, and he just seemed so chill. His New Orleans accent was THICK. The only way it could sound more New Orleans is if it was coming out of an alligator's mouth. 
"Did you have a secret girlfriend when we were in school?" I asked. 
"Yes, but she was a *#$5@," he said. 
*#$5@?
"It wasn't Pretty Africa?" I asked. 
He shook his head. "Naw, you have me confused with my line brother. He looks exactly like me."
"Oh yeah? He has your same skin and long hair?"
"Yep." Before you ask no, there was no Kappa while we were there that looked anything like him at all. My bs-o-meter began to go off in my left foot, although it could have been diabetic nerve pain. 
"I don't remember that for real," he said, "unless I was drunk." 
Side eye. Blame it on the alcohol.
"I have another question," I said. "Is it true that you are a literal Million-Dollar Nupe? That you won the lottery?"
He shrugged. "Yeah, but it was just a small jackpot."
And then, just like that, he was gone. This guy is a riddle wrapped in a poem dressed in Prada/Gucci. 
I assume it will be another 23 years before I talk to him again. I guess he went back to the Kappa tent after we talked, but I imagine he called Pretty Africa immediately to tell her that their jig was up and to hide their big lotto winnings. Like I said, I'm delulu. 

The Homecoming Crumble

I asked Bells yesterday if she had ordered any new dresses for our college homecoming. She said that she hadn't because she wouldn't feel comfortable in a dress. She hasn't been going to the gym as much, and she is not 100% on her body right now. I was surprised to hear this because Bells has a great physique, and she eats right. I think that she is simply experiencing what I call "The Homecoming Crumble". That is when you are about to go to homecoming, and then all of a sudden you are too ugly and too fat to exist, forget about ordering an outfit for the day party. Other girlfriends have confided in me about this, but I have not heard any men mention having any anxieties around their appearance before homecoming. 

"You never hear a guy say that he isn't going to come to the tailgate because he put on ten pounds and won't look good from the back in his cargo shorts," I pointed out to Bells. 

"That's because they either are not talking about it or are not talking about it with us," she replied. Man, if my college brothers are suffering from The Homecoming Crumble, I wish they would talk about it. Then all of us girls wouldn't feel like we were losing our minds!

I do feel that I have gone into my Hillary Clinton era early when it comes to my appearance. I love my college family, but they will be lucky to catch me with earrings on. No big money was spent on new clothes. I will be wearing my hair the same boring way I have worn it for ages. I am excited to see everyone, but the desire to do myself up just isn't there. I am finding that when you begin to give up hope on ever finding a man, you no longer waste time thinking about if you have on the proper bra or if your shoes match your handbag. That may be a post for another time.

Crumble or no crumble, I plan to enjoy myself at homecoming amongst the sexy ladies that decided to give a d*mn. Maybe I will be able to grudge up a pair of new underwear for my 20-year reunion. 

Diaries of a No-Lose Loser

As I sit here eating Popeye's Chicken for lunch, I find myself feeling a little sad and defeated. My college homecoming is coming up, and I am super excited to go. I can not wait to reconnect with some people that I have not seen in almost 20 years. Everyone is talking about how fun it is going to be, and I just know it is going to be amazing! But I am disappointed, thinking the same thing that I think before every homecoming: Aw man, I was supposed to be skinny by now!

I gotta tell you kids, I was pretty dilulu when it came to this homecoming. It is the 100-year anniversary of my alma mater, and I had fantasies of literally showing up on campus in rainboots and a thong. I would spend the whole weekend flirting with boys and twerking on car hoods. I have lost a little weight, but nowhere near enough to attend the day party topless as originally planned. I just knew that this homecoming was going to be high energy. It won't be. I can already tell. The other day, while I was planning the events I am going to attend, I had possibly the strongest urge I've ever had to take a nap. Maybe if I try really hard, like sleep through breakfast and skip lunch, I can lose 200lbs in 30 days. I will get started after I finish my Popeye's. 

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 6: The Engagement Arrangement

Don't let the smooth taste fool ya. Just because Xavier is a Catholic school, that does not mean that many of its grads are in conservative relationships. I mean, a lot of people are married or dating. Yet, the way it was explained to me by people with skin in the game, there are a lot of situationships, sortaships, quickieships. Child, there are a lot of ships and a lot of them sink! People are hooking up and getting down in these black and gold streets! I even wanted to interview this man I went to school with for my InstaLive who has an "unconventional marriage" with his wife. And by unconventional, I mean he and his wife allegedly come to the tailgate to pick up chicks! Folks are just creating the romantic relationships they want out here and I am trying not to hate about it. The longest relationship I have ever had is with this outdated, slow "smart"phone of mine. 

Enter Savannah. She and her partner Brandon have been in a relationship for about five years. They have kids. They live together. They go on date nights and throw birthday parties. They put together elaborate playscapes for their kids in the backyard. So, I was surprised when out of nowhere, she announced to me as I was sitting outside the tailgate, "I gave Brandon an ultimatum and told him that he needs to propose by the end of this year."

I turned to my aunty who was sitting right beside me and her face went completely blank, a talent that I have never been able to master. 

"Oh Savannah, that's not a good idea," I said, shaking my head. 

"I had to start pulling the Band-Aid off. If he doesn't do it, it's not like I'm going to leave."

I looked back to my aunt whose face was still blank. This was a bad idea. Ultimatums NOTORIOUSLY do not work! If anything, they make things worse and cause resentment and anger. I mean, we only need to look at the show The Ultimatum! No matter how sweetly you word the demand, someone ends up alone and embarrassed. 

So, I called Savannah to get permission to blog about this and to get some clarity on some things. She basically said that the whole thing was not as big as I was making it. So, I told her how an OG once told me: an ultimatum is much like a gun. If you are going to pull it out, you better be prepared to take action. You gotta be ready to stand on the demand. 

My stomach began to hurt even more on the situation when she told me that she meant by the end of this year, not next year. It's already November! My friend wants to be proposed to within two months! Had she not heard the word? These Xavier men will drag an engagement like a Newport! 

"He will do it if he loves me," she said confidently, right before we got off the phone. 

I hope he does. She deserves a ring. Anyway, there is no room in the Xavier dating pool for another relationship casualty. 

Homecoming Post 5: What Ever Happened to Nerdy Nadine? Another Drexel Wife Mystery

I have been to a few of these homecomings at this point and I am here to tell you that Xavier men marry two types of women: the ones that are very present, in your face, and attached at the hip or "The Caspers"- the ones that you know they married because you saw the pics on Instagram but you never see them in person or with them anywhere since. You need to know this to understand why I am concerned that Nerdy Nadine has gone ghost. 

Chocolate Chuck and Nerdy Nadine were an item all the while I was in school. They were a year ahead of me and ALWAYS together. Always. She had a claim on him that was very strong, considering that we were not that far removed from high school. They felt married even then. She was "nice" on the surface. But if you so much as looked at Chocolate Chuck for longer than she deemed appropriate, she would send dagger eyes at you from across the room. I have a few friends that thought he was cute in college and received the Artic shoulder from her. My homegirl Ditzy Diana said she actually hooked up with him and I feared for her safety. Nerdy Nadine was not f*&king around when it came to her man! She even tried to maintain this hold over him once he became Greek, which was sweet but about as fruitful as trying to collect water in a bucket with a hole in it. You see I knew something at 18 that she knew at 19 but was obviously choosing to ignore: Chocolate Chuck was slicker than Vaseline! It is one thing when a guy thinks he's slick. That can be...corrected. But when a guy actually is slick, it's a done deal. 

Following the Clues

It first became clear to me that something was up with Nerdy Nadine when Chocolate Chuck became a fixture on other people's IG pages going on trips and stuff without her. Then I ran into him at my 10-year reunion and he was shockingly solo. I very carefully approached him, not putting it past Nerdy Nadine to jump off the top of the University Center and take off my head, Kill Bill style. 

"Hey Chuck, where's Nadine?" I asked, looking over my shoulder. 

"She is at home with the kids," he said with that pretty, slick-ni*ga smile of his. Let me tell you, the only time I have actually been able to raise one eyebrow was after he said that. Recently, I saw him on IG at his frat brother's house looking gooooood topless poolside. I mean good, like Chic-Fil-A cookie good. The boy was serving body like cocktails! Now Nerdy Nadine and I were not friends in school, but I know she would have never allowed this! Purple Reign took a pic with him at homecoming. He brought up the case before I could even ask him about it. 

"I asked about Nerdy Nadine and he was very cryptic. He also was not wearing his ring," Purple Reign confirmed. "I think that they are divorced and co-parenting."

Maybe. But she is still in his IG photo, so I don't know. In my opinion, it is more likely that she is on an island with a lot of other Drexel wives, trying to get a phone signal. The world may never know. 

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 2: The Flash

Much like the Dodo bird, I do not fly to travel. Yet, much like a snob, I do not take the bus. I have hair- raising memories of taking the bus back to college of sticky, icky people sneezing on me. So, when I found out that the train was about the same price, cleaner, and more comfortable, I was sold. I have fond memories of getting on the train, going to sleep in a half-empty rail car, and waking up at my destination refreshed. Those memories have been crushed. 

I am not sure what possessed me and my aunt to take the train to New Orleans. I am guessing it was the $35 ticket both ways. For some reason, the ride there wasn't the quick shot to the NOLA that I remember it being. I felt every moment of that 10hr ride. Every. Moment. It was long and crowded. Between sitting across from the bathroom and getting a whiff whenever someone opened the door to the sound of hungry people biting into Doritos, this ride was no ice cream sundae. However, the cherry on top was a drunk, elderly man flashing me his placid penis.

The moment this guy got on the train, I knew that he was drunk. He kept getting up to pee and he was mumbling to himself. When that got old, he began walking up and down the train, just being annoying. I was watching a movie on my phone when he waved his hands at me to ask if the seat across from me was taken. I told him no and went back to my movie. I was beyond ready to get off the train and did not want to talk to him. 

That didn't stop him from talking though, even though he saw me with my earphones on. I just nodded and smiled, listening to the movie. I randomly turned to my side and saw him smiling at me, pointing at his penis with one hand and shaking it with the other one. 

"HE FLASHED ME!" I yelled. He then got up from his seat and ran to the back of the train and put a COVID mask on as a disguise. When the train attendant talked to him, he said he didn't flash me. He just thought that he had recently contracted crabs and was inspecting himself. 🙄

This is the 4th time in my life I have been flashed, which leads me to ask this: what do men see when they see their junk? Rainbows? Magic? Cookies? I just have to assume it's something that they think the world's women want to see, the way they can't wait to show them! 

This was Wednesday night. The tone for homecoming was officially set. 

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.

The Homecoming Zero

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

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

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

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

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

Homecoming Post 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.