New Man, Mixed Messages

Pardon me if I have been absent, but indeed I have been chatting it up with a new man. I don't want you to get too excited about him because it is very new, and I am trying not to get too excited about him because it is very new, but I do like him. I have shared my developments with New Man with a couple of my friends and, per usual, they have had a lot to say. 

You see, for years, these friends have told me that I was closed off and that I needed to be open to meeting someone. They encouraged me to go out more and join dating apps. These were the same friends who made sure to tell me, as many times as humanly possible, that I wasn't going to find my guy complaining at home, and that I needed to step out on faith and lead with my heart. Oddly enough, these same friends are encouraging me to now lead with suspicion. You guessed it, P is one of these friends. 

The other day, I told P about how New Man told me this fantastical story from his youth that had me on the edge of my seat! I really feel like it could be a movie! P, of course, did not feel the same way. 

"That story doesn't even make sense," he said dryly. "Man, you will believe anything these men tell you. Did you even ask any follow-up questions?"

Just to be clear, this is the same P that has consistently gotten on me about thinking that all men are liars and being a "man-hater". Now that I am trying to participate in the dating world that he encouraged me join time and time again, he seems to be annoyed that I believe even the most minute thing New Man, and other men, have said to me. He kind of makes me feel dumb about it. 

Lisha has been the same way; not about New Man but about Coffee. This is funny because she is Little Miss Soft Life, encouraging me to listen with my heart. Yet, when I would tell her interesting things about Coffee, she was clearly listening with a raised eyebrow. 

"I think this man is cap," she said flatly. "Sometimes, I wonder if he is legit or if he is just sitting over there lying to you."

I gotta say kids, I feel like I am receiving mixed messages. 

The running story for years has been that I am bitter and distrustful, and I do not want that to be my story. P and Lisha are prime examples of friends who, over the years, have been at the forefront of encouraging me to make changes so that wouldn't be my story. Now, it feels like they want me to wear an "I'm Trusting" hat at the same time as an "I Don't Believe You" hat. The thing is, I only have one head. They want me to have one head and be of two minds, which I know is possible but also difficult and consuming. 

If being the friend with no man watching everyone's relationships has taught me anything, it's this: suspicion is cancerous to the healthy cells of a couple. One minute, your relationship is healthy and vibrant, then BAM! The infectious dishonesty makes its way into the relationship and, before you know it, your relationship is terminal and on life support. I have seen what it is to second-guess everything a partner tells you, and it just doesn't work. I want my relationships to work. 

At their cores, I just think that P and Lisha don't want me to be a dummy and get played. I don't want that for myself either. I am deciding to not believe New Man only if he gives me a reason not to. I am not going to expect lies or look for them, but I will be prepared for them if they are to arise. Really, I think that is all I can do. 

Anxious As Nails

One way I have always been able to temperature-check my mood is by my desire to paint my nails. I know that sounds silly, but when I am happiest, for some reason, I like to see that reflected in my nails being painted pretty colors. However, of late, I have been painting my nails while still being incredibly concerned about the world around me. I mean, my anxiety is sky high! 

I know that somehow people are able to build their social media algorithms. Many of my friends go to their social media accounts and only see beauty tips and crockpot recipes. I see people building bunkers and talking about how we are going to run out of power and will starve to death unless we learn how to turn our urine into drinking water and preserve peppers. As scary as this sounds, and it sounds really scary, at least to me, I still have been painting my nails, excited about the variety of pinks and reds I have. 

What is the moral of this story? What, am I like happily worried or something? I think that in my old age I am finally digesting the fact that you can't change what you don't have control over. The world could end in a few days. So, I can either go into complete panic mode or pray that God has mercy on us while I oil my cuticles. If I am going to meet my maker, I am doing so with a full, polished set. 

Quit It!

My friend Chelsea called me seeking emotional and professional support. She quit her job last week because her manager sucks. I asked her if she was still tight with the president of the company. She said she was. I then suggested that she go to her directly and beg for her job back. Chelsea was very annoyed by my feedback, but I honestly couldn't think of anything more helpful to suggest. 

People are out her STRUGGLING! My other friend was out of work for nine months and her bestie was unemployed for over a year. Yet Chelsea was out her quitting her gig? What? Sometimes it's less about pride and more about pay your bills. 

She has ideas on what to do nest. I hope they all workout, but the market is cold out here. I'm still standing behind begging for her job back. 

HC Eye Spy- Another Risky Business Story

Risky is one of my top tier friends. She answers the phone when I call her crying in the middle of the night. We check in on each other. We have an understanding that I don't have with my other friends. But today, when she asked me to spy on her ex on social media, I didn't understand. 

"I just need you to tell me what is in his stories, and if he has any new posts with women in them," she instructed.

This was confusing to me, because to my knowledge, she and this guy broke up ages ago. Like, ages ago. She has dated other men, so I don't get why she would care. But you see, I am her friend. Her good friend. Who would I be if I wasn't helping her be crazy? 

When I went to his social media page, I got nervous. Looks like her ex likes to play with guns. Play with guns, drink beer, and smoke cigars. My neck tensed up. Why can't Risky ever couple with anyone normal? 

"New posts with women?" I asked. "I'm surprised this man was able to get with you!" I mean really, how many guns does one guy need?

Just in case you are new here, yes, Risky and I are both middle-aged, lurking on a man's socials to see who he is dating. No, we are not tweens and yes, we know better. 

I am not sure what Risky is thinking, but I do know what it's like to want to keep tabs on someone from your past. The thing is, doing this never, ever contributes anything positive to your future. You end up just feeding into a hang up instead of looking forward to whatever new thing that could be in the cards. However, this is a lesson every woman learns on their own. Until Risky gets her turn in the learnin' chair, I guess I'm playing 007 regarding a heavily armed guy I've never met. Come on, what are friends for? 

The "Third-Person" Pieces 3: Death

In college, Holly had a crush on a boy that just recently died of congestive heart failure, and she has taken this harder than expected. It's not like he's the first person she has known to die. On the contrary, her life has been a literal parade of death since her mid 20s. The issue is that Holly has become old enough to understand that 40 isn't old, and is always sad to hear that a young person has gone to glory. There is also something particularly devastating about dying in middle age that she just can't put her finger on. 

Holly secretly believes in parallel and other worlds as well as astral projection. With this being said, she wonders if she could clear her mind then travel to an outer space to ask her deceased college peer what death is like and to reveal any secrets that could help her on Earth. Weird people online that don't comb their hair and wear jingly bracelets say that this is possible. She guesses it would make more sense to visit her mom or grandma, but they'd be irritated she made the trip. What if she couldn't get back home? 

The "Third-Person" Pieces 2: Nostalgic

Of late, Holly has fallen victim to a nostalgic mind set triggered by a therapeutic mental reliving of her childhood. She guesses that the bad old days seem good when your present is in limbo. She reached out to two friends from elementary school which resulted in two fun, long conversations but no returned texts. She has developed a social media crush on a guy she went to middle school with. She likes to pretend that high school never happened. 

Holly is not one of those people that wastes time wishing she could go back in time; however, she would like it if her past had grown and morphed into a present that wasn't so tragic. 

Holly listens to podcasts where positive people talk about taking charge and making changes in your life. Perhaps Holly would buy into this if change could be more strictly defined. For Holly has been open to change before, actually changed, then the horrors reappeared on time and ready to kick her 10 steps back. What is the point of change if you are just going to end up older in the same bad spot again? Wouldn't an unhappy stagnancy be the less painful choice? The solution would be to keep living to find out. Great. 

The "Third-Person" Pieces 1: Negative?

Holly has been told by an array of people that she is negative, but Holly disagrees. Just yesterday her best friend P told her he thinks she's incapable of real change. Who needs enemies when you've got friends who think you suck? Not Holly! That's for sure! 

If anything, Holly is a card-carrying member of that retired class of people that can tell the sh$t from the sunshine, and she doesn't want to toot her own horn, but she is intellectual enough to know that sometimes there is no difference. This clear- eyed view of life seems to annoy people. This would annoy Holly if she believed you could please everybody. 

Now, with that being said, Holly is somber. Yes, it's true. She often falls victim to a whoa-is-me attitude, but that is only because life is unbearable. Again, not negativity. There are cold hard facts to back this feeling. People die. Children starve. Friends don't return phone calls. Food burns on the stove while you are taking a nap. This is all sound evidence that lead Holly to  continual questions. Why go on? What is to become of her? Will things ever get better? Unfortunately, the honest answers to these questions may be a touch negative, but these answers should not be mistaken with Holly herself. 

The Motherload

Something is going on with the moms in the atmosphere. 

One of my guy friends has gone completely no contact with his mother. Another is trying to get his mom to go to therapy while another friend and his mom are "taking a break" because he is 40 and she treats him like he's ten. I wish this was only a male friend issue, but it ain't. Just the other day, I got some messages from Risky Business. She was upset because an argument over the temperature in her house led her and her mother to "tussle" over a box fan. Huh? 

Dear millennials, have you noticed that we had the sweetest grandmothers while our mothers are nuts? Like loco? What do you think is the meaning of this? Then, on the news, they said the young people behind us, the ones our generation birthed, are a bunch of useless sad sacks that can't do anything outside of play games on their phones! They are needy and wimpy because we as mothers affirmed their emotions. I suppose they will birth and raise a generation of vegetables or serial killers.

My mom has gone on to glory, but we were not without our issues. However, I like to believe if she were alive we'd be fully healed, although this wish does not jive with the tends I'm seeing. Mamas are losing it and their kids are letting them go, too exhausted to deal with it. Therapy, meds, active listening and open communication doesn't seem to be working. I guess we have to do what my grandma would have advised: we just have to pray for them. 🙏

The Return of the Fatty Helper

For a minute, I thought that I had left annoying "fatty helpers" behind in my life. Years ago, there was an old lady who gave out samples at the grocery store. Whenever I would go get a sample, she would tell me that she thought I should audition to be on The Biggest Loser. Apparently, once you got to a certain part in the competition, you were allowed to send for a friend or something, and she thought that it would be great if I sent for her, a woman that I didn't know outside of the hi and bye it took to get my sample. Then who can forget the time I was literally chased down outside of a different grocery store. I was casually walking my cart to the car when I heard speeding footsteps. I turned around to see a woman I didn't know coming at me full force! I literally screamed and tried to make a run for it, but duh, I can't run. This lady was on me like white on rice! She told me that she didn't mean to scare me, but she saw me in the store, and she simply had to know why I didn't get a gastric bypass. "Your insurance may pay for it," she told me. 

Yeah, I foolishly thought I was past this stage in my life, but surprise! Here comes social media, a brand new avenue to harass a bi$$h.  

A friend of a friend that I am sort of friendly with started messaging me a year or two ago. She would forward me posts of big people who were finding success losing weight, amongst other things. She sent me posts, "with love," from a friend of hers who was losing weight using some hula hoop contraption. After a while, she stopped messaging me, but the messages are now back. She sends healthy recipes and tips on things to eat to reduce swelling. 

I guess maturity really is something that just happens that you can't feel while you are living life, because I haven't blocked this lady or said anything snarky. I don't feel like her messages have malicious intent. They are just kind of tone deaf and unasked for. There was a time in my life when I would have told her a thing or two, but I don't feel that is appropriate here. Plus, I am old. It is easier to just see her messages, roll my eyes, and move on. I guess I am just grateful that she is not chasing me down the street with a hula hoop or something, but let's not count that possibility out. 

Not the Gram!

When I was a little girl, I used to literally kick and scream when my grandma would try to press my hair. This was also my reaction when I had to go with my aunty to her Saturday morning aerobics classes. My aunty and grandma saw the obesity train coming and tried to turn it around, but this would involve me squeezing my kiddie, frumpy, round body into a leotard that was two sizes too small. Anyway, I say all this to say that at 41, I find myself kicking and screaming every time I realize that I have yet again put off scheduling my mammogram. My first time was last year. It was okay. But I don't want to get another one right now. I just don't want to! 

And yes, I know that it is essential preventative care. Coffee's good friend just died of breast cancer that spread to her bones. She had to go into hospice care, and her power of attorney didn't waste any time cutting the treatment meds and unplugging stuff. He let me know that she had passed on, and it reminded me that I still have to schedule my mammogram. I was supposed to have gotten it done in the spring. I don't know. I'm very stressed out, and I am not in the mental place to take on any more bad news, should there be any. I don't want to deal with it. 

This AKA who went to college with me died of breast cancer, and her friends throw a fundraiser in her name every year. In the promo pictures they use, she looks so young because she died young. I didn't even know her, and I find those pics to be heartbreaking. I try to quickly scroll past them. She has been an annual reminder that I have to get this stuff done since before I was even old enough to be screened. 

Sigh. Obviously, after taking this time to complain, I have to schedule my mammogram today. I don't want to. I will just get it done like I get everything else I want to get done, done: kicking and screaming. 

The Hunter Attitude

When I worked at a daycare years ago, there was this sweet kid named Hunter that had a HORRIFIC behavior problem. He would have these big fits and tear up the classroom, and eventually ended up expelled from daycare if you can believe it. But, before he was given the boot, one of the teachers asked him if he got spankings at home. He said that he did. The teacher asked him what he said to his parents when he got spanked. He yelled, "I SAY, 'I DON'T CARE!' "

The other day, I was telling a friend a traumatic story that ended with her trying to psychoanalyze me regarding my weight. It dawned on me during this conversation that a dear friend of mine that I speak to daily kind of sees me as a fat slob that is doing nothing to better her situation. I had to let her know the conversation was irking me and we needed to move on because I felt myself about to crank dat Hunter towards someone I really care about. 

I believe that you can get so overwhelmed, like the way I feel when I get one of those You Suck letters in my email when I don't get a job, your nervous system turns into wet trash. Your mental health then has to hit Level Hunter so you can survive and not tear up the classroom of your life. It just a smooth level of I don't care designed to give us a break. 

Something is going on with me that I have had to Hunterize the issue because I don't have the wherewithall to deal with it. Thank God for the small favors. If I cared as much as I need to, I'd probably combust. 

B- Day

Yesterday was my mom's birthday and I was so busy feeling sorry for myself that I didn't even mourn her like I usually do on this day. I tried to keep myself busy. We didn't do cake this year. I've been feeling so overwhelmed that I didn't even remember to get a cake. 

My good girlfriend texted me that her dad is dying. I feel badly for her because I know the anvil of pain that is about to fall on her head. It's going to feel unbearable and there is no way to prep her. Dizzle's mom and grandma died and I watched her go through it, and even seeing her devastated did nothing to ease the specific devastation that was coming for me. It's just something you have to feel, there is no way around it. 

A guy I went to college with just got married and had a baby. The baby many be an only child and will have to deal with this loss twice on her own. I don't think people consider that enough before they have kids, which is cruel. 

Anyway, happy b-day Mommy. 

Dream On

I woke up from a dream yesterday evening where I took hundreds of my Xavier sisters on an exclusive overseas trip then realized, past checking into the hotel, I had nothing planned for the weekend. I checked my bags and all I had was candles for the bathrooms. I had ideas about doing morning prayer and yoga, but had no instructors. I couldn't believe I forgot to actually plan the weekend! 

Doesn't take rocket science to interpret this dream: I'm feeling utterly unprepared. I have no idea where I'm going or what I'm doing. I don't know which end is up! I'm jealous that dream Holly had candles. I love candles. Why don't I have any candles? 

Honestly, it's going to take more than candles to correct the course my life is going down. Perhaps if I can sleep tonight, dream Holly will have some answers. I doubt it though. When has dream or awake Holly EVER had the answers?

The Poopy Diaper Theory

Again, a friend is accusing me of being negative. This time it's Lisha and this time I was simply telling her about my day. And to be clear, my day was sh&t on a hot tin roof! Whenever this accusation arises I am left baffled because I am simply discussing how something went or how I am feeling. Perhaps someone should define for me what positive means, because it sounds like it means the act of using your pointer finger to draw a happy face in a poopy diaper. I don't want to do that. I don't know how to do that. I won't do that. For me, there is a line so thin between positivity and pretending that the two are almost synonymous, and pretending makes me incredibly tired. I gotta tell ya, I'm tired of being tired. 

HoustonLanaVegas

It's almost midnight. I've been asleep all day so I am awake. I have energy for once. I want to go dancing. When I was in my 20s, I used to go dancing. I also want someone to come scoop me so we can go drive around downtown. We used to call this parking lot pimping. Once, Tasia and I aimlessly drove around downtown in her Volkswagen Beetle with the sunroof down. She turned on "HoustonLanaVegas" by Drake. I looked up at the stars with my arms up. I was so optimistic about life. I couldn't wait to see what I was going to become, who I was going to be. I want to dance. I want to drive around downtown while listening to Drake. I have no dance partner. Tasia is now married with two kids. In the other lifetime, I hope old Holly is dancing or cruising. How dope would that be? 

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. 

Companion- Space

I recently got to catch up with my friend Boots from college. She's been one of my favorite people for a long time, but she has a crazy work schedule and we haven't gotten to talk in ages. She told me she is keeping plants in her apartment, that she still does hair, and that she has a boyfriend. I was excited to hear this, but she said they don't get to have a lot of date nights because of his work schedule. They don't get to see each other a lot. 

"It's fine because I really don't want a man all up under me" she explained. I found this to be interesting because she and her college boyfriend were all over each other to the point that they looked conjoined! 

What is it about being a middle aged woman that makes you want loved ones close to you and away from you at the same time? Your desire for companionship and space seem to overlap each other. It's like, how can you tell a man to hug you and back up at the same time? Im choosing to blame all of this on science. Whatever makes peri- menopausal women hot in the cold super smellers is probably behind the companion-space movement. I like to believe that I'd be super hands on with my man if I had one, but I don't know. At times, when people are talking to me, I want to jump out of the window, so...

She says she plans to marry this man, and I hope she does. Just because you want companion-space, doesn't mean you want to be a lone. Let's hear it for another one of life's riddles. 

The Tough Questions

The other day, I got a particularly horrible Dear John letter from a company I applied to work at. It was hella harsh. I would have much rather they would have knocked on my door then shot me in the foot. 

"Damn!" Lisha exclaimed after I read her the email. "That was... direct." That is a cute way of describing it. I'm not exaggerating when I say that this letter was the written equivalent of giving someone the middle finger. 

It is times like this where I am AGAIN reminded of Penis Man. I wonder about what happened to this guy quite often, especially during my job search. Years ago, I was listening to the news on the radio and the newscaster did a report on a man who had applied to hundreds of jobs and could not get a call back. So, in a desperate state of mind, he began to send in pictures of his junk with his resume. He was arrested for indecent exposure. Too bad I wasn't working in HR back then. That kind of on-your-feet thinking would have gotten him an interview from my company. 

Can I just ask one question: what are we doing? The nation is at war, the aliens are coming, the vegetables are giving folks explosive diarrhea. What are we doing? Applying for jobs? Looking for work? Trying to make a living? Shouldn't we be dancing in the street naked before a record breaking hurricane comes and wipes us out? Am I going to be surfing Indeed when the comet hits? I guess I will ponder these questions later as I edit my resume. 

The Big Picture

The other day, I found some pics of me from high school and a pic of me at the 8th grade dance. I was cute but didn't know it. As excited as I was to share these pics, I doubled down on the promise I made myself years ago: I'm not going to be that old chick that keeps pics at the ready of herself when she was young. Have you seen people's faces when they are cornered by women like this? It's like they want to say, Sure, you were cute then, but look at you now sis! It's pretty embarrassing for the lady shoving her phone in everyone's face to see a 20 year old picture. I knew a picture shover once. It was very uncomfortable because she didn't look like young her at. all. 

"I'm going to show my old pics whenever the opportunity presents itself, I don't care!" Risky exclaimed. "In college, I was in great shape!"

I wasn't, but I didn't look as sad. In current pictures, I feel like I look grumpy and annoyed which makes since because I am! If I had any dignity I'd just stop smiling all together and be honest in a photo or two. We all know I won't do that. 

For now, I think the solution is to avoid pictures altogether. I used to love taking them. Now I need a three month notice just to hide in the back of a pic and frown. Although I won't do it, I see why people rather show off a pic of themselves at 17. 

Nunning Up

When it comes to anything regarding men or dating or coupling or whatever, I feel a great sense of dread and disappointment. I don't want to talk to any guys romantically. Maybe I should rearrange some things and label partnership or being married as a secret desire of my heart and move forward with focusing on working, friends, and family. At least in that arena I can better see the fruits of my labor. I think. H$ll if I know, I'm old! Shouldn't I have more things figured out? I wish I could go back in time when I thought love would make things better, slap myself, then redirect my attention to taking better care of my hair. I need to take better care of my hair. P suggested I'm "nunning up". All I know is that men make me feel sad and tired. When I told my therapist I was over men she suggested I was depressed. Maybe. I mean, isn't anyone looking for the warmth of love in this cold, hard world depressed? How many naps do I need to have enough energy to even chat with a guy? I will let you know when I wake up.