Freeway of Love (Another Risky Business Story)

The other night, I was on the phone with Risky as she drove hours away from her home to meet and potentially blow a guy she met online. They have had a very complicated online history. As a matter of fact, as she was driving to see this guy, she was blocked by him on the site they met on. I guess they had each other's personal contacts, because when he came to her state, he texted her and she decided to make the voyage to meet him. 

I wish this was the worst of the story but it is not. Once she got to his hotel, they chatted for a bit, and he refused to give her any real information about himself. No real name, hometown, job, or anything. I felt this displayed a lot of nerve on his end. How can you be creeped out and concerned about your safety on one hand, but then want sex from said creepy person on the other hand? Plus, he's the guy! The odds lean towards him when it comes to which one of them is going to make the other an unsolved mystery. 

They fooled around but no real deal hanky panky because he was behind on his STI screenings. I was so happy when Risky let me know she was on her way home that I didn't even have commentary on how loony this story was! She paints the whole thing as an "experience" that she is overall happy she did. She doubts it will progress from here.  I agree, since he blocked her and gave her an alias. She said she thinks it's time she consider marriage. I think it's time she consider becoming abstinent, cutting all losers from her life. She's just too amazing for this kind of stuff! 

You can't tell your friends what to do. I know this for sure, seeing there are plenty of times I ignored my friend's advice. I just want all my girls to be happy, which won't happen for Risky if she ends up in some guy's freezer first. But I can't be too judgemental. No one knows better than me that when it comes to dating, it's a cold world. 

The Dating Update

My God, men are so boring; boring and gross. I remember how my grandma used to tell me a poem about how little girls were made of sugar and spice and everything nice. If this is true, men must be made of bulls$&t and rotten meat. As I continue to try to find love before I become completely dehydrated, I find myself getting consistently disappointed. All the guys fall into a pattern. They have about two or three good convos in them before they start saying nasty, inappropriate things. Like how they want me to BLEEEEEP on their BLEEEEEPS. That's a pretty common one. There's other stuff too. It's all icky🤢🤮

They say you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince. Does this adage still apply if you don't want to kiss these guys? God I hope so. Coffee says that guys who behave like this are "low quality men" demonstrating "low quality behaviors". I'd agree! But you can't win the game if you clock out of it, so I must march on, past the bleeps and the BS. Hopefully I won't be the dehydrated icky one once my prince arrives. 

Where's The Love? (Another Risky Business Story)

Spring is here, and romance is all around us, even in the hookup dating apps. 

Risky Business sent me a screenshot of her messages with a potential gentleman caller, where they were having a lovely exchange about meeting up for sex. They were going back and forth about their recent STI screenings. Risky was happy because the guy gives plasma regularly, so he is automatically tested for many of the sexually transmitted greatest hits. Because of this, she suspects that they may be having some fun together sooner than later. 

Don't get me wrong, I am glad that there are still people out here who are still interested in being safe, especially with STI rates going up faster than the cost of living. Yet, the messages left me wondering where the love is? Where is the romance? The conversation felt so mechanical and sterile. Is there no more amour? I guess getting tested to make sure that your potential partner doesn't end up ill is as sweet as it is going to get out here. It seems like a cheek swab and a blood draw are the new flowers and candy in these streets and, as disappointing as that is, with the state of the sexually active world, it is definitely not a bad thing. 

I guess I still fantasize about romance the way it was deceptively described to me in romance novels. I still see lit candles and slow dancing. I still hear a soft saxophone playing in the background. Bubble baths. Eskimo kisses. I know that I have to accept that today's daters, especially those my age, have moved past these things. So, at some point this spring, Risky and her beau may hold hands as they go over each other's MyChart results. This may sound like a sad thing, but as it was explained to me, if you find a guy brave enough to take such things seriously, it's actually enchanting. 

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. 

App'ed

A few months ago, I thought that I was done with the dating apps because I had found such a great guy. A few weeks ago, I vowed to never go back on the app because I was so disappointed things didn't work out with the "great guy". Now I'm back out of sheer, old-fashioned desperation. This is the third time. Let's pray that three times really is a charm. 

Admittedly, things aren't going so well two days back. The first day I matched with a guy. We were having a good chat through the app before he asked, "What do I need to do to see what's under your dress?" I let him know I wasn't really looking for that. He apologized. I wished him well. Convo ended. Yesterday, I matched with this highly sexy man. We too had a great conversation until he started talking about sex. Oddly, he said he hadn't had sex in nine months. He was on some type of sex fast to clear his head that he's ready to break. This time I was sad. I didn't want our conversation to end, but I could feel the end coming. I let him know I wasn't sexually active. He then proceeded to tell me he didn't consider anal or oral sex "actual sex". I was dumbfounded!! How could he believe something so ridiculous at his big age?? Conversation ended. 

Sadly, I expect more of the same today. Each time I go back on the app, the men get more sexually assertive. I mean, does anyone want a relationship anymore or is that over? Maybe past a certain age, people have become so jaded by their horrible relationship experiences that they jump backward into some type of sexual default setting. My not being on board with this is proving to be a pretty large barrier for me. I wish it weren't this way, but I don't think I'm ready for a dating world where anal sex is considered as casual as a kiss. Perhaps I'm old-fashioned, but that just feels like too much for me. 

Maybe the app gods will smile on me and send me an old-fashioned man who likes hand holding and Lifetime movies. Here's hoping! 

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". 

Dirty 2: The Dumb and The Fearless

Early this morning, as I was texting with phone-mance man, let's call him HaiBae, some rando texted me a full-frontal naked photo that was apparently intended for someone named Jessica. Wow! Not only had he sent out an intimate photo of himself, but he'd sent it to the wrong number! I couldn't decide if he was fearless or dumb. 

I would be asking myself this same question as I transitioned to speaking to HaiBae on the phone. Let's just say that when it comes to being physical with someone, he's a speed racer type of guy and I'm a hay-covered wagon type of woman. For him, this equates to me refusing to be spontaneous or live life. And I get that. This is a man that told me early on that one of his favorite things is exercising on the nude beach where he's from. In response, I'd told him I like to read. 

Early this morning, our naughty talk crashed into me learning more about his personal doctrine. To say that he goes with the flow is an understatement. According to him, we are put here to enjoy lives. They are already mapped out for us. He believes in a higher power but not really an afterlife, because energy never dies. For me, if you don't believe in an afterlife, life gets easy and fun quickly, because there are no postmortem consequences. If you are never going to have to pay for things you've done that are against a doctrine you don't recognize, everyday is a party! Have another shot of vodka while you ride another wiener. Who's going to check you boo?! 

As I listened to him talk about his whimsical life, one centered on exploring, living, and satisfying desires, I could not decide if he was fearless for living out loud or dumb. I was hearing him say a lot of stuff, but nothing about guard rails. I'm assuming those come from God. But if God is a homie riding shotgun in your so-called life and not a heavenly disciplinarian, who needs rules? You'd just do what you want using your own ideals as a compass, which is what I think is happening with HaiBae. I just can't decide if that's low-end crazy or high-end genius. 

He knew without me even saying that I am someone who operates out of fear. I was a goody two-shoes kid which has translated into an overly cautious adult who secretly craves the freedom of being reckless. But is that really freedom? Since God is my judging father and not my high-fiveing roommate, I'm going to have to say the answer is no. 

HaiBae wants to "f*ck me" as he so eloquently put it. Nastily, he has a way with words that I like. However, we've reached the point where I have put up or shut up. He's over our spicy convos. HaiBae has made it crystal clear that we either need to do something or not because just talking about it "bores him". For some reason I thought of James 2:17, "Faith without works is dead." As hot as he is, I just can't let go enough to engage in a hookup. As fearless as hooking up with a man I don't know well would be, putting out my thirst for danger, I just couldn't. That would be dumb. 

IUDizzy

Who would have thought that me, who's about as sexually active as dry toast, would have to go on birth control? Sadly, it's not because I decided to have some type of a Hot Girl Winter as I skid on the banana peel toward middle age. Long story short, I have a condition and getting an IUD was the best way to treat it. Sigh. As if Frank, my ever-so-loving name for my vagina, hasn't been through enough. Now I have some contraption inside of me to keep things under control. And yes, my vagina has a man's name, obviously because it has given me nothing but trouble. Not to mention the bad haircut. 

Over the years, I have heard my fair share of birth control nightmare stories. You know the greatest hits. "Birth control gave me blood clots." "Birth control made me fat." "The morning-after pill didn't work for me." "My IUD dislodged and I got pregnant anyway." "The pill gave me a beard." "I missed one Depo-Provera shot and woke up with a penis." 

When I expressed my concern about getting an IUD to my gyno team, they shut me down pretty quickly. 

"No, no, we are doing this," the main doctor said. 

"But I have done online research-" I began. 

"Every doctor on my team has an IUD. I had one when I was young enough to have children."

"What if Donald Trump makes birth control illegal and comes to get it?" I cried. My anxiety was sky high, and I had heard rumblings about how The Donald was coming for contraception since that whole abortion thing was such a slam dunk. 

"He can't," they all said in unison. But I was not convinced. 

"Listen, there are a bunch of women happy with their IUDs that are not writing Yelp reviews," one of the student doctors said. Maybe so. 

About a month later, I have to say that it is clear that there is something inside of me. It's uncomfortable sometimes. I just move pretty slowly. I don't want to piss it off. 

At night, I imagine that it pops out of place and does a soft shoe on my stomach. Then it moonwalks across my kidneys and does the cabbage patch on my liver. I wake up right before it goes to my heart to poke holes in it. 

I guess I am not that great of a patient. I don't even know how long I am supposed to keep this thing in. I am assuming it is somewhere between three months and forever. Or until it gets carried away in my sleep, doing the Wobble in my throat before I wake up and throw it up. Honestly, I am preparing for things to go either way. 

Risky Business (A Story About Coping)

The other night, I called one of my good girlfriends from college to see how she was doing. She has been having some problems trying to figure out the next move in her career. Actually, that sentence is an understatement. It has been a nightmare and through it all, she has been trying to balance looking for a gig with relaxing and having a social life. Again, this has not been easy, especially when you weigh how she has gone from being completely independent to having to live with her elderly parents. Like I said, a nightmare. So, when I called her, in an attempt to keep it light, I asked her about her dating life and that is when she gave me the scoop. Apparently, she has been meeting up with guys on Tinder, men that she does not know, to give them blow jobs. 

And just when you think you have heard it all. Admittedly, my eyes crossed when she told me this. But she was clear about not wanting to be judged and I didn't want to judge her...but I did have some questions; the primary question being WHY? Unbeknownst to me, she enjoys giving oral sex without anything in return. Although it can be work, she likes it. According to her, it also saves her some time. Once being introduced to a man's penis in this fashion, she can cut through a lot of the formalities and decide then and there if she wants to continue seeing the guy or moving towards having sex with them. If, through the oral encounter, she finds that they have a small penis or a penis that cannot maintain an erection, she puts them in the return to sender box and keeps moving. 

I sat silently on my end of the line as she used phrases like, "to completion" and "power dynamic". She also made it clear that she didn't want anything sexual in return from these guys not just because the pleasure of giving was enough, but also because she didn't feel like getting waxed. But she told me not to worry. Since her sexual activity has increased, she is getting STI tested every three months. To me, this somehow sounded both responsible and irresponsible. What if you catch something in the meantime in between time?

"I don't know," I said, taking a deep breath. "This sounds like risky business."

"Oh yeah, this is definitely high-risk behavior which is why I am getting tested more."

Emmm. Okay?

After hanging up with her, I thought about the things that we do, although at times irresponsible, to cope. Out of the heartache of having to refocus her career, my dear friend is tossing out BJs to losers. I eat fried foods and sugar. Many of my homegirls engage in retail therapy, and going to homecoming has shown me how many of my peers are heavy drinkers and smokers. By this time, we should all know that life is hard and can out-and-out suck! The goal is to try to get through without losing your mind or forming an addiction. But I know my friend will make it on to the other side of this, especially since she is optimistic about the 20-something co-ed that she is getting to know. A story for another time. 

Homecoming Post 7: Tailgate Uncut

Do you all remember BET Uncut? That show that would come on late nights on BET that would show all the nasty, sexual music videos? Upon arriving at the tailgate, I swear to you, I thought that the whole thing may have been sponsored by BET Uncut! For those of you who have not been back to XU for the tailgate, let me prepare you: Norman C. Frances is gone, the nuns are dead, and these young XU undergrad girls have lost their minds! Last year, I was told that I was sounding like a disgruntled aunty because I was complaining about the turbo weaves, paste on edges, and wack-a-diddy false eyelashes. But this year- I could not believe my eyes! 

Okay, so I know that the girls dressed risqué when I was a student. But this new class of girls puts those old short-shorts and tight tops to shame. My aunt and I sat on the wall beside the tailgate people watching, and I am not even going to tell you how many whole, bare asses we saw. It was an asstastic mess! Remember back in the day, underboob was all the rage? I am not kidding when I say that these girls had their entire behinds exposed. If one of my Xavier brothers would have seen my whole butt as a kid in college, I would have died on the spot! Purple Reign sat beside me for a spell, watching the butt brigade go by. I told him if the girls would have been like this when we were in school, his penis would have exploded. He agreed. 

So apparently, a trend now is wearing tennis skirts that hike up in the back and show your behind. That might not have been so bad if any of the girls partaking in this trend would have bothered to put on underwear! Skintight leather shorts are also a look, but the look is only done correctly if your butt gobbles up the shorts almost entirely. The Gen Z girls love their thigh high cowboy boots which I must admit, were cute. However, hours twerking on concrete at the tailgate left many of the ladies hobbling out of the tents like they had just had a long night at the strip club. Purple Reign introduced me to a current professor at the school who said he was scared to go into the tents out of fear of seeing one of his students half naked! 

And it's not just the sweet petites showing their literal asses. I saw a lot of back fat and thigh dimples out there. I honestly can't tell if these girls have high self-esteem or have completely lost touch with reality. What I can say is that if I went to XU now, I'd be the belle of the ball! 

Brandon had a different perspective. He felt that that girls were only dressed this way to sell sex or to catch an old sugar daddy. I thought he was being ridiculous. Yes, the girls looked trashy, but these are also the doctors and pharmacists of the next generation! But sadly guys, he may have been right. Whenever I saw a fresh, young bottom twisting by, there was an elderly, thirsty Xavier man not too far behind it. 

Why am I telling you all of this? I guess I am a little bit of a disgruntled aunty. I want the young ladies to know that they are more than their bodies. At the very least, I want you to know what to pack if you come next year. 

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. 

Sickles and the Naughty Call

A few years ago I told you guys about Sickles. I was pretty optimistic about him. He is literally tall, dark, and handsome, and at the time, for some reason, I was under the impression that he was going to Morehouse Medicine to study Sickle Cell Anemia. Since then he has wanted to be a dentist, worked for AT&T, been incarcerated, had a baby, contemplated working on a farm, and fallen off the face of the earth...or so I thought.
The other day I was scrambling to get ready for some errands that I had to run. I had decided the day before that I would leave the house at 8am. Before I knew it, 10:30am had rolled around and I was still trying to get dressed. Just when I was about to head out the door, my phone rang, alerting me that I was receiving a call via DUO. There was no name, just a number. I answered it only to be greeted by a live video of a man (only from the waist down), playing with his not-so-wee wee wee. I quickly hung up, understandably shaken. The phone rang again from the same number, and I answered it again, ready to curse out the person. But this person was not just some weirdo calling me to be gross. It was Sickles.

"Sorry about that Holly," he said, smiling his goofy smile. I was not smiling. 

"Really Sickles?" I asked, shaking my head. 

"Yeah, my bad. So...how are you?"

"Have a good morning Sickles," I said, ending the video call. 

Lately, during my reflection time, I had begun to be really hard on myself. It just felt like I was getting older yet nothing about my life or my being was changing. Now I know for sure that this is not true. When I first met Sickles, my self-esteem was in the pits. I would have thought that whole thing was cute or funny, just happy that there was a guy out there willing to talk to me, even if he was being nasty. But when he did that the other day, I didn't feel happy, I felt annoyed. This showed me that I am growing in some aspects of myself, even if I don't have a nice car and a huge house to show for it. I have respect for myself! I have dignity! It's funny the life-changing conclusions that seeing a man's penis can bring you to. 

The Sexless Love Interest

After writer's group, I had a long conversation with Ryan the crush. Truth be told, my crush was beginning to fade. A flame can only burn for so long when it is clear that the one you are ablaze for has absolutely no interest in you. I had to take a lesson from Aunty Maxine Waters and start to reclaim my time. There is no time wasted like time invested on a dude that doesn't return your feelings. We hadn't spoken in a while. But, after writer's group, we took a second to catch up. He got a new job. He's going to take a vacation to Miami before the summer is over. He also said that he is excited because that very day marked his tenth year of being abstinent.
Get the f*&k out of here! I wanted to scream. How could a man this hot and this smart and this old (he's 42) be walking around sexless?
Instantly, the crush rekindled at 1000%. It was a huge turn on to meet a man who, in this day and age, had some modicum of self control. I live in Atlanta, where, weekly, men make their rent rain in ones at one of the city's well-known strip joints. Dudes cheat. They have more than one girlfriend. Their lives seem to revolve around sex, indulging in their desires at every possible turn. And there I stood, next to a man, that made a serious decision, in his youth, to hold off on sex.
"I'm looking for love," he said honestly, nibbling on one of the homemade brownies brought to the group by Jabbering Janice, the one woman in group that can not stop talking.
Love me! I imagined myself screaming, jumping in his lap.
I told P about this when I got home. Of course, he had something rude to say about the whole thing.
"This guy is obviously gay," he said nonchalantly.
Ryan isn't gay. I like to believe that he is a sign sent to me from heavens that not every man is a fornication-obsessed dirt bag. Now, if I could only get him to sleep with me.
Lol...just kidding.

Lyn and the Text

How was your Christmas ya'll? Mine was pretty chill; Netflix during the day and dinner with the fam by night.
I texted with Lyn throughout the day. As with most things good, a man was casting a shadow over what should have been a good day. You see, the day was ticking by steadily and she hadn't received a Merry Christmas text from her new beau yet.
"The day isn't over yet," I assured her via text. "And you can always text him."
I could feel Lyn roll her eyes through the phone and I understand why. What girl wants to text their bae first? Is it too much to want to be thought about?
Here is the shinny on Lyn and her new guy: they work together, they are not official, they are having sex, they are both interested in the possibility of a relationship, and he has a kid. They have chemistry and the friendship has potential, for they have been "talking" for two months. I can tell that  Lyn is excited, but she is trying not to put any expectations on anything. But geez! When you are having sex with a guy, can't you at least expect a well-wishing text during the holidays? Apparently not.
Dear one man that reads my blog: for 2019, let's make some ground rules. When you are sleeping with a woman, let it be two days, two months, or two years, you are OBLIGATED to send her text on her birthday, on Christmas Day, on Martin Luther King Day, and even her off day. Why? Because it is COMMON COURTESY! Since when do you have to be in love to show some love? Geez!
Lyn may not have gotten her Christmas text but they are now totally back on track. Her sister has met him and thinks that he is amazing. I will keep you posted on how this develops, via text of course.

Asexual

Another close friend assumed I am an asexual. Sigh.
I told my friend Alex during our last conversation that I think that I have a crush on a man that goes to my church, and she thought that was interesting because she didn't think I was interested in men...or women...or anything! Sadly, she is not the first friend to assume this.
"Why do you think this about me?" I asked. I have to say, I was a little hurt, just as I was a lot hurt when my other friend suggested the same thing a few years back.
"I have never seen you with a man," she began. "I have never heard you really talk about any guys. I have never seen you with a woman. I just thought you were asexual."
"Well, I'm not," I defended, even though everything she said was true. So, defensively, I said, "What am I supposed to do? Men just aren't interested in me, and the ones that are suck!"
#facts. We need only to look to the laundry list of men I liked in college who didn't know I was alive, and the ones that did were very strategic in ignoring me. I am comfortable with saying that the men that liked me after college were complete and total liars. There was the man who got a girl pregnant in a club. The long-distance guy who refused to come see me. The married man. The man with the criminal record and side babies. Why would I want to introduce those gems to anyone in my life?
And let me just say that I don't have any beef with the asexual community. I think that they are on to something. But since I am not asexual, the fact that those closest to me that have known me my entire life think I am sucks.
"So what am I supposed to do? No one is interested," I said.
"You need to go for different kinds of men," she instructed. "And you need to try harder."
"I am trying!" I cried. Honestly, I'm not. Looking for love was literally making me crazy. Three years ago, I cuddled in the corner with my list of crushes and happily resigned to my fantasy love life. I had to for my heart and mental health! And if that makes me an asexual, so be it...I guess😞

Church and the Broken Vagina

Going to church on a regular basis has broken my vagina. At the very least, it has essentially depleted my sex drive, and at the most, has catapulted me into early spinsterhood. I was alarmed by this at first, but Tasia assures me that this is the effect that church should have on you.
"Yeah, that sounds about right," she said over brunch. "How did you not know that that is what church does to you?"
Uh...because no one told me!
As you know, I am a girl that loves to have a crush on somebody. It has always been fun for me to have little secret crushes on men. This has helped my heart to fill full during the lonely times and given me a good list of people to stalk on Instagram. Now when I look at pictures of these crushes, I feel nothing in my lady parts. All I see are brown faces of boys that I once went to school with. My jay-jay is unimpressed.
I want to get to know God. I want to become a better Christian. But no one told me that that would include me putting my vagina on the shelf with an Out of Order sign taped to it!
It is my belief that there's a science to this whole thing. Once I started going to church, my heart started to change. I began to allow the word of God to cleanse it, purging it of lust. Well, everyone knows that your heart and your lady parts are connected. You see, my heart is trying to do better now. But since my vagina truly doesn't know how to do better, it just shut down completely. She is a team player, and she wants my heart to win. So she took one for the team and is now on vaykay for God knows how long. I hope she comes back soon, I miss her.
Her hiatus has shown me that I was giving her a little too much power in my life, allowing her to take the wheel. I think that I have a crush on a man that I met at church, but I can't tell you. My vag is giving me cold silence. My mind should be able to tell me what's up, but it can't. I see now that this whole time, my mind has been in my undies. Not cool.
The plus side is that now that I am no longer fantasizing about running away with that boy from my old sociology class, I now have more time to pray and read my Bible. I guess my vaginal breakdown was all a part of God's plan. Man, He works in mysterious ways.

Earth Wind & Fire featuring Raphael Saadiq - Show Me The Way

I had such a steamy sex dream with Rafael Saadiq in it last night that
when I woke up, I thought he was here, lol! In the dream, we slow danced
in front of my friends and went to an empty UPS store to buy a calendar
and to get it on. Then a zombie popped out of the closet and I to handle it
before it bit my finger. I know, sexy right? Also, no more Walking Dead
for me.

No Sexy No Talky

My roomie Connie is a man-eater.
It is so funny because it is not often that you meet a girl that really acts and thinks like a boy.
For Connie, men are disposable. She uses them for sex and nothing more. She doesn't want to be their friend, their girlfriend, their pal, nothing. If they are not talking hook-up, she hangs up. Of course, opposites attract, so all she meets are men that say they want a casual relationship but really want a wifey. Little do they know, Connie is not the one. I sat with my mouth open last night as she went off.
"So he called me yesterday to see if I was OK." She had been sick. "And I was like, if you ain't callin' about fuckin', don't call me! Do worry about how I'm doing!"
I have to say that it's a bit refreshing, watching men stumble over themselves and be confused for a change, but she is so not a girl that it is scary. Most girls would swoon if a guy called to check up on us. Pulling a stunt like that with Connie will have her moving on to the next cut buddy. She is so cold, that she has been known to kick a man IMMEDIATELY out of the house after sex.
She is like a real-life Samantha! She can not stay faithful. She is consistently on to the next one. But if I wonder if that would get lonely. I mean wouldn't you want to be committed to someone.
Sitting before me naked wrapped in a blanket, she simply answered, "Nope."

Brownie and the Nuva Ring

There is some 18-year-old that likes Brownie, and of course, he entertains her for no other reason than the fact that he is an attention sponge. He doesn't have intentions of dating or sleeping with this girl, but Brownie is the king of phone caking. So, that's what they do.
And boy, does she love to talk. I am officially naming telling too much of your business to people who don't need to know or ask for it a symptom of being young. The other day, she found it important tell Brownie that she wears a Nuva Ring. What was even more shocking than her spilling these beans was Brownie's reaction.
"Why would she tell me that?" he asked. All I could do was laugh. "Doesn't she know that that means that she let's niggas go up in her raw?"
I stop laughing."That's not what that means!"
"Yes it does. Who do you know that uses birth control and condoms?"
"Tons of people." But I have to say, I wasn't sure. I know that birth control only prevents pregnancy, not STIs, so you would need to use both right? I mean, that's common sense, but that doesn't mean that people follow that, for as Brownie so eloquently put it, "People don't be doublin' up like that."

Legally Not So Legal

My current financial situation has me wondering: just how legal is it to be an independent escort? And what exactly is the difference between an independent escort and a prostitute? And does all this revolve around sex, because I don't want to have sex. And maybe this is just me feeling myself, but I would totally pay to hang out with me if I was a man. I am fun and entertaining. Guys, there is literally not a dull moment in my presence! I feel like that should be at least worth $20.
A random white man I met at a coffee shop told me that the difference is that escorts aren't expected to have sex and they get a bodyguard. However, if they do decide to have sex, that's cool. That's not included in the money paid for the date. That's just what she wanted to do. A prostitute is solely expected to have sex. There is no dinner and a movie in her crystal ball, just a night at a sleazy motel.
But my question is this: if I am on the corner, looking for Johns and I am a prostitute, how does a cop know that I'm not just an independent escort, waiting outside the Fox Theater to advertise, like when party promoters give out fliers?
Fran is for it. I believe her exact words were, "This could be a lucrative entrepreneurial venture for yourself." However, that is not saying much. Fran co-signs all my craziness.
More on this story as it develops.