Pretty Works

Oh child, the internets are mad. 

There is this famous social media mental health professional that is now being outed for allegedly not being a mental health professional at all. Allegedly, she can not provide proof of her doctorate after giving relationship advice across numerous platforms and getting a book deal. The people are not amused. Her explanations for not being able to provide proof of her education also are not adding up or landing well. It's a mess! The people have made it clear that they feel played, but I feel that they played themselves. You see, this woman is very attractive, and I think that the people allowed themselves to be finessed because she is easy on the eyes. Now the poop has hit the perpetual fan and everyone wants to cry that they have been bamboozled. But what do you think is going to happen when you allow beauty to be a credential? It's the oldest deal in the books: being pretty ALWAYS works! 

I have experienced this on way smaller scales throughout my life. In highschool, I remember when my homeboy held the school door open for all the pretty girls getting off the bus but let the door slam in my face. In college, I watched in awe as Big Homie Sans gained access to rooms she had no business being in because she is gorgeous and no one asked any questions. On a more personal note, I had an old editor tell me she didn't think I should work red carpet events because I don't have the "Hollywood Look". I guess I wouldn't. I'm from Atlanta🤡 #peaceupatowndown. Because of all of this, I was not at all surprised by the alleged allegations against this mental health professional. I am surprised that people still don't want to admit how much outward appearance means to folks to the point that they could potentially buy whatever anyone hot is selling. 

I guess I am also annoyed because I know if she were not attractive making the same professional claims, America would have ran her background like a marathon. I'm also annoyed that there are probably many confirmed credentialed mental health professionals on social media that will never get this lady's numbers. I mean, this is the case across professions. Could you imagine if the genius, very capable Stacey Abrams looked like Tyra Banks? She'd be governor of Georgia right now! Look at Sheryl Underwood, the accomplished comedian and TV host. She recently participated in a roast for Kevin Hart, and all people could talk about was her late husband's suicide and how ugly they thought she was. They clearly didn't have the same smoke for Regina Hall. 

Things are looking grim for this mental health professional now but remember, she is beautiful. I think everyone will forgive her and she will probably get some new gigs out of this because remember, pretty works.

Seeking Charles Christmas 4: A Crush No More

I'm sad to report that my secret obvious love for Charles Christmas is no more. The thrill is gone. The fantasy is broken. 

Last night, I was scrolling on social media and came across the profile of a girl we will call Lizzy. It looks like she is a fitness/bikini/foodie influencer. She is petite with an impossibly small waist and a full, perfect booty. She is very pretty and has a lot of hair. Much of her content includes her crossing intersections with a close-up on her jiggling behind, and it looks like Charles Christmas has liked a number of her posts. Talk about getting a needle stuck in your balloon. 

Part of having a good crush is the dream ( or possibly the delusion) that you and the other person could one day be together. That hope was dashed today when I saw his manic liking of a good deal of this girl's posts. She is clearly the type of woman he would be in to. They are both incredibly fit. I could see her loving his crazy gym where people bear crawl across the floor and run with weights on their backs. 

"He may have liked her posts because he knows her," Lisha offered. Possibly. Or, more likely, I simply witnessed a case of like attracting like. As much of a hater as I want to be, it does make more sense that he would be into a woman that meal preps and works out daily. 

With that being said, I must bid ado to Charles Christmas. I'm hurt I'm not his type, but what can anyone do about that? I will continue to watch the videos of him pumping iron though. I don't have to have abs and a good weave to do that. 

Being Bernard

I am who those scientific studies are talking about when they discuss how social media is bad for people, particularly the lonely and depressed. It is a fake space that you get to paint with the best moments of your life, leaving everyone to fawn over one another's lies and fairytales. I mean come on now. No one is posting their bills or bad credit scores. For the most part (with the exception of those that post those seven paragraph emo posts on Facebook), social media has become a never-ending scroll of plastic happy moments. Even knowing this, I have become jealous and absolutely obsessed with the "life" of a man I know named Bernard. 

Have you ever wondered if people that you know think about you? I do, mostly because I often think about people I know; what they are doing and how they are feeling. In today's detached world, I think that it is a good thing when people think about others. However, if Bernard knew just how much I thought about him, he would probably block me via all social avenues. I have to say that I am a little obsessed. But not because I am into him romantically, which is usually my M.O. I am hooked on his socials because they paint a picture of him being very...loved. 

What is so interesting about that? Well, for starters, it is important that you understand that Bernard is annoying. He has seemingly gotten more annoying with age. And this isn't just my opinion. People who know of him would overwhelmingly agree. He is very excited. Very energized. Very happy. Very extra. It may even be an understatement to say that the average person might find him completely intolerable. Not the people in his life though. His family and his friends- they consistently love up on him. They are there for him when great things happen like his starting a business and they are there for him when bad things happen like his failed relationships. It is like love surrounds this man from all directions. 

If I sound a little salty it is because I am. At this stage in my life, I can honestly say that I don't think that some of my dearest friends whom I love even like me. I have been sent to voicemail more than a bill collector. I sometimes wonder if those closest to me would even notice if I vanished. Bernard's friends would notice if he went missing. He is the center of their lives. They prioritize him. They seem to pour sunlight and good vibes into his mouth, and he swallows them proudly. I often wonder if he knows how beautiful that is, for I am ten minutes away from becoming buddies with a soccer ball like Tom Hanks in that movie. Say what you want, but that soccer ball was attentive and always there. Soccer ball-type loyalty is hard to find these days. Bernard has found it though, and this makes me hopeful for myself, even through the envy. 

Finding Cameron

I found my kindergarten/ 1st grade crush on Facebook! Well, I didn't really find him. He popped up as a friend suggestion. I don't know what made me pay attention to the suggestion. I usually ignore them because I NEVER know who Facebook says I should but there he was: Cameron. 

I went through his page with my stalker hat on, trying to figure out what he has been up to all these years. He isn't that consistent of a Facebook poster, but from what I could tell, he has had a good life. He graduated from an HBCU. He is a Sigma. I don't know what he does for a living, but he looks like success. The only thing annoying on his page is that he has a girlfriend and it looks like they do workouts together. Gross. 

Seeing that he had not posted anything in months, I decided to send him a friend request, not expecting him to respond. He accepted it a second later, and since then (which was Monday morning), I have been in a state of euphoria. 

Come with me on my mental spaceship to 1990, East Point, Georgia. I was obsessed with edible bracelets and glow in the dark scrunchies. I had a serious addiction to Fruit Rollups, and I was majorly crushing on the boy that sat beside me in class. His name was Cameron, and his voice was high and his laughter was loud and sounded like he was singing. His head and face were always shiny, like his mom put oil on his hair and then rubbed the rest of it over his face. I actually know that is what happened because my grandma did that to me all the time. He was mischievous, but he wasn't bad. He just liked to do little annoying things that got him sent to time out. And he had slits in his eyebrows. Child. I am into men today with eyebrow slits! 

Looking at his page, I realized that I have been into the same type of guy my whole life, which further feeds into my feeling that you are who you are when you are born and do very little evolving as you get older. The cards are dealt from the jump. Okay. I am starting to babble. The point is I recently came across the man named Cameron, smiling and being lighthearted on social media, and I can totally see why I was into him when I was a child. Just thought I would share. 

Bye-bye Boy Beus

Getting baptized was a huge event in my life. I made a decision to try to do better and be better. That included making a conscious decision not to lie or hurt people. I also tried to let go of some bad habits. One of these bad habits was spending time on Instagram being thirsty in a dehydrated fashion. 

After many nights of my friends dodging my phone calls or not finding anything good to watch on Netflix, I am sad to admit that I have fallen backwards into my favorite naughty pastime: profile stalking really hot men with dark skin and abs on social media. 

Cigarettes can be addictive. I know that firsthand from watching my mom kick the habit cold turkey. And alcohol is a nightmare too. A couple of my college friends have had to dry out from the bottle. But is there anything more addictive than tall, muscular, Black men on IG doing deadlifts in hoochie daddy workout shorts? It's like kitty nip to me! 

I shutter to think how many nights God has watched me under my blanket, scrolling through hunks until my thumb started to tingle. And let it just be known: I love them all. The physical trainers that meal prep grilled chicken breasts topless. The professional men that do tutorials on how to style a suit. The bearded brothas that lather their facial hair in Shea butter. The social justice hotties with wild locks and afros that wear tees with Africa on them. And who can forget the trap guys that do little videos from the front seats of their Dodge Chargers? I mean, the list go on and on!

After I got baptized, I stopped following a lot of these guys. It was for the best. I didn't see how I could be lusty and Godly at the same time. So, bidding adieu to the cuties was an act of good faith on my end. Then it seemed like as I got more stressed out about school and life and friends and work and whatever, I desired to look up the eye candy again. Somehow, I was able to refrain...until about 40 of them came up on my Explore page one day. That was all it took. Now I have moonwalked back down the rabbit hole of the fit and the sexy. It's a sad story. 

Now it is time to get back on the right track and ghost these guys. Even the sexy one with the beautiful smile that I tell myself I follow because he gives out great workout advice. Oh please. 

I will keep you posted on my progress. 

Picture Imperfect

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

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

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

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

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

Barry and Wayne: Cyber Lovers

My friend Cassandra thinks that I should try to get out and date. Can you believe it? With all my issues and with all the things I need to accomplish IMMEDIATELY in my life, she wants me to go out on a date. That, my friends, would be a distraction. She doesn't get that though. What she also doesn't get (because I haven't told her) is that I don't need a date because I have crushes and imaginary relationships with men on Instagram.

I met a girl recently who told me that women change every five years. Their minds, their body chemistry, their career positions- all of it. They change every five years. I found this to be interesting since I have had the same boy crushes for about ten years. Sadly, I guess this shows that I am not progressing in life. I am prepared to accept that. You can't have it all. 

One guy, we will call him Barry, is tall, dark, and clean cut. He is my Obama. I like stalking his Instagram to see pics of him going to church and working on his abs in the gym. The other one, we will call Wayne, looks like he should be living out of a V Wagon on the beach someplace. His hair is wild, and his only vice is taking expensive trips around the world, cocktail in hand. 

I often imagine what life would be like with these two. Barry would buy me a dream house with a huge kitchen where I would bake cookies and prepare us smoked salmon. We would slow jam in this same kitchen to Earth, Wind, and Fire. I would be wearing the same black and white dress that Grace Kelly wore in Rear Widow. He'd be looking presidential in an all-black suit. Wayne and I would sit side by side in his unfurnished loft, eating Chinese food with our hands and watching random reruns. 

This whole thing is funny (or scary) because I know both of these guys. I went to college with them. And if either of them knew I had a play-play romance with them, I assure you that they would block me on all types of social media. 

Cassandra is married and she has kids. She is absolutely cradled in love. I have dipped my toe into the septic pool that is Atlanta dating, and have retreated comfortably into my mind and phone to partake in fake love. I have watched enough Iyanla Fix My Life to understand that this may be a symptom of a deeper problem. Until I am ready to address it, I will just continue having fun with my two boyfriends...in my head. 

Examining the 90s Baby

Am I the only one that yearns for the good old days when the meanest thing another kid could do to you was talk about your Mama? You yell with your peer, get in a fight, get sent to the office, your Mama spanks you because she had to leave work early to come get you, and life went on.
Well, the 90s babies aren't about keepin' it simple...they are about keeping it gangsta! Beating each other to literal death and posting the videos on Youtube. Setting each other up for jail time and such. I have said it once and I will say it again: they are crazy!
But technology, technology has given them a new medium to be awful to each other. What am I talking about? Well, my sister comes home yesterday and tells me that some girl in her class took a picture of her in class and then took a picture of some other girl at another time, then took the pics home and photoshopped them so that it looked like my sister and this other girl were kissing. Then she posted this pic on her Facebook page.
WTF? Why would it even cross your mind to do something like that and furthermore, why does a 12-year-old have a Facebook page?!
I was bothered by this guys. And not just because it was weird and involved my sister, but because my sister thought that this was OK. Kids do things like this all the time apparently, and it could have been worse. The kids in her classes could have actually believed the obviously doctored pic, which would have been social suicide. This surprised me, seeing that this is the "I Kissed a Girl" generation.
I got made fun of a lot in school, and I can not imagine having to defend my sexuality as a preteen! I guess such things are commonplace for the poor misguided 90s baby.

The High School Rule

Lately, I have been getting a lot of friend requests from people on Facebook who I went to high school with. I almost always accept these requests even though high school is a time that I have tried my hardest to forget. To put it nicely, I was a social recluse with little to no friends that spent her spare time writing and playing the bass in the orchestra.
Yet even though I try to forget this time, I find myself going back there mentally, especially to the bad places, the more successful I get. And I find that those four years have played a bigger part into who I am than I would care to admit.
So recently I was telling my friend Chloe that I am trying to get over the stresses of high school because I find that just reminiscing about those dark days makes me angry. I shared with her that a way that I planned on doing is this is by forgiving some of the people who made this time particularly miserable, and she goes, "What does it matter? It's not like anything you do in high school matters."
This was shocking for me to hear, seeing that every insult, every rude remark, every joke cracked, and every finger pointed mattered to me.
I don't know. Just thought that was interesting.