Homecoming Post 3: The Mystery of Alderado Avacado

Whenever I get a call from Lady Chatsalot, I know that I am going to laugh my keister off. That, and get served a cup of piping hot tea! Lady Chatsalot is one of those girls that I knew in school, but we didn't get to really know each other until we graduated. She always has her finger on the pulse of what is going on with everything and everyone. And she is hilarious! 

"Oh girl, guess who I saw at the club!" she said, shaking her head into her computer camera. 

"Who?!" I asked. 

"Alderado Avacado!"

I thought about it for a moment before jumping out of my skin. "Do you mean -----?!"

She nodded. "Yes, girl!"

"What was he doing at the club?"

"I don't know, but when I talked to him, he said that I would probably be seeing more of him out and about."

"Girl, shut up! Does that mean that he isn't with Splitz anymore?"

"I don't know."

In college, I was so far out of Alderado Avacado's league that I don't think he knew who I was! He was just so handsome and charming and very much with Splitz, one of those girls that is so hot that you know that even in her 80s she is going to be fine! I saw him at the 10-year reunion at the club. I looked up and he was right beside me and I said, "-----!" He looked down and smiled, that million-dollar pearly white smile. God! What a dream boat!

We must have talked him up, because at the tailgate, while I was chatting with someone, I noticed two of the girls at the tent freeze. 

"What is going on?" I asked Sweets, one of my favorite girls from college. 

"Girl, Alderado Avacado just passed by."

  Again, I needed a minute. It is always weird to hear him referred to by his real name. "You mean -----?!"

She nodded with a smile. I mean, all the girls were crazy about this guy! 

"I don't know if he is divorced, but he is always in Cutie's face," Savannah said a couple of days later when I brought it up. Hmmm. So he is divorced, right? Maybe?

Let's be clear, I have no chance of ever getting with Alderado Avacado if he's divorced. For me, he is kind of like the lottery: I have no intention of playing, but I will tune in to the news to see what the jackpot is. And let's be clear, he is a jackpot. During the drive back to Atlanta, I wondered what it must be like to be wanted like that and know it! The things I could do with that type of power! I definitely wouldn't be paying my own bills, that's for damn sure. 

As for the status of Alderado Avacado, it is still a mystery, but the blood is in the water and the sharks are very much circlinng. But Splitz doesn't have to worry about me. I cain't swim. 

Homecoming Post 2- No Socials and the Flashback (part 1)

Last Friday around 1pm- Me, Aunty and Zay arrived at Xavier's Campus. It was buzzing with excited energy from students and alumni alike. It was a beautiful sight. A lot of laughing. A lot of hugging. A lot of people head-to-toe in Xavier merch. We went up to the bookstore which was crowded with people rummaging through Xavier tees and hats. My aunt and nephew went to go look at some items and I stood there, taking in the scene. However, I very quickly found myself in the middle of a number of Deltas wearing bedazzled tees that read "I am Fall '93 Delta Sigma Theta". Because of a very tragic situation that happened between me and a Delta 15 years ago (who still stands as one of only two people I have ever had to block on Facebook) I sometimes feel uneasy amidst the crimson tide, so I split. I wandered over to a room that I had no business being in and copped a squat. This room happened to be the press area for J. Alphonse Nicholson from P-Valley, who is a client of BOSS, one of my old classmates who is always calling shots and making moves. He said I could sit there as well as Aunty and Zay when they came around. Thank God! My feet were killing me. It pays to know powerful people in high places. 

Anywho, I was sitting there, minding my own business when a tall, handsome man peaked his head in the door. 

"Do you remember me?" he asked. 

"No Socials?" I asked. 

"Yep!" 

I couldn't believe it! I hadn't said his name out loud in over 10 years. I asked him what he was up to. He said that he does something with money, who knows? 

"Do you ever marry that girl?" I asked him, referring to the PYT he used to date when we were in school. 

"Which one?" he asked with a serious face. 

I shook my head. I guess that's a no. 

"Can I take your picture?" I asked, taking out my phone.

"Sure, but you can't post it," he said. And I am thinking to myself, Why would I want it other than to post it? To have as a keepsake?

I took the pic and we said our goodbyes. I looked at it. Man, he essentially looked the same. He was like a year older than me but looked five years younger! Still thin. No gray hair. He hadn't aged a day! That was pleasant, I thought to myself, even though I had a warning pain in my stomach. My gut is always warning me, but I couldn't imagine why it was this time. No Socials was cool! It's amazing what memories you can suppress if you try hard enough. 

Homecoming Post 1: Thirsty- The Story of 37 Savage

Everyone has qualities about themselves that they ignore and don't want to deal with. You may not be good with money. You may be selfish. I, sadly, am secretly thirsty. And unfortunately, this thirst is accompanied by a vibrant imagination that I use to daydream about elaborate...situations with men I went to college with. It's a disease really. Looking back, I was thirsty in college but there was no term for it then. I had a laundry list of guys that I was thirsty for, but one of my favorites was Blank Man. 

Admittedly, the first thing that attracted me to Blank Man was that he was obviously slept on. He was in college and he is now. And I am most definitely slept on. See the connection? I sometimes casually ask different girlfriends about what they think about him and they all respond with a heavy spirit of indifference. Of blah. Of whatever. More than one of them has said that they don't think he is cute which is an out-and-out lie! He is literally tall and handsome! I don't get it! 

Once he became Greek, I knew that he was going to become a nightmare and that groupies were going to swarm him like flies on poop. This always happens to boys after they cross, but it didn't happen to him. He became Greek and it was almost like girls forgot it happened as soon as it did. I would go fan girl inside whenever I saw him in his line jacket on the yard. He was adorable! Again, other girls seemed unenthused, stepping over him to get to the hottest, sexiest womanizer with a fresh fade. 

Well, flashback to the Xavier Homecoming Tailgate. I sat on the couch in my class's tent, seat twerking with Big Homie Sans to some bounce music when I saw Blank Man walk in, hugging everybody and dapping everybody up. I sat up straight. My internal thirstmeter slowly dialed up to the rhythm of a Big Freeda baseline. There he was: tall, dark, and handsome. And fatter. And visibly older. And mildly awkward. YUMMY! 

"Hey Blank Man!" I said in an overly feminine voice that made Big Homey Sans raise her professionally arched eyebrow. 

"Hey, what's up Holly?" he asked. 

"Nothing much. How have you been?" I asked, trying to keep the thirst under control. 

"Good, good."

 Are you married?" I asked. Yikes. Talk about not playing it cool. 

Cool your jets sex pot, Big Homey Sans said to me with her eyes. 

"No, I'm not," he said. He didn't pick up on the thirst because men are stupid. 

"Oh okay," I said. He moved his head back with wide eyes with a quickness that scared me. Sigh. He picked it up that time which is odd, because that time, I hadn't meant to be thirsty. I had used too much kaaaay in my okay.  He was standing and I was sitting, and he looked down at me with this look of confusion and shock and disbelief. Are you...flirting with me? his eyes asked. He looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or scream. 

No way! What is flirting? Is that a real thing? Use it in a sentence, I said with my eyes. 

Big Homie Sans shook her head, sipping on her cocktail and crossing her legs. 

The innocence in my lying eyes brought him back down to earth and he smiled. 

"It was good to see you Blank Man," I said with a wide, Girl Scout-esque smile. 

"It was good seeing you too!" Quick platonic hug. Friendly smile. 

I turned and looked to Big Homie Sans. She chuckled, nibbling on ice chips. 

It doesn't pay to be thirsty no, I said to myself, happy to have Toosie slid out of another potentially embarrassing situation. Next time I go to the tailgate, I will bring water. 

Homecoming

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

Love and the Pessimistic

I would say that since I was a wee lad, I have been able to see through a lot of the doodoo when it comes to love. I have vivid memories of teachers reading stories like Snow White and Cinderella and me laughing out loud. I was the 5-year-old girl that rolled her eyes at Disney movies. Never ever ever did I think that there was some ripped hottie on a horse coming to rescue me. So you can imagine how shocked I was going to college and realizing that there were young women who actually drank this Kool-Aid, basing their real adult love lives off of children's cartoons. The shock only grew as I entered my 30s where otherwise logical friends were telling me that not only did they believe that the fairytale was real, but that it was something they deserved! Now you tell me, how nutso is that?

You can call me a love pessimist and I would have to agree. Over the years, I have prided myself on this. I have friends who also value this quality in me, for I can see the love train wreck coming from miles away. So you tell me why that at almost 40, I feel myself slowly and slightly buying into the relationship bull like a toddler in a princess dress?

The change in me began when I started going to church. I entered the sanctuary believing that there is not someone for everyone and that only the most lucky of us get to live our lives happily with someone else. Now, one year as a Christian, I find myself crossing my fingers for a soulmate like the rest of the single ladies at the alcohol-free singles mixer, hoping Mr. Right decided to drop into a church dance. 

Ugh, that whole last paragraph is embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as how big of a fan girl I have become of shows like Married At First Sight and Love is Blind. I find myself on the edge of my seat, heavily invested in the relationships of people I don't know, praying out loud that their relationships work. For if there is hope for strangers who got engaged after never seeing each other, there is hope for an inherently negative person like me, right? 

No matter how hard I try to get rid of it, there is faith the size of a mustard seed that one day happiness will come knocking at my door. I want to get rid of it, not wanting to be disappointed by yet something or someone else, but this sliver of hope continues to burn eternal out of my reach. Let it be known that there is no bigger buzz kill than hopefulness. 

Optimism

I turned 37 at the end of 2021 and I have one thing to say: I think that I am fresh out of optimism. I gotta be honest, my cup didn't runneth over with it to begin with. Never really been a cup half full type of gal. But I find that as a depressed, overweight, single, Black woman I had to at least pretend to be optimistic for the greater good. You see, me and all my single homegirls are all participating involuntarily in a game of Jenga, and if one of us so much as looks like we are not keeping hope alive, we're all going to fall. Better yet, we are in the Squid Games. If one of us so much as exerts an inkling of negative energy by saying something as mild as, "Maybe I will just be that single, rich aunty," that big plastic girl thing will turn around and shoot us all in the face. And I don't want to get shot. So I continue to fight the good fight, encouraging my homies when needed, and to do so, I have to ignore some hard truths. We are sliding on the banana peel towards 40. Maybe we will be single forever. Maybe those who want kids won't have them. Perhaps we will never be rich or even as financially secure as we want to be. I hate to say it but perhaps we are doing ourselves a disservice by remaining as optimistic for these goals as we are. Perhaps it is time to sit down all adult-like and begin to polish up our plan Bs. And we have to have one right? Because talking to some of my friends I find that they are so committed to some of these life goals that I am scared that if they don't come to fruition they will just stand up and explode into a million little pieces. And maybe (Big plastic girl things shoots me at my computer, blood splattering on the screen). 

Dateline 30-Something

Did you know that people are still dating? I honest to God had no idea! I thought that all of us that are not married by now had agreed to give up years ago! I mean, can you believe it. People are still trying. I mean, I am shocked! Do you know how much energy it takes to try? It takes all I have just to roll over and groan into my pillow! 

My friend Ashley said she went on three dates last week. Three. One. Two. Three. Three dates. On three separate occasions, she showered, did her hair, got dressed, left her apartment, drove to a location, met with a man, had banter for two hours, then came home. She did this three times. One. Two. Three. Wooo! I need a nap from just typing that out! 

I mean, I get it I guess. A lot of my friends want marriage and kids, so if ever there was a time to amp up the dating, I guess the time is now. I don't want kids, but I like to think that if I did, I would just cut my losses and go to the sperm bank! The motivation it takes to go on apps and get out and meet people...yikes! I just don't have it, not that I ever really did. But I really don't now. My tolerance for disappointment has decreased over the past ten years. Just the idea of being let down makes me sleepy. 

But I have to admit, I have my fingers crossed for my friends still fighting the good fight. Every friend over 35 that finds love is just indication that all the rom coms were right, and there is love to be found going into middle age! Hey, I hear you laughing at me, but whatever. Believing in fantasies keeps you young.