Church 2: Church Men

I am a negative person. I have learned to accept this about myself. And I am not ashamed to say that I thought that there was some funny business going on when I walked into the church and seemed to be genuinely greeted warmly by men. They gave me hugs, but I made sure my shoulders were stiff. They asked me my name and I responded with a grunt. One young man walked me and my friend to her car, and I politely said thank you, while mentally trying to iron out how I could elbow him in the neck if he perchance attempted to rob us. What can I say? I'm bitter. 

But in my defense, men have never put there best foot forward with me. As a kid, boys made fun of me. In college, they ignored me which, believe it or not, is worst than getting made fun of. And as an adult, they have tried to use me! Luckily I had nothing or these dudes would have taken me to the cleaners! On top of this, I am harboring some heavy resentment towards my uncle cursing me out after my grandmother's funeral while my other uncle and brothers said nothing. And you mean to tell me while I have been holding on to all of this heavy, designer knockoff baggage, there were men at church willing to walk me to the car?! Get out of here!

I have been going to this church for almost two months now, and low and behold, the men are still kind to me. I have positioned myself mentally in a space of observation as to be prepared when the true colors start showing. I fully expect to walk in on these men laughing about how fat my ankles are or plotting on how to best ask me out just to stand me up. I have grown to be so fond of these clean-spirited men that I am hoping this won't be the case. However, my experiences tell me that it most likely is, so on the defensive I stand. Better safe than sorry. Amen. 

Holls and the Gyno

Holly, you can not go through your 30s without going to the gynecologist! Bells texted me. I could actually hear her shrill voice yelling at me through the text, tapdancing on my nerves.
Yes, I know that you are supposed to go the gynecologist regularly even though I do not. You see, I choose to treat my vagina with the medicine of my ancestors: soap, water, and prayer.
There is no type of doctor on the face of the earth that I trust LESS than a gynecologist. However, my mentor told me that 2018 needs to be the year when I become proactive, not reactive with my health. So after my primary care visit, I began to look into finding a gynecologist.
Before I even started my search for a gyno, I knew that it was going to be a chore. There is that small, HUGE issue regarding me not being insured so my gyno would have to be cheap. So I am prepared for the doctor I find to see two patients at a time, reuse dirty tools, or operate out of a gas station bathroom. I also would like for my gyno to be a she, and not have a ton of bad reviews online. She would also have to understand that I have self-diagnosed vag shame and am HIGHLY uncomfortable with anyone taking a peek at my goods.
Searching local doctors in Atlanta was hard. I could tell from the location of the doctor's offices that I couldn't afford to be seen there. And then I came across a doctor who was perfect. I was taken by her smile and professional photo. Her eyes were warm. I just felt like I knew her, then I realized I did. She went to college with me.
This doctor is actually one of those upperclassman girls from the bathroom at homecoming which reminded me of my number one gyno requirement: I can't know her! I don't need someone I know looking at my vag and judging me and then telling my business. And let me just say that I know that doctors talk! I can't have my graduating class knowing my stats. They know too much about me as is.
So unofficially, my gyno search is still going on, although, I do think I have found something better: a self-pap kit I came across online. I will keep you posted.

Summer Sips- Lychee Frosé Piscine

Ingredients & Tools:

1 Bottle of Rosé Piscine

1 Canned Lychee

1 Grenadine Syrup (optional)

Ice Cube Molds

Instructions:

1. Pour Rosé Piscine into ice cube molds

2. Freeze for 6 hours

3. Place ice cubes in blender,

4. Add 1 cup of Lychee syrup

5. Add 1 tsp of grenadine

6. Blend, decorate with red berries, and enjoy!

Church 1- The Invite

I don't know when I got so far from God that I began to think that everyone that went to church was some type of a nut. I assume that it happened somewhere between college graduation and everyone that I love dying.
Before this most recent invite to visit someone's church, I took offense to being invited. Receiving a church invite always felt like the person extending the invite was trying to shade me, saying that I looked like my life was such a mess that I obviously needed to go to church. Plus, the few times that I accepted said invite, I found myself walking into some foolishness. Either the church felt like a front for some type of illegal activity, or the minister seemed less like a messenger of God and more like a standup comedian.
My mood has been as such lately that I am really not up for any foolishness. But when my friend Kyndra invited me to her church for their Black History Month service, I said yes without hesitation. Any church that has a Black History Month service is obviously somewhere I would like to be. I wasn't prepared, however, for the changes that have happened in church since the last time I was there.
For one, no one was super dressed up. At the most, everyone looked like they were dressed for a brunch date. And the choir has vanished. I don't know where the choir has gone, but it wasn't at this church. They have a praise and worship squad consisting of what I assume would have been the best singers in the choir if there was one. There are no hymnals. This church only sings Top 20 Gospel hits with the assistance of a live band. And for the most part, there are no Bibles. Everyone looks up scriptures on their phone. The church has its own social media accounts, and you can give your offering online.
But one thing that hasn't changed that I remember from when I was a kid at church is the sense of community. People still stop and ask you about life and give you hugs. You have no idea how those Sunday hugs have changed my life. I think I will continue to go here, but as with everything else in my life, I am ready to quit and run at a moment's notice if things go wrong.

Loss

I guess I am lucky. When I was growing up, I had a lot of women that dropped bars into my life as to how to conduct myself as a young woman. A teacher in middle school, Ms. Ross, told me to never leave home without a pantyliner in my purse. My grandma told me that clear nail polish stops runs in your stockings. My middle school bus driver told me that hand soap from the soap dispenser in the ladies room can double as a deodorant if you put it under your arms, and my mom told me that table salt gets period blood out of your underwear. One of the editors at Upscale Magazine, where I interned after college, told me that potato chips and sugary snacks will give you parasites. All facts. However, while all these priceless pieces of information were being dished out, no one told me how to deal with loss. Inevitable, random loss. Someone dying in your life is way more plausible then you randomly needing a pantyliner. It is guaranteed! Yet no one said a peep.
Over the past two years, my grandma has died, my mom has died and my ex-boyfriend from high school has died. Most recently, one of my BESTEST friends from college died, and I just feel ill-equipped as to how to deal with all of this loss emotionally. I find myself trying to sleep off the shock and hurt of it all, but how long of a nap do you have to take to get over the fact that there are people you've loved your life that are never coming back?
And it is not just death. I have also been mourning some of my friendships of late. People have friend-dumped me with no explanation, leaving just as big of a hole in my life as those people I loved that are now six feet under.
Perhaps the elders in my life didn't tell me how to deal with loss because it is almost impossible to put into words. Maybe they didn't tell me because they knew that grieving differs for everyone; what worked for them may not work for me. Either way, I don't have tools. Let's just file this under that grownup stuff that no one wants to address like heartbreak or student load debt. Man, if only dealing with loss could be as easy as cleaning period panties.

Birdman Love- The Story of Tatted Face

This cuffing season has been dry as a bone for your girl Holls.
Like an idiot, I erased the numbers of all my old, unlovable losers, so I have had no options. This was liberating at first, now I am kind of seeing this as the biggest mistake of my winter. I know it was what was best, but I'm cold and lonely. Can a sister get a text?!
I haven't even heard from Sickles. Old dependable Sickles. He has missed his quarterly text to me, which leads me to believe that he has a real girlfriend or is in jail. Both have been the case in the past.
An old man told me I was beautiful at the customer service counter at the grocery store, and he was a cute old guy who could still walk, so I would have totally given him my number, but I was turned off by the number of lottery tickets he was purchasing.
Only one guy has tried to talk to me this winter, and I have seen him twice, which may be a sign that he is the love of my life. The first time I saw him was at Wal-Mart. I accidentally looked in his direction while trying to navigate my cart around a potato chip display. I swerved into the snack aisle and bent down to get a box of Little Debbie cakes. When I looked up, he was right beside me, smiling. And his teeth were actually pretty nice for a man that had tattooed the whole left side of his face.
"Hey Ms. Lady," he said in the sweet, deep, southern drawl of a Georgia boy who has just finished smoking a blunt.
"Hello," I said, completely enthralled by the numerous symbols tattoed on his face. There was a heart and a knife and a dollar sign and a whole bunch of other stuff. I walked with him long enough to find out that he had tatted the tattoos on his face himself. He wants to be a tattoo artist and needed the practice. That's when I lied, told him I had a boyfriend, and made my exit.
Not long after the elderly man called me pretty at the grocery store, I ran into Tatted Face in the lunch meat section. I told him he looked familiar, and he said, "Yeah, we met a Wal-Mart."
"Oh yeah," I said, hightailing it out of there. I could feel him staring at me all the way to the dry bean aisle. There were even more tats on his face than last time, but all still on the same side.
Now I am wondering if I was being silly. I just had a conversation with Tortilla about dropping her standards now that she is 30, and I here I am running from men just because their face is tatted. Tatted Face may be my future.This Valentine's Day, I could be out and about with Tatted Face instead of at home with my brother watching reruns of iCarly, which, by the way, is a HILARIOUS show! I mean, Toni Braxton is dating Birdman. If a scary tat face is good enough for an R&B superstar, it should be enough for me.
I am due for another Wal-Mart run. I will let you know if I run into him again. Fingers crossed, I want to be married by 35.

Celebrate Valentine's Day with Dana's Bakery

Flowers and candy can be so cliche! Get your beau these adorable (and tasty) macaroons from Dana's Bakery for Valentine's Day.  

Dana's Bakery Sweetheart Box, $12 (Box of 12 Macaroons)

DanasBakery.com

Dana's Bakery Love Box, $36 (Box of 12 Macaroons)

DanasBakery.com