Mr. Nice Man

I think that I may have come across America's last nice man.  He is a member of my virtual writing group. He is sensitive. He is kind. He genuinely asks how you are doing, and he has a pretty smile. I told P all about him, and P said that he sounded like a...uh... b&tch ass nig@a who could possibly also be doubling as a gay virgin. This response is to be expected of P. In P's opinion, any man that honestly and openly acknowledges his emotions might as well me be wearing high heels and a pair of cotton panties with the words "insert here" stitched on the backside. What was shocking is that my aunty, who is as sweet as a fresh slice of key lime pie, agreed with P who, for all intents and purposes, is a prick. Aunty says that Mr. Nice Man sounds like a wimp.
Have you all noticed there is a war going on against kindness? I mean, seasoned politicians can't get through a press conference without throwing major, below the belt shade! But when it comes to girlboyness, it is especially dirty. I have been battling this war personally since elementary school when it comes to guys. I had a crush on a boy named Keith Edwards in kindergarten who introduced himself to me by walking over and kicking down my lego town. I have been getting my legos kicked by guys ever since. Ray Henderson in middle school. Adam Reid in high school. To go into the college years, I would need a drink, and to go into life in my 20s, I would need therapy.
The thing is that when I was fake in love with or crushing on or talking to these horrible guys, my heart was still pining for a nice man. A guy so great and available that it would be like he fell out of a Tyler Perry movie and right onto my doorstep. But it seems like NICE is the new NOT and is now equated with being unmasculine, weird, a front for something horrible, or even downright homosexual. I think that the real story here is not only have women become unaccustomed with kindness buy also more accustomed to cruelty, inappreciation, and abuse. For many of my girlfriends, it has gone beyond liking a bad boy and has stalled into unintentionally preferring bad men.  I prefer to no longer be stalled. When a nice man pulls up, I'm getting in the car.

Mathematics

If you are anything like me, you have been sitting at home, hiding from Rona. All this hiding has given me a lot of time to do some very sad and painful math.
I'm 35-years-old. I have had 3 great loves in my life. 2 of them are married to women that are almost insultingly opposite from me, and the other was gay and has died. I have 0 in savings. I have accumulated 0 wealth. I have entertained countless losers, which all ended up going nowhere. Add, subtract, and multiply that up and all you get is a remainder of 1: me. I can't say that this is where I thought I would be in my mid 30s, but to be fair, I haven't had real expectations for my life since I was 7, and those expectations were based off of what I saw on episodes of Lifestyles of The Rich and Famous with Robin Leach.
To add insult to injury, I was also able to do some math when it came to the time I have wasted on unrequited love. Those of you who have read my other posts know that I am acutely aware of, mindful of, and saddened by the amount of time I have wasted on different things. But when it comes to the time I have flushed daydreaming about crushes, men who didn't care, or men who were head over heels in love with my homegirls, the math is even more disappointing. I crushed the numbers and you won't believe the results! Over the years, I could have gotten an advanced degree, built a house from the ground up, walked to California, learned how to sew, taught myself to play the piano, shaved my head and watched my hair grow back, gotten my teaching license, and taken a cruise around the world FOUR times in the time that I have wasted worried about men who weren't an option.
As my friend Bells pointed out to me today, I am closer to forty than I am to thirty, so if I want to make something happen, I need to make a move. There is no more time to waste. The math supports this fact.

Love In The Time of Corona

I'm sorry that I have been absent. But, much like I assume you have been, I have been obsessed with these Coronavirus outbreak updates honey, and none of them have been good. Schools have gone digital. Countries have quarantined themselves. People have gotten into fist fights over toilet paper in the grocery store. And while watching the news 24/7 could lead one to believe that the world is about to end I could only think of one thing: what if I die of Coronavirus before I find true love? Would that not be tragic?!
Long ago, I read an article in a magazine about a young psychologist who had gotten the opportunity to serve as a woman's counselor for immigrants that had just fled to her country from a refugee camp. She was eager to dig into the issues that she assumed that she was going to be hearing about which were depression, anger, homesickness, mourning, etc. But, after talking to a few ladies, she was surprised. All these downtrodden refugees who had been ripped from their native lands under extreme, horrifying, and even deadly circumstances wanted to talk about were their romantic relationships in the camps. Some of their guys went to other countries. Others were having their heads turned by other women now that they were safe and sound. Isn't it funny that in times of distress we rely on our basic needs: food, water, shelter, and love?
Sunday, my pastor discussed how the Coronavirus is reminding people that they are not going to live forever and they need to get right with the Lord. Sadly, all I could think about was how we are not going to live forever and how I don't want to leave the planet before I meet the guy of my dreams. I don't care if he's old, ugly, deformed, or missing a leg or something. He can borrow one of mine! But I would at least like to spend a day with him, even if we are just holding hands from our hospital beds in the Corona quarantine facility.
Maybe, as always, my priorities are a smidge off. It's just funny how love is always a top priority, even when it should be avoiding a lung distressing killer virus.

Boy Excited

As many of you know, I volunteer with teen girls. I met with them on Saturday, and many of them were giggling for no reason and walking around with huge, huge smiles. It doesn't take a brain surgeon to know what that means: they have boyfriends. One of my favorite girls who, until recently, only wanted to date a Korean boy similar to her K-Pop crushes has found a super tall boy at her school that she can not stop talking about. He is apparently the best thing to happen to high school since excuses to get out of gym. One of the other teens I mentor is quiet and moody and has found another equally quiet and moody boy to laugh on the phone with. He is into anime and making dance videos on Instagram.
Seeing them made me smile. I remember what it feels like to be genuinely excited about a guy. I would like that feeling again, but I told Kyndra on our ride to church that I am not sure I can ever be again. What my teen mentees don't know is that with every ounce of boy excitement you have, the bigger the shoe is that is inevitably going to drop. I have been excited about so many guys, from the one that had a fat fetish highlighted by the tattoo of a fat woman on his arm to the one that seemed really community minded but only wanted to get close to me to get me involved in a calling card pyramid scheme.  Now, whenever I even so much as see a cute guy, I imagine what could be wrong with him; the boatload of unnecessary drama he could bring into my life.
The last guy I was excited about was Third Ryan. His other shoe dropped when he told me he was in love with one of my best friends. That was the cherry on top of an already melting love banana split for me. Now I kind of look at guys the way I look at purses at the mall that I can't afford: from a distance with a sad face. Just as the purse would be my obsession before it was inevitably snatched from me at an Atlanta bus stop, that man would have me excited before he inevitably lied, revealed his array of side families, asked to borrow money, or ate off of my plate without asking. But hey, who says you can't be excited about an idea? I did. I think I said that.

Vision

Since I turned 35, I notice that I have to squint to see things that are far away from me. Losing my vision is all I need in my so dramatic/traumatic life. And now, as if not being able to see things isn't annoying enough, people are beginning to notice and are putting in their unasked for two scents.

"You need glasses!" a woman I volunteer with hollered in my face. "I see you squinting over there."

"Thank you," I said, rolling my eyes.  

"Go get your eyes checked," she said, nibbling on a cookie. 

I wanted to slap that cookie out of her hand. Why oh why would I go get my eyes checked when I just got them checked...when I was 17. I remember it like it was yesterday. My mom took me to the poor people eye doctor that was located in a grocery store. They said I needed glasses and I received a fashionless pair of basic ones that were a little too big for my face. On top of that, I didn't really see a vision difference between the way things looked with or without them on. I felt I didn't need them, wore them a couple of times in college, then tossed them someplace, never to be worn again. 

Now I wish I knew where they were because I would put them on to keep from going to the eye doctor. Going blind is one of the scariest things I can think of. All your senses are important, but not being able to see has to be terrible. Plus, I remember when I got my eyes checked when I was in the third grade. They put fluid in my eyes and I had to wear some type of paper glasses and stay clear of the sun. That was not fun. Neither is far away things being blurry. 

Of course my fears are running away with me. What if I have a brain tumor or some type of mad eye disease? I won't know for a long time. I really have no intention of going to the eye doctor. 

The New Year with The Hope Daily Planner

I have talked a great deal about my need to get more organized in my life and my ongoing spiritual journey to get closer to God. I am not going to lie: both have been a struggle. For me, it all boils down to time. The days seem to ALWAYS get away from me, and I never have time to tackle my to-do list or study my Bible. But then I was sent this Daily Hope Planner by Hope Fuel and it is helping me to start the year off right. 

If you are as unorganized as me, you have probably had planners before that you didn't stick to. In the past, I have made a habit out of purchasing the prettiest ones that I can find. Then they just sat on my bookshelf and collected dust because I lacked the motivation to even get started. I have even downloaded apps that go unused because I figure that I can remember what I need to do, but never do. The Daily Hope Planner has been helpful for me because it asked questions that helped me to really sit and think about what it is that I want to accomplish this year and how that is connected to the relationship that I am trying to build with God. 

Because I am often easily discouraged, I like the space that the planner gives me to remind myself what I am thankful for. It also encourages you to start your weeks off with a devotional. My devotionals for the year will be centered around organization and staying the course. This helps me to not only stay focused, but to tie my goals and needs back to God. 

Eager to start your year off on the good foot? Click here for more info on Hope Fuel products. 

Gym Part 2: Naked

One thing that used to bother me in my 20s when I went to the gym was the number of naked ladies walking around the locker room or sitting in the sauna. I would shower and get dressed so quickly that I am sure that people thought that I showered with my clothes on. These naked women just would not quit! I had a French friend that I used to swim with. She would stand and tell me about her day after a swim as I sat, eye-level to her bush after, and did not care! And she wasn't the only one! It was a breast-booty-vag parade in that locker room! And me, being very uncomfortable with my body, hated it! I mean, even as a kid, I didn't change into my leotard with the other girls for ballet practice when I took dance at the Y. I would sneak out and change in the bathroom.
On Sunday, after showering and washing my hair, I grabbed my towel and simply walked out of the shower, my whole back side exposed. I didn't realize at first what I had done but once I did, I didn't care. I walked between two women being trained to work at the gym, water dripping from my bum. And once I got out into the locker room, I said hi to a woman who pretended not to see me, watching a video on her phone. I laughed out loud. Hey 21-year-old girl, take a gander at these cheeks! These are the cheeks of a 35-year-old woman who is here to improve her life and health and doesn't give a frick what you think!
Isn't it funny how things change with age? I am bigger now than I was at 25, I just don't care. As my ballet teacher used to tell me, pissed off as she dragged me out of the bathroom for practice, what does it matter if you are naked? We are all girls that have the same thing.