Taking A Shot At Love

There’s a certain Strut she does when she knows that he’s watching her, and ohhhhh, how he loves watching her. He couldn’t help himself, he’d been digging her for as long as he could remember, and after finally convincing her to go on at least one date with him, here they were, 4 months later in LOVE.

He could remember it like it was yesterday. He sent her an inbox message via Facebook, shooting his best shot, he knew she had many admirers. Anytime she posted a picture, they’d come out of the woodwork in droves, all vying for her attention by way of a response to their subliminal flirts. But he’d watched how she thwarted the advances with graceful panache, and he admired that about her. She was smart, witty, gorgeous, funny, and could provoke one to think about their entire life with just one Facebook post. By the time he’d gotten up the nerves to ask her out, he was already quite taken with everything about her.

Being that he’d been one to follow her posts to the “T”, he knew what made her happy, and what she liked to do. He knew he had to set himself apart from the rest if he had any chance at her saying yes to going out with him.

“Okay, you’ve got this, just hit send, surely she won’t turn down an invitation to a winery, where there is dancing, poetry, and a live performance by Marsha Ambrosius”.will you go out with me

When she 1st opened the message she was surprised that he’d finally made a move. There was something about him that intrigued her. He wasn’t the most handsome guy, but he was always a gentleman to her on Facebook. He didn’t appear to be “thirsty”. His subtle responses and corny jokes always made her smile. Some days he’d post a song that resonated with her soul. It was as if he had some kind of insight into how she was feeling. She’d comment here and there, hoping he’d notice that she’d like for him to ask her out, but nothing…until now. So, of course, she said yes. 

He arrived to pick her up at exactly 7:30 just as he’d said he would. He rang the doorbell right as she was walking to the door. She opened it to find him standing there with the most beautiful bouquet of flowers.

hmmm, he’s a lot cuter in person, should I invite him in? And how thoughtful of him to bring flowers”. 

He stood there, in the doorway, drinking in her beauty. “wow, she’s even more gorgeous in person”. He could tell that she was happy and surprised by the flowers. He instantly fell more for her when she looked up at him as if she was looking into his soul. What was she seeing? He hoped that she was not disappointed with him, he knew he wasn’t one of the handsome, macho types who normally pursued her. She invited him in and he respectfully declined, he knew that if he took her up on the offer, they’d never make the show, because he’d surely take her in his arms and kiss her until the night had passed away.

She asked him to give her a minute as she placed the flowers into some water. When she returned to the door, he leaned in for a hug, not sure if she’d reciprocate, to which she did. And just as he figured, she smelled like heaven, and he himself didn’t smell so bad either. She actually closed her eyes as she hugged him, and to her surprise, his arms felt like home. As they walked to the car, they both had the smiles of teenagers going on their first date. He opened her door, and though he tried not to look, he noticed how beautiful her long legs were as she slid into the passenger seat, her dress rising a tad bit above her knees, but the beautiful green dress she was wearing had a split, which gave him a peep at her thighs. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was ironic considering she’d asked his favorite color, which is green.

The date was Fantastic. He was so glad he’d gotten up the nerves to ask her out. They actually couldn’t keep their hands off one another. He’d sat next to her at the table due to the venue being a little smaller than he’d thought. and she was a touchy-feely person, which was fine by him. Every time she laughed (and he was totally smitten with her laugh), she’d touch his shoulder. Whenever she wanted to say something to him, she’d lean in and touch his hand, as if to talk to not only him but as if to softly speak to his soul. And when they danced, the chemistry, the synchronicity, the way their bodies seemed familiar with one another. At one point he was sure they were going to kiss, but he wanted to remain a gentleman.

When the night was over, he felt an overwhelming sadness. He wasn’t ready for it to end. It had been all that he’d wanted it to be and more. When they arrived back to her place, he put the car in park, mistakenly grazing her thigh as he reached for the gear. He instantly felt nervous and hoped that she didn’t think he’d done it on purpose. But when he looked up at her, she was blushing.

She knew that he hadn’t touched her thigh on purpose, but when he did, it sent something through her that she hadn’t felt in a while. She felt herself smile, as she looked up at him, and before she could understand what was happening, she leaned and kissed him. There in the car, magic happened, they fell for one another that night. Their souls seemed to recognize each other. As if they’d waited a lifetime to unite.

Since that night, they’ve been inseparable. So as she got up to make him breakfast in bed, early that brisk Sunday morning, after another night of passionate lovemaking, he watched her as he’d been doing since that 1st date. And he thanked God, as he’d been doing every day, that she was in his life.

As she was walking out of the bedroom, he called her name, and when she turned around to answer, he was on one knee, holding a ring.


Careful, Or You’ll Break Her

She’s not as resilient as she used to be…

Why is it that the older we get, the harder it is to heal from falls, cuts, bruises, or hell even the common cold seems to last longer in our 40’s. I’m an awkwardly-clumsy person who falls at least 3 times per year, and as the years go by, the falls get scarier, and the bruising lasts longer, and take more care to heal.

That’s kinda how I look at love. I can recall my days as a teenager, having a schoolgirl or neighborhood crush, blushing whenever a guy I was crushing on would show me ANY kind of attention, writing his name in my notebook over and over, then writing my first name with his last name to see how it’d look when we get married, ’cause that’s what crushes led to…right? Seems like only yesterday that a relationship status was determined by way of passing a little note up or back to your crush and the box they opted to check…..hmmm the good old days.do you like me

But if for some reason they didn’t like you the same way, then you found yourself having to call off the wedding, change your name back to your own last name in all of your folders and diaries, snatch the drawings of you 2 together off of your wall, unlearn all of the love songs that you’d dedicated to him in your head, and try to avoid explaining to your mother why you all of a sudden have a loss of appetite. In your head, you guys were gonna live happily ever after, and now it’s over. WHEW, but that was about the extent of heartbreak. Eventually, you found yourself crushing on someone else, and life went on.

Falling didn’t hurt so much back then. But as we get older the heart isn’t mended as easily as it was when we were younger. Perhaps damaged from all of the wear and tear it’s suffered from falling in and out of love with the wrong people. Jumping back in too quick instead of allowing it time to heal between relationship disappointments. Oft times we put a bandage on it, say we’re okay, and move right along, when in fact it should be treated Gingerly and allowed to heal completely before being thrown back to the “wolves”. broken-heart_0 2

If only we could predict the future, save our selves heartbreak and pain, but we can’t. All we can do is jump, and pray we land safely, trying not to break anything in the process.

Careful, you may just fall harder than you expected.

Mornings, Music, and Moments

Every day she awakens, unsure of what the day is going to hold, wanting…needing more from life. The hustle and bustle weigh her down most days, but still, she rises and makes the day GLORIOUS!!!

In an effort to become more, to live more, she contemplates how to make today different than the one before, how can she fly higher, how can she soar above the mundane, redundancy of her life? What can she do to set herself apart from everyone else? To prove that she’s so much more than a 9-5 that barely pays the bills?

It’s only 5:30 am, and she’s tried to sort out her entire life in a matter of a few moments, barely awake, lying in her bed, listening to her own thoughts. Stillness, frozen in her solitude. Allowing the feels to wash over her, allowing the morning to just BE!!

She arises, she makes her coffee, she sits and sips, still in amazement that this is her life. Knowing that she is the only one who can change it, she has to make a decision on what the next move for her is. How is she going to change things?

Now the anxiety is kicking in, she reflects on the past decisions she’s made that has led to the stagnate life she’s living, and she begins to cry. Guilt, shame, sadness now make their usual appearance. Every day around this time, it happens…Oh, the redundancy of life.

She sits and just allows it to happen for awhile, as she knows that if it doesn’t happen now, it’ll probably happen on the train on the way to work, or worse at her desk. THE FEELS!!!

She grabs her phone, turns to her favorite station on Pandora, taps the “power” button on her soundbar, and as the tears flow, the music starts to blare through the speaker, and she dances. She dances as if no one is watching, Dancing until she’s so out of breath that she forgets how life has turned out for her. She dances until she can’t open her eyes because of the sting of the sweat, she dances until the music has COMPLETELY washed her soul clean, until she can no longer feel the day, just the moment, just the movement in her bones. The flow, the passion, the words of the singer taking her to a place where there is NO space or time, where she can be who she wants, where no one knows her but the universe, and the universe loves her despite her scars, despite her past, despite her insecurities, despite how she feel she’s failed. The universe doesn’t judge. kita dancing

There she is…. She’s back, smiling, floating, happy, dancing the morning away, feeling all of the love she’s given to others through the years, wrapping herself in love!!!

“Let’s go face the day, you got this”… is what she hears. And she smiles, as she remembers, she’s still here, she still has a chance to change her life, she is still loved by many. She’s grateful, not only for life but for music, for the way it makes her feel.

Music has a way of helping her realize that Life isn’t about having it all together, it’s about learning how to live in the moment and truly ENJOY it. And that’s exactly what she does!! She may not feel that way in the morning, but for now, there is optimism, and she’s going to hold on to that.

What Happened to Feelings?

Transparent Blog Moment……

So I purchased the new Chris Brown Album (did I just say album?) yesterday. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a fan. There are 45 songs. FORTY-FIVE WHOLE SONGS!! Obviously, he had a lot to get off his chest, and I certainly see why now that I’ve listened to it in its entirety,  I can tell that this young man is hurting. I know, I know, “But Kita, what about him putting his hands on Rhianna, and supposedly stalking “Karaoke” (I can’t spell her name)?

let’s talk about it……

1st of all, as far as he and Rhianna go, I don’t believe he “beat” her, I think they had a disagreement, she punched, he punched, and though I’ve told my boys growing up that you don’t put your hands on a woman, I also told my daughter that if you hit a man, you better be prepared for his impulse reaction. I don’t believe that fight between them was one-sided, but that’s just my opinion…again, I’m a fan.

So about these feelings…

There is a lot of pain throughout his album, some songs I feel may be about Rhianna, but certainly, there is a lot of unresolved pain there for “Karate” as well. He has a song called “Even” and man oh man, I wanted to give him a hug. But that’s just one of the songs I can think of off the top of my head. There are so many more painful songs in there. I know most folks look at Chris and think he’s some sort of thug. But I look at him and see a young man with a lot of demons that he’s battling, one being himself. I think he wants to love and be loved, but he has to put on a facade for the public and act unbothered because “feelings” now days equate to “weakness”.

So about this “transparent blog”…

I have recently (just at 46) learned to face some of my own demons that have led to many unsuccessful relationships. Of course, people always ask “why are you single”? You’re smart, funny, witty, wise, beautiful” etc. These are all things I know (toot-toot, beep-beep) Ijs….Thing is, I hate getting in too deep and getting my “feelings” hurt.  But as I was listening to Chris pour his heart out on some of these songs, I couldn’t help but sit in my own feelings, 1st I had to look around and make sure that no one else was able to tell I was “feeling” because we aren’t supposed to “feel”. Pair that with the demons, and it’s a dangerous combo. The craziest part about that is that I’m a “feeler”. I feel EVERYTHING, so much so, I’ve deemed myself an empath. So how does one who feels everything, suppress feelings? Certainly, can make you appear a bit “off”.

Opening myself up to love…

The main reason I’ve been able to face so many of my own demons (mostly in the last 2.5 years), is because God decided to send me my twin. Someone who’s so much like me that it’s like seeing my insides through a mirror, my soul, unresolved issues with my parents, past relationship failures, and pain. Someone who seems just afraid to feel, but can call my demons out by their name, and they recognize him. Most times all I can do is sit in awe as he tells me all about them and why they act the way they do, and I can do the same with him. There have been a lot of tumultuous moments, hell months even, because although we are grown, and know that we set our own demonsstandards, those damn demons start battling one another, and the human side of us want to bolt!! I see this a lot nowadays in folks though. 2 people clearly want to be together, but have so much “baggage” (which I’ve learned isn’t always baggage, sometimes there is something deeper fighting it). It’s like neither can put their ego nor pride aside and just “FEEL”, or live IN, and FOR that moment of love!!!


Chris’ album is aptly named “Heartbreak on a Full Moon” and couldn’t have come out at a better time. Having had yet another spat with “The Demon Whisperer” (hahaha, I have to laugh he’s gonna side-eye that when he reads this, but it’s hilarious!!), I was finally saying to myself “I’m done, obviously it isn’t meant for us, although we keep finding our way back to one another, and Lord, when it’s good, it’s FANTASTIC, and though, we’d both tried really hard this time, admitting that when it’s bad, it’s HORRIBLE. But as I listened to the songs on Chris’ album, and sat in my feelings, I didn’t feel sad, I didn’t feel confused, I didn’t feel angry, I didn’t feel resentment at trying over and over with this guy, I didn’t feel anxious, I didn’t feel “stupid”, I didn’t feel like I’d made a mistake with trying again. But what I did was….I “FELT”, I felt love pour over me, I felt the waves of passion for another human being take over, I felt every memory we’d created, I felt like maybe I wasn’t giving it my all before because of being afraid to “feel” and be let down. I felt sad for Chris, someone who I feel is lost. Lost in a world of “Celebrity” where everything he does is always going to be scrutinized, not just based on him being a celebrity, but because of a bad decision, he made when he was barely 21. Lord forbid I am ever judged for all of the stupid stuff I did at that age.

But of course, no one feels bad for him because we don’t feel. We judge, we react to everything and everyone with harshness. No compassion, no consideration, no understanding that we are all here, trying to get it right while battling our own demons.

I’m choosing love and feelings….

With all of that said, I always say that I have a crush on Chris, and though I think he’s the cutest thing ever, what I’ve always felt for him is a certain compassion, a desire to just sit him down and tell him it’s okay. He’s around the same age as my sons actually, and I wouldn’t want things to turn out for them the way they have for him, Watching and listening to his pain, as well as his demon cries is heartbreaking, to say the least. But his new album helped me choose to walk in love. To allow me to be loved by my “twin”. To feel every moment, good and bad. To enjoy each second we spend together, talking, dancing, singing (yes, we sing to one another), making love, sharing our pain, sharing our dreams, and so much more. And not FEEL bad that we aren’t perfect….neither of us. But we found one another in a world where so many are in search of something… Most not even sure of what. I know I wasn’t sure.

There is a calm that washes over me when I think about this love An indescribable “feeling”. And although most would argue that you should be healed completely or finished working on the perfect you-you’d like to be for your next relationship, that doesn’t mean it’s going to work or last. It’ll only work or last if you choose to make it work. A hard lesson learned, but one so worthwhile.

So my hope for anyone reading this, as well as Chris, is that you allow yourselves to feel, open yourselves back up to love, passion, joy, sadness, pain, happiness, understanding, forgiveness, compassion, and a whole lot more. Sit in the feelings, face them, understand them, and then go out and share them with others. We need it in the world we live in. I promise your feelings won’t kill you, but holding them in just might.


Squeezing, Sneezing and Asking the Kids When They’re Leaving

When your exercise routine traumatizes the kids!!!

So THIS post is going to be one of my short blog posts, as I’m almost embarrassed to write it, but I have to share this with you all.

With Trump currently being the head idiot in charge, and life feeling out of control (you know being single, trying to date, going through menopause, trying to move up stay motivated at the job, trying not to kill anyone. The normal stuff), I’ve started to find ways to enjoy the things that I CAN control, like for instance, going to the gym, getting my body tight, reading more, working on my mental, and emotional health, smudging (sage), keeping my energy positive and……. working on my Kegel muscles. I’m single, want to find that right one, cause it seems that his ass has gotten lost on his way to find me (where are Dorothy and Toto when I need them to guide HIM to me?). And I want things to be right and tight. Plus they are good for combating incontinence, and at this age, a hard sneeze or laugh could end in a pissy mess!!!! KegelsFunny

Let’s get right to it……

I recently invested in some “kegel eggs”. These ones are like a 6-week program. There are 3 purple eggs (in varying shades) and three egg harnesses (1 by itself, and a double harness). So the lightest shade egg is lightweight. You start off with that one, put it in one of the harnesses and wear it an hour daily for 7 days, then move to the darker purple egg, it’s heavier, wear it for 7 days, and then the darkest one (which is weighted the heaviest) and wear it for 7 days. Then you move to the double harness, and put two in at a time (feels like porn after a while), but HEY, I’m bored, down for testing it out, ain’t getting none, so let’s see if I can eventually lift a brick with this COONTA!!

Week one went Great, gotta focus, try not to sit down, as I don’t want to cheat, I want to stand up, flex these muscles and keep it in. A few times I forgot and there was a slight slip, but I was able to suck it right on back in there without hesitation. Alright West Virginia (that’s what I call my va jay-jay, long story), I see ya girllllll, flexing on ’em. WE GOT THIS!!!

Plot twist BYTCHES…..

Week 2, grandbabies at the house, but I’m not going to let my hard work from week one go to waste. So I get up, early Saturday morning, slip in the heavier one while the kiddos are still sleeping, and go to make breakfast. All is well, I’m humming along to the radio, moving around, proud that I’m focusing, but not as hard as I did week one, and all seems to be going well. Babies wake up, we dance around a little laughing, (me not as hard cause I’m still getting used to this thang). I started mixing up the eggs to scramble, (irony, but not those eggs, real eggs), lil salt, lil cheese lil pepper….. HA, a lil pepper. Yeah, that wasn’t a good idea. Pepper makes me sneeze. I feel the sneeze coming on, and the kids are still running to and fro and laughing and playing, and I’m trying to hold the sneeze in. But it happens.

Now keep in mind, these kegel balls are shaped like eggs. So, just as MISS JADA, (granddaughter) comes running in the kitchen, I let out a sneeze that was probably the hardest of my life. And it happens…..

And it happens…..

The egg pops out and rolls across the floor. It rolls for about 15 miles before it stops, and I’m hoping that they don’t see it, but it’s loud and it’s rolling. Kinda reminded me of the scene in “Poltergeist” when the mom is running down the hallway, that starts off about 12 steps, but it turns into 1,494 steps. It won’t stop rolling. And when it does, because it’s an egg, it does this weeble may wobble, but they don’t fall down long asssssss, Dramatic assssssss stop. And Jada and I lock eyes, with our faces agasp, for what feels like 35 minutes. And she looks at me, then she looks at it, then she looks at the grandboy (who’s only 2, and headed to pick the egg up), and she looks at me, and she looks at it, and she looks at him, and I’m blinking my eyes quickly, trying to figure out if I’m awake or not, and this is all happening in slow motion. As I run 15 miles to try to reach the egg before he does. And Jada asks *in her most innocent voice* “Nana, you laid an egg”? To which the 2 y/o who barely speaks, repeats after her. I’ve been trying to get him to talk forever, and this is what he chooses to say as his real first sentence with me? And my legs give out. And I ask for death right there. I prayed and asked God to please take me now. My life flashes before my eyes and I told him (God) I’d lived a long enough life and to please, just put me out of my misery. But he didn’t, and I looked at her, and words wouldn’t come out. They were stuck in my throat.

So I RAN….

I ran into my room, with the now sticky egg (don’t ask), in my hand. Slammed the door and locked it. Ran into the bathroom, threw the egg in the sink, as I ran hot water over it, washing my hands, looking myself in the mirror, and wondering what I’ve become. Who am I? What kinda grandmother does this? Wait…. The kind trying to get her groove back. I won’t let these little munchkins make ME feel bad for trying to get them a good granddad. I’m doing this for THEM. “Yeh, this is more for them than me”….is the pep talk I gave myself. And just as I was headed to the door to unlock it, and face them, I heard them knocking, and Jada asks, “Nana, you in there trying to hatch your egg”.

I called their parents and asked them to come pick them up, explained that I’d been reading “Jack and The Beanstalk” to them *dodges lightning*, so if they say something about me laying an egg, it was me getting into the character of the goose who laid a golden egg.

I spent the rest of the weekend in the house, with the blinds and curtains closed, under the cover, watching the gospel channel on cable.

“Lint Balls” & Alcohol

50 Shades of WHAT THE?…..


As I’ve gotten older, whenever the weather warms up I tend to shed clothes, mostly underwear. I really DESPISE underwear all of the time. I literally “know why the caged bird sings”. There’s a certain sound mines make when released from their cotton, silk, lace, or spandex prisons. You probably don’t want to know what the sound is so I will spare you the details.

I’ve always loved the way a sundress feels against my skin. So free flowing. It makes walking feel like sitting in a rocking chair, on grandma’s porch, in the country, on a nice breezy spring evening, sipping tea…the sound of crickets chirping in the background soothing your soul. Away from all of the noise and hustle and bustle of the city….back and forth, and back and forth. I’m sure you get the picture.

I recently learned as spring has approached, and me being in the “Spring” of my life, so to speak, that before opting out of underwear, I need to be sure I’ve opted IN to a Brazilian wax or at least a Schick.

Let me paint a not so nice picture…

I come home 1 day, feeling good, mid-afternoon,  it’s warm outside, but I am cool because I have on a little dress…cotton, kinda short, free-flowing,  and I’m feeling SEXY!!

I make my way to the kitchen,  singing, snapping my fingers, dancing, stopping every now and again to do a lil twirl,  ’cause life is AMAZING. I go to the cabinet, take out my fave wine glass, dance my way to the fridge and grab a bottle of wine. I pour myself a glass, take the bottle and head to my bedroom, excited about the mid-day “Law & Order SVU” marathon that’s on.

In my bedroom, I have a chair that sits next to my bed close to my oscillating fan (cause I’m always hot). I turn the fan on, prop my foot up on the bed and let out a sigh of happiness as the 1st sip of wine slides down my throat, and the air from the fan hits the right “spot”, and think to myself “if Heaven feels anywhere near close to this, then I need to get right with the Lord,  ’cause that’s where I need to BE”.

All is right with the world, and I decide to check my lady “bird” out after my 2nd glass of wine, since I am sitting there, with my foot propped, and the wind is hitting it, and it’s singing, and I’m doing nothing else, and it had actually been a few months since she and I had really just seen one another.

Welp, all hell broke loose…

When I looked down, I saw what I thought were little white pieces of lint, but how? I was sans undies,  so where could they have come from? Whatever…”just brush them off girl” is what I told myself. But they weren’t moving.  So I went to pick them off “OUCH” *spills wine*! WHAT THE HELL?! They’re stuck to my lady “bird”. So now I’m a little discombobulated, as clearly I’ve drunk too much wine because I’m seeing things. I hop up, run to the bathroom, where there is better lighting, grab my hand mirror and prop my foot up on the toilet. As I look closer, I see those lint balls better, but let me grab my glasses because they’re not looking like lint anymore. So I grabbed a flashlight to get an even better look because this can’t be what I think it is.

With my glasses on my face,  mirror in one hand, flashlight in the other, foot propped on the toilet, and my lady “bird” in full view, there it was, right there, staring at me. Don King’s hair was growing out of my “bird”! WHY ME JESUS?!?! I just proclaimed I was going to get my life right so that I can spend eternity with you, and THIS is what I get???

And the crying started….


Hey girl, it’s Kita, I think I’m rebirthing Maya Angelou, head 1st. I see her hair!!! .


I called everyone in my phone who I thought cared about me, most hung up when they realized what my hysterics were about. Only 2 friends let me vent it out, and I later learned they weren’t listening with concern, they were amused. And what I thought was the sound of them crying with me, was them laughing themselves to tears

So there I sat, alone, with my bottle of wine, that’s now half empty, crying, with my hands on “bird” because I never knew how course gray hair felt, and I was devastated yet intrigued. I have 3 strands on my actual head, and I remember when I discovered each of them (1 when I turned 30, 1 when I turned 40, and 1 when I turned 45). So how could I be full blown Betty White below? Just makes no sense.

For the next 2 weeks, anyone who’d listen learned more about me than they probably cared to know, even strangers. I had questions and concerns and I needed feedback!!!!

With a gray “bird” and no eyelashes, I’ll never get a man now!!! Maybe I’ll get a belly piercing, I hear men like that nowadays!

Hot Flashes, and Eyelashes

When you’re trying to be “HOT”, but not literally……


As a single woman in Atlanta, you realize how FIERCE the competition is, so it’s human nature to want to “step your game up”, if you will. There are women out here who’s bodies look like something fresh out of a 90’s Mystikal video, and the only thing I can “Shake Fast” is my fist, at erratic drivers on i285, in a geriatric manner. A sistah’s better body days are probably long behind her, and as a member of generation x, I’ve come to grips with that.

The makeup ability of these youngens is also very intimidating. I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on makeup….well maybe not hundreds, closer to fifties of dollars, and countless hours on YouTube tutorials, only to end up standing in my bathroom mirror looking more like a Barnum & Bailey circus act, than “America’s Next Top Model”, (“I WAS ROOTING FOR YOU, WE WAS ALL ROOTING FOR YOU”!!) I have concluded the people who pull off flawless made up faces are wizards, witches, voodoo priests, and sorcerers, because it seems nearly impossible for an average woman like myself to do.

I guess I’ll start small, get my eyebrows fleeked out (do people still say “fleek”?), and maybe get some lashes. Never thought I would glue small hairs to my eyelids. The thought of anything that I wasn’t born with being that close to my cornea, always freaked me out. I shutter at the thought of contacts. But hey, let’s enhance what we can, within reason.

So, I found myself standing in the lash aisle of a beauty supply store so ENORMOUS, it would make Walmart blush. It had an ENTIRE aisle dedicated to lashes. Let me say this… menopause has made my patience as short as the grey strands on my vagina (that’s an entirely different blog post).

Looking around at dozens upon dozens, upon dozens of lash styles, lengths, brands…human, fake, mink, GOODNESS, can I just be great without all of this? I just want to be great momma. And don’t get me started on the glue, and the different tool options to put the lashes on with. And then the lashes are numbered, they are NUMBERED!! Arrgggh, sweat started pouring down my back, because I sweat now, out of nowhere, it could be 10 degrees outside and I sweat just because I have pores, I sweat thinking about sweating, I’m actually sweating now…maybe it’s a flashback of sweating that has caused me to sweat, or could be a hot flash, I can’t tell now days. Anywho, I pick a pair, pretty reasonably priced, and the number is 132. Got the glue, got the lash “installation” tool. YAYY!

Once home, armed with a bottle of wine, my number 132s, my glue, my lash tool, a magnifying mirror, some trap music (I hear it makes putting on makeup easier), and YouTube, I think I’m ready. Now all I have to do is figure out how I’m going to see how to put these lashes on my eyes, without my eyeglasses, because, oh yeah, menopause has come and made my vision worse (menopause is the Obama of my life, I’m going to blame it for everything). Of course I start sweating as I contemplate how this is going to work. Okay, just breathe, and put your glasses on long enough to see how to put the glue on the strip of the lash. This may actually work. Imagine how your grandmother used to look trying to thread a sewing needle. That was me, trying to paint glue onto the strip of these tiny hairs.

Now let’s pull YouTube up on the phone and look out of our peripheral at the girl on the screen, after we take our glasses off and close one eye……. Listen. I ended up with one set of lashes sideways, and the other pair darn near on my eyebrows. And that was after constantly patting sweat from my face so they’d stick.

After several attempts, a few bottles of wine, a bottle and a half of glue, 6 pair of lashes, and a trip to see my pastor (don’t ask), I decided to go let someone else put them on. They turned out cute, but I ended up pulling them off, as well as my real lashes one night after a bad hot flash where I thought someone had poured a bucket of water on me and dropped my bed into the pits of hell, and I was on fire!!

Hot Flashes and eyelashes not being able to coexist is a hard thing to accept. Although standing in the mirror, naked…both body and eyelids…and your tiny gray pubic hairs peeping from the part of your vagina that you are able to see under your stomach, while you’re sweating, you pretty much have no other choice but to let it go,  and find something else to enhance. Hmmmm maybe I should get my tongue pierced. I hear that men are really turned on by that now days.

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