DIJA'S SECOND ACT

 "I wish I'd met you one year and one fuckboy from now." I told Captain America in a phone call we had this afternoon. (He's fine as hell but super sweet and ridiculously, old-school polite; much like my favorite of all the Avengers, Captain America.)  "WHAT!?" He laughed nonplussed. "What did you just say?" "I said 'I wish I'd met you one year and one fuckboy from now!' " I repeated, a bit indignantly. "Okay, you have to explain that to me." I took a deep breath before beginning the conversation I'd realized only hours before that we needed to have. "You've come back into my life, in this way, just as I'm starting to bounce back from the worst tragedy I've ever experienced. And God forbid , but I might be entering another 'worst tragedy I've ever experienced' phase pretty soon so I am going to FUCK THIS UP COMPLETELY, I already know that. That's why I wanted the next guy I got in...

It took Chele an extremely (and unprecedentedly) generous nine days to send me the following message: "So, are we gonna talk about this date you went on?"  My reply was immediate:  "Ummmm...I've been purposely avoiding talking to you about this." Her reply was even more immediate: "I know. I gave you time. Time's up!" And so after much cajoling I gave my oldest friend the deets... Kinda.  I talked about my feelings. Kinda. I talked about where we went and what we did. Kinda. But... I was too scared to tell the whole story. And I'm still too scared to tell the whole story but... Nothing's ever real until I write it down. So here it is: I like him, y'all.  A lot. I had very specific plans for this particular area of my life. If the day ever came when I was ready to start dating again, I knew EXACTLY what my new type would be.  To use a term I (SADLY) learned from Amira: He'd be a fuckboy. To use a term that's more appropriate fo...

Dear Lorenzo, It's 7:37 a.m., Eastern Standard Time (I'm still in Jersey) and I'm EXHAUSTED because your bad ass daughter kept me up late as hell, doing her best to be all up in my grown ass business but... I'll save that story for another day. I've been writing to you (in my mind) for the past twenty-four hours or so.  Yesterday, I took a late lunch break and asked my sister to drive me to the nearest nail salon. After picking out a glittery fuschia that I thought might look nice against my skin, I spent an hour getting my nails and toes polished before heading back to the house where the real work would begin. After finishing up a final contract for my boss, I took the dog for a walk, ordered Chipotle for Mira's dinner, showered, dressed and did my hair within the span of about 40 minutes.  "How do I look?" I asked Kay, who's also in town for the week. "Does this outfit say, 'Let's be friends?' " I asked, only half-jokingly...

Dear Lorenzo, I'm fucked, I know that. It's Monday, July 5th, 2021 and you died exactly five years ago today so... I should be depressed, right? Today should be a horrible fucking day. I should have woken up with a sense of impending doom at the emotions that today is sure to engender but instead... I'm happy. For the first time in the six soggy days that we've spent in Cambridge, I woke up to bright beams of sunlight shining through the living room windows.  I woke up...happy...albeit a little shaky. Yesterday afternoon I took what, for ME, is a big first step and downloaded a dating app called Bumble.  It's an app in which the women have to make first contact with any man they may find appealing.  Sounds like a great idea, right? No more douchy guys sliding into our proverbial DMs without being invited there first. But...had I taken some time to think about it, I would have realized that this is NOT the app for me.  I have zero interest or intention of making ...