Budgets Suck!!!

OMG! My social life is on punishment!

I am on a budget! This budget rides my back and bosses me around. (Not in a sexy or spicy way either) It tells me when to have fun, what to buy with my money, and what I can’t afford to eat with my money. So, while I stand in the snack isle making a concious decision about which cookie is best to cure my future sweet tooth, I begin to have hot flashes as I recall the restrictions of my financial diet. It’s a hard decision to make when it’s time to practice the plan. Each isle has it’s challenges when it is time to choose generic versus the real deal and when it comes to non-food activities becomes more of a challenge of endurance.

So, instead of Oreo’s I get to cradle a pack of Choco O’s into my shopping cart, that I am sure I will enjoy because it has twice the ingredients than it’s brand name competitor. It is quite strange how similar the packaging is too; 3 rows of Choco O’s wrapped in blue plastic with big white letters slanted across the front. It even says, “Milk’s Other Favorite Cookie!” I can’t even comprehend what’s in the chocolate sandwich cookie, but when you’re adhereing to the budget rules, that committment trumps a palate’s satisfaction. Right?

These cookies aren’t that big of a compromise to me, although, they do make you alot more thirsty than usual. You have to pratically wash the Choco O’s down with a tall glass of orange flavored GatorDrink. Keep in mind, I couldn’t afford the real drink that cures the thirst of an athlete or better yet, a hungover person, so GatorDrink will have to suffice. It is difficult not to complain about budget-friendly additions to my diet, but some of this stuff just doesn’t quite  cut it for me. Take for instance the 16 slice pack of Prarie Farmland’s American Cheese Product that I have to nessel into my refrigerator. Clearly my first choice when it comes to cheese would be Kraft Singles. That’s a no brainer! I don’t eat cheese that often, but what’s canned tomato flavored soup without it’s bff, the grilled cheese sandwich? I love grilled cheese sanwiches. The only problem here is that the “cheese product” cheese doesn’t really melt during the grilling process. That is so weird!

The biggest hassle of this financial diet is that I have to stray away from my favorite one stop shopping stores, while eating foods I can only afford to prepare myself (boring), and ignore my obvious need for spring collection clothing. I have to save, save, save. I have to pretend there is no such thing as payday. I have to act as if the money I earned is nothing to celebrate on a bi-weekly schedule. This financial diet, says “Hell No!” to keeping up with the Jones. It doesn’t care about my youth or my livelihood. It only wants me to be a responsible adult so that I can be confident during hardships. I say, “BOOOO!” to that, although I do agree to it’s validity.  This budget reminds me of a time when I was under stict parental guidance, when all my friends and I went out to party, and just as the party started to get good, I had to leave because of my curfew.

So, while I complain about things people have had to do for centuries, I think about how this budget will lead me to a substantially more comfortable place. I should simply focus on the outcome and not the turmoil that I experience when I limit myself to carrying a hand basket in Target because my budget strategy is: pay for what you can carry. I shouldn’t become upset when it feels like all of a sudden, opportunites to have fun in the budding Spring season of Chicago, present themselves and I have to decline the invitations to have the time of my life. My budget is like taking vitamins; I’m not sure if it will work for me, and its really hard to swallow, but I was told that it is something I need.

So while you all read this post from your fairly new tablet or smart phone device from the past Christmas season, my budget has taught me that I don’t need a tablet to make me feel whole, or special, or cool. I also don’t need neon pink nail polish, a trendy spring jacket that doubles as a vest, pad thai from my favorite restaurant, or a ladies night out. There are so many things that I don’t need, I simply want them but my budget says wanting is not allowed and wanting a social life is out of the question. This is officially adult punishment!

Rest in Peace Social Life

F this S

-lex

Dating Cobwebs

Decisions, Decisions

Remember when dating was as simple as a note passed between classmates? The only thing you had to do was check ‘Yes’, ‘No’, or ‘Maybe’. Not to mention those were also the times when the boys asked the girls out.

Fast Forward to 2013 and the only thing guys care to ask is ” Whatchu on?” “Do you want to watch a movie at my house?” or “Do you wanna grab a bottle?”  To answer those questions: NOTHIN’, HEWL NAW and YES! I wanna grab abottle to BUST  you upside yo head! Somewhere along the lines of life women have lowered their standards so men have lowered they inhibitions which, inturn makes men feel entitled to treat women of substance with the same disregard and tackiness they treat hoodrats, skip skabs and scally wags.

First of all I’ll admit that I am somewhat rusty by way of, I’ve been with my first love since I was 19 til I was 26, so everything I thought I knew about dating at 19 is on a totally different scale of a 27 year old. So I’m learning as I go but I’m a fast learner. Anyway, I can’t seem to make it to a first date. There are ALWAYS barriers that prevent a sista from gettin a free meal. (YES thats right I said it! I’m tired of always takin myself out, paying admission to the movies; do you know how much popcorn and cherry coke costs at the movies? I’m ready to be treated and spoiled.) I appreciate the speediness of God and his Grace and Mercy he blesses me with not allowing no good nothins and fools to outstay their welcome in my life, so I almost feel I can’t complain but me being me I’m gonna rant and rave anyway in Jesus name:

The Barber- When I saw him he wasn’t  my type; he was ugly & dark as hell, not the “Mmm sexy chocolate of a man” dark but crispy, crunchy scrape the burnt off the toast dark. In my mind all of the dating experts advice rang in my ear, Step out of your comfort zone, the love you seek may not be in the package you perfer, relax, at least have fun. With that said, he asked for my number and I, somewhat hesitantly, obliged. We talked on the phone once and the next time we talked he asked me to stop by his house since, ironically, I was at the store up the street from his house. Immediately I began seeing “red flags”. First, he asked me to park at the corner and not in front of his house. Second, I was about to get out of the car and he said, “naw, sit in the car, I’ll sit in with you.”  Third, his phone kept vibrating simultaniously with the irate woman pacing up and down the street who was angrily pressing redial. Me, knowing that good and bad things come in 3s I rapidly caught her attention and unlocked my doors allowing her to open the passenger side door, pull him out by his collar and proceed to give him a Mississippi style butt whoopin’.

The “Entrepreneur”- I met him in the grocery store. I was in line behind him, he was purchasing two bottles of Riesling. Looking at him I would have pegged him for a Henny(Hennessy) sipper, his selection in spirits intrigued me more than his swagger. By the time he paid and cool guy walked to and out of the door my items were paid for and bagged and I caught up to him as I had hoped- to see if he would ask me for my name, number or at least a “Hi, how you doin’?” As luck would have it he stopped and asked for my digits. A few days later he called and we chatted, he seemed like a regular guy which is rare. The next day we made plans to meet up in the parking lot of a restaurant which seemed like a neutral spot because I surely did not care to let him know where I lived. First, he arrived almost 30 minutes late after texts and calls of “I’m 5 minutes away”. Second, we couldn’t go to an establishment because he was waiting on someone to drop him a “package”. In my mind I’m thinking “Aw hewl naw!” it was dinner time and this fool  got the nerve to not even TRY to get a meal in my belly I knew he was trippin’. Third, while we sat in his car waiting for a “package” that never showed up he reached in the backseat to pull out a bottle of wine followed by a wine opener and two child’s cups from McDonalds that had Ronald flipping to the golden arches. As I sat there in utter disbelief he continued to pressure me into having a sip of the wine that may as well have been in a paper bag like a wine-o. He proceded to talk about himself, all of his accomplishments and fraternity. This fella made it seem like he was a mover and a shaker and if I joined him I’d be moving and shaking as well. An hour and a half worth of all emptiness because the next day the brotha showed up to my job (not knowing that this was my place of employment) needing assistance with paying his light and gas bill. As I whispered to a co-worker “let me see his application” he sat in the lobby awaiting his “package” of utility credits. The name he told me was a lie, the level of education he had accomplished was a lie, his place of residency was a lie and his  ‘bands’ of money was most certainly not a reality.

To sum, dating in my world is a JOKE! I enjoy having stories to share with my girls over a glass of wine from a long stemmed GLASS and not a wax/paper cup. Very recently, I have decided to forgo the dating scene and laugh at these fools from a distance because my time is much too valuable to clown around.

-Ms. J Singling and not mingling!

From Pairs to PIECES

Being single is, usually, not so bad until an event comes with plus 1 extensions. You know like: Weddings, Couple’s Game Night, Couple’s Date night, BBQs, I could go on ya kno. So basically being single is the shiznit only when all of my girls are single or when I’m lookin/feelin ugly in the house with my Joe boxer smiley face pj pants on and my high school senior shirt that is hella dingy and faded. Other than that being single is” for the birds” (but I’m sure birds are dating, courting, boo’d up or married)

About a year and a half ago one of my brothers told me how much he was madly in love with his girlfriend. I thought this to be strange because before now (then) he had the mentality of a rap song; the most vulgar, women ain’t sh!t, I need 3,4,5 girlfriends type of rap song. Anyhow, he told me that she was the one. He had so much conviction, sincerity and warmth in his demeanor. I was happy for him but couldn’t help but to think about myself in the process. “Why am I not loved with such passion and sincerity?” “Will I ever be loved wholeheartedly?” Insecurities immediately began to fester but I couldn’t possibly be so selfish aloud and not continue to be over excited for my brother for finding his soul mate. Fast forward, this past March was the big day! They proclaimed their love in front of God, family and friends. As a brides maid I was on the front line and honed in on my brother. I came in as a G (a gangster, non-emotional, there to handle business) but watching my brother tear up touched my soul. I began to cry and by the time they said the “I do’s” I was a total and complete mess. Afterward, I partied and had a funky good time until it was the end of the night and I was going home alone, AGAIN. That’s usually how it happens, I feel good all the day long until I’m going to an empty apartment that’s filled with quiet & stillness and I am no longer single, I’m lonely.

Being single and being lonely are two totally different things. One is normal and the other has a negative connotation that is felt by the undesirable, unwanted and the wayward. 

Similarly, this weekend me and some of my brothers (all of whom have girlfriends, wives and so on) are having a game night. Since they all have a sidekick, in order for me to fully participate and not feel like the “odd man out” I undoubtedly turned to my Ace in the hole, my right hand chica, my BFF Lex. Sure, she’s not a boyfriend but all of us girls know most times a best friend is much better than a boyfriend (unless you tryna get felt on and have hugs and kisses). Also, for games I already know we are gonna kick a$$ and take names but the point still remains the other couples will high five each other with tender kisses and ravenous looks that meas ” I have something for you later wink wink” and I will acknowledge my partner’s accomplishments with actual high fives. As usual my brothers will throw jokes at me about my being single that will seem funny at the time but will set up tents in my head only to expose themselves while I’m in the quiet comforts of my bed before my slumber and nag me to sleep.

I am not at all saying that I am unhappy or hating (okay I’m hating a little bit not on them but the situation) on my family and friends who are fortunate enough to find their missing piece( for the ladies) or their rib (for the guys) I am simply saying “WHY NOT ME LORD” haha just kidding, but seriously I am saying, to be freed from my thoughts of inadequacies and (for the time being) to be SINGLE and not lonely and feeling broken is my goal. So as a “G” and a lady of courage and true beauty I will continue to join others in couples nights, game nights and so on til the day I walk through the doors with my man and display PDA as a form of payment, gratitude and happiness.

-Ms. J

Attention: Mommies Need Naps Too

Momma bears need naps too!

What is a nap? I used to know. Some children, and people without children, or parents with older children, know naps very well. They know what naps are, when to take one, and how to enjoy the accessibility of it. I don’t! Apparently, my son doesn’t either.  He has issues with his timing of the nap.The problem isn’t that my son steals a nap on the ride home from daycare, after I get off work, so that he can have lightning speed energy to rip through the entire evening. No, the problem is that I can’t sieze a nap during the ride home from daycare because I am the designated driver.

A nap is the prescription to treat the ache of your lifting posture. The lifting of grocery bags, gallons of milk, laundry baskets, and a toddler who attempts to walk up 2 flights of stairs much slower than you prefer. A nap  will also take care of the vocal chords that are constantly strained from overusing the following phrase, “If you don’t stop what you’re doing, you’re going to time out buddy!” I also know that you are supposed to feel refreshed and more energetic after a nap. I know nothing about energy either, but I could use more of that too.

Sometimes I’m so desperate for energy, I pop a One-A-Day vitamin and a few of my son’s vita-gummy bears at the same damn time. What have I got to lose? By 6pm on week days, my inner fire is dim and I turn into a  mommy zombie. My eyes get low and blood shot red, and I mope around the house with homely house gear, chanting my to-do list. If I could take a nap from 6:30pm to 7:00pm instead of racing to the kitchen for a quick cooking session, I could enjoy a Siesta. But No! People always want dinner around that time for some strange reason. How odd?! Who ever said dinner was a late evening requirement?

Back to that nap I mentioned before. It is a luxury! Like an uninterrupted bath, when  no little hands are banging and scratching at the door for my continiously, undivided attention.The little hands have a voice that commands, “Mommy, MORE JUICE!” How rude is that? He didn’t even say please. My mouth wants to bark at him, “Mommy is not here!!! Go watch Mickey Mouse!” I want to use this moment to imagine I’m at the spa. Now that I think of it, naps for a mommy is like polishing your fingernails and toenails all by yourself, letting them dry, and smiling at the smudge-free result. It’s that perfect little accomplishment you didn’t pay someone else to do. I’m not big on paying for certain services but sometimes I want a nap so bad, I am willing to go to the extreme. A few times in my mommyhood I have PAID for a nap. Yes, you read it right! I pay for naps. Don’t judge me.  I might throw a few bucks at my mother to reap my granny benefits, so that she can watch her grandson for an hour, while I dream about affording a nanny to pick up my child from daycare so I can sleep before dinner is ready on week days.

Ladies, if you are having problems getting your fair dosage of nap-time, find a bronzer to brighten the paleness in your  face and a nail polish that pops to distract people from staring too intensely at the bags under  your eyes.

Remember, even when you’re sleepy, don’t be afraid to stay stylish!

-lex

The Thrills of Lost and Found

Okay, so there is obviously some thrill in losing things! Well, not actually losing your mind figuratively, or your  belongings to never see them again, but moreso misplacing items only to find them in the most common sense places. Whether it’s my keys, my purse, important statements recieved in the mail, earrings, and more, I find that I must resort to the worst techniques in efforts to find them. However, when I actually find whatever it is I am looking for, I enjoy an interpersonal shimmy, as I high-five myself. It’s a feeling we all (mostly mommies) know to well.

What’s the difference between losing something and simply forgetting where you put it?

First, I blame my family before I approach them. “I know you know where it is!” This is what I plan to say, so I make sure to practice different pitches in my head before I interrogate them in person. By the time I actually see my housemates, the anger usually dwindles down to the whispers of a southernly, angelic tone, “Have ya’ll lovely roommates of mine, laid eyes on my [place missing item here]? I have’t seen it since I had it last.” I know this sounds insane but this is my life, and losing things is a reoccuring episode.  After I realize that they had nothing to do with my forgetfulness and inability to place items where they belong, I move on to my next strategy.

This one is the worst of them all. I go to my bedroom, and damn-near rip up the carpeting to find whatever it is I lost. Because most of the items I lose on a consistent basis are so small, I have to search in awkward places to find it. I look in between the bed frame and the mattress where my hands hardly fit, inside of my boots where things fall sometimes, under the area rug, or inside of pockets where I happily lay fingers on a few bucks from time to time. Even better than money, there are times when I find candy.

At this point, I am a raging bull of a monster, tearing and roaring through my closet. While enjoying my strawberry Lifesaver found in pocket No.3, I pat down the closet shelves and stand on my tip toes to see if there are any hidden gems that surpass the excitement of finding candy. Soon after the reaching is over, every last purse that I own gets a full, and thoroughly violating, examination. This becomes a shameful experience every time and every-single-time this problem occurs, I promise myself to live more like a Stepford wife. They are so tidy!

After the search party dissipates, I stand in eye of the storm, in a dismantled room that didn’t come with a self-cleaning button. I am always filled with the self-inflicted remorse that my mother has raised me to enjoy, because apparently I would misplace earrings I borrowed from her during my teenage years. She would always say,” You’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached to your body!”I know better than this. So here I stand, left with one last strategy to exercise. I concentrate on activating the powers that were given to me at at birth. This is a very special technique; so special I try not to use this one often. It is my memory!

Once I get into the swing of using my memory, which is difficult during post partum, everything starts to come back to me. Although my son is 2 years old, the memory has not recovered yet from pregnancy. I have been told that the memory is out of commission for nine months so that your brain can have mental space to remember what goes in a diaper bag. Other mothers tell me that my memory will never be the same and not to worry. So, I do just that. After the insanity is over, I retrace my steps to the common areas of house that I frequent. The kitchen is a good start. I practically sleep in there! Now that I have a growing child, and I often need to stay fueled to keep up with him, the kitchen gets the most action. So whenever I need to blitz a search venture, I scan the kitchen. There, I find my [place item here] in the most common place known to most mothers; THE KITCHEN COUNTERTOP!

I celebrate my victory and hail the Memory Gods for shedding this light upon my lost and disoriented soul.  I feel a sense of accomplishment just like when you spot Waldo in the crowd of things that look like him, but aren’t him, in the Where is Waldo? game.  What an eye- strain! Anyhow, as I reflect on the nonsense of my disorganization, I think to myself, maybe it’s the thrill of the chase! Perhaps it’s my desire to have some excitement in my Susie-homemaker-meets-modern-day-mom life, and maybe in this daily routine, the best I can do to get a little rush is to spend 17 full minutes looking for something before it is time to zip out the door, on schedule, if and only if I haven’t forgotten where I placed my phone.

Ladies if your experiencing this at home, simply create a lost and found box designated for the kitchen countertop. If you need more help with extreme organizing, try the Container Store! Remember, even when you’re confused, don’t forget to stay fabulous!

-lex

Competitive Parenting

Over the weekend my fabulous daughter had a Tumbling competition. (Tumbling isthe precurser to gymnastics for the little one’s 3-5 years of age). My daughter is usually reserved and very shy; doesn’t like people looking or laughing at her when I have a “baby, show them that move/dance/song you do! {sn: I always said I would not be one of those parents who embarasses their child for the sake of “awww that’s so adorable” but I am, she MAY thank me later for nudging her out of her shell}. Anyway, the day of the competition my daughter was in performance mode honey, she had her ribbons in her hair, body glitter flicking and was just a ball of excitement. Most days in tumbling class while the lesson is happening she’s waving to me, playing with her nails, talking to her friends in class and over all NOT PAYING ATTENTION. So going into the group routine, I was expecting her to make mistakes, look for me in the crowd while she’s supposed to be performing and so on but she piked, open straddled, pointed those toesies and showed out(in a good way). I was so proud. When singles came I was rooting because that’s my baby and if she stood there and picked her nose I would’ve still cheered and applauded for her but when she stepped to the line to start flipping she OWNED it honey! At the end when she “ta dah-ed” it was sassy and I was amazed by her.
Directly after the singles competition the girls were made to go to the trophy area where they announced where the girls placed. So as they called the girls they took their places on the podeums labled 1-5 and the trophies ranged in size based on which place they came in. All the while the instructor is calling names and places I’m seiously praying “Lord please don’t let them call her for 5th place.” then, “lord please don’t let them call her for 4th place” then “okay we’re getting into more prideful/boastful numbers but please don’t let her be in 3rd”. When they called my baby for 2nd place you woulda thought I’d won a million dollars. I wasn’t upset she was in 2nd place because the girl who won first had cartwheels in her performance (and mine didn’t so the difficultly level gave her a boost). When they took a group picture of the participants they had them all come together closely which put them off of their place numbers so another girl was on platform 2 with my child and in my head I’m like, “Uh un you number 5 honey scoot over”. It was ridiculously funny for me to compose myself because in short I love to win and as a winner to have a child who wins is the sweetest drug.
I am, 1, truly happy that my hard earned money that I spend on her extracurricular activities are not wasted and 2, ready to fill my shelves with trophies that my little girl will win in future endeavors. Its one thing to see the greatness in your child but to have it recognized by others let you know that its not a figment. Some parents are absolutely sure that their children are amazing, special and gifted but when you see their kids you swear that they’re RETARDED. . .
-Ms. J (WINNING, no Charlie Sheen)

Motherhood Is A Hater

I was officially indicted into motherhood on July 9th, 2010. Though I loved and carried Bradster for 9 long and lovely months, motherhood was official upon his delivery. It was even more official when I took him home and wondered what the hell to do with such a little demanding bundle of baby. It became more official as the days, cries, poops, cleanings, and feedings went by. Motherhood was officially real each day and one milestone at a time. I love motherhood, but sometimes I can’t help the feeling that Motherhood is some kind of low-budget, yet fully transparent entity that watches us all on television, and someday a viewer is going to see me in the grocery store and tell me how the show is a spitting image of her life.

You see, motherhood is absolutely amazing and special. It is a society where all mothers share many commonalities in very distinctively different ways. Motherhood is one of the most beautiful ways to contribute to the world, take note that I DID NOT say it was glamorous. For those of us who manage to keep our teeth brushed, our bodies showered, and a pinky toe polished, all understand this thing about motherhood; Motherhood DOES NOT give two twigs about us moms.

Motherhood likes to laugh as we mop the entire hardwood flooring in our homes to only have a CapriSun pouch smashed into sticky goo within a matter of seconds. Motherhood chuckles when you have spent long hours spring cleaning so that our minds can be clear and ready to receive the works of art on our little ones wall. You remember that day, when you forgot to monitor the crayons that came in the easter basket! What about the time you were rushing to an appointment and the little one found toilet water to splash around in? Then you had to find another shirt because the sleeves were saturated beyond recovery.

Motherhood is also a hater! I found out this fact just recently when Ms. J and I planned a ladies night. I was on my way out of the door with accessories just right, lipstick applied perfectly, and perfumed sprayed from my neck to my wrist. As I grabbed my purse, my son says, “Mommy, I pooped!” What better way to start off the night with cleaning poop and not a shot a patron to encourage you. Motherhood is cut-throat.

Have you ever been utterly exhausted while your little one found the mecca of youthful energy that can only be exerted through hardcore physical play. Don’t panic! There is always coffee to save us until pajama party time. At least you’ve found a new appreciation for a little rest and peace. Though peace is always accompanied by paranoia. Everyone knows if children are too quiet they are probably doing something wrong. Can we win? If our little ones can go from blurbs of words to full-blown surveys in so little time, then anything is possible!

Motherhood likes to see you stay on your toes ladies. There is no mercy but never take it personal. When you are feeling uneasy about this whole Motherhood title, always remember to leave the little ones at home with a responsible person and take a trip to Target! There you will have access to everything from your child’s favorite DVD’s (your virtual sitter), to bleach-free cleaners (for my chemically conscience but constantly cleaning mommies), to Skinny Girl Spirits for (for my calorie counting cocktail moms).

Motherhood may not care about you but I do.
Use these tools wisely and Keep It Glam Girls!

-lex

No Pork on my Fork. . .

April 15, the beginning of a pork and pork product fast at my church. The fast lasts from April 15th through August 15th. The fast is for health reasons amongst other things. In years’ past I have not been a strict follower of the fast due to the months in-between are prime BBQ months and a sistah like me loves some rib tips and lanks(hot links). But this year is a bit different, I am becoming more serious about church, following rules and adhering to what the Lord has put in the mind and mouth of the man of God.

With the pork fast, I have decided to fast from beef and fastfood as well. If you know me, then you know I don’t (always) grocery shop for beef and pork products and I don’t really partake in them much with the exception of a few BBQ staples and breakfast sausage (the kind you make into a patty and while cooking they become crispy on the edges and they just are the most delicious Mmmm Mmmm!) beef has a different subtext however; Beef is a “hurry up and buy” type of situation. By that I mean running to Mickey D’s after work because I’m too tired to cook and my child and myself are hungry, running errands all day and looking around only to see a White Castle, Wendy’s or Burger King. Included, being economical (or broke) and the dollar menu starts looking good while ballin on a $5 budget.

Also, I just plain ol’ need to drop a few pounds, not only for my health’s sake but my wardrobe’s sake as well. [Not that Big & Beautiful is not where it’s at but being comfortable within one’s self and meaning it is GOLDEN.] My fasting from pork, beef and fast food in general is more of a movement to me as far as stick-to-itivness, conquering feats that seem impossible and becoming (once again) BODY BEAUTIFL because babies wreak HAVOC on bodies.

The thought of this journey freaks me out a bit because as soon as I restrict myself from something I obsess over it (ie spending, watching too much tv, all bad things that feel SO GOOD) and those self defeating thoughts are gonna be the first to POOF, POW, BE GONE***

-Ms. J

You Must Be Crazy for Cutting Your Hair

Last week, during a long drive from Ms. J’s, house I decided to have one of many epiphanies. I called her and said, “I should cut my hair!” She said, “Do It! You’re young and beautiful and your hair is just an accessory!”

Though this may sound like a spontaneous thought, it really wasn’t. It had been months of wondering what I would look like with shorter hair. More importantly, what I would feel like with shorter hair. Keep in my mind I have already went through the “What made you go natural?” barage and the “Why don’t you wear your hair straightened more often?” assessments. You see, the hair on our heads is one of the first targets of judgement. It allows people to easliy categorize you in some way based on your decision to style it however you chose.

Cropping your hair down a few inches or even big chops to the root of your hair isn’t a big deal. However, for some, especially black women, find it a challenge to go for the gusto sometimes. People associate long hair with super sexy. Short hair gets called “Cute!” When you’re surrounded by overly-obsessed-about-hair people, they can make you feel crazy for cutting, dying or doing anything out of the ordinary to your own frickin’ hair.

“What made you cut your hair?” People asked me constantly this week, as if they saw me with a bottle of wine, sitting on the floor having a Waiting to Exhale episode, and got scissor happy over the Spring Break.

“Why did you cut your hair?” They wonder if this drastic change was brought on by an onset of lowered self-esteem because I obviously have men issues. However they find a way to say it looks cute on me so that I don’t feel immediately ostricized by them. Gee thanks!

Hair does not dictate whether I should or should not deserve to be fancied by an interesting suitor, employed by places that fit my persona, or be surrounded by like minded individuals that so happen to share a similar style. Right? I wonder if hair has any impact on what you attract.

Hmmm, let’s play with this theory.

When you see a rocker chick, she is dating a rocker guy!

When you see a natural afro sista, she is dating a afro-centric brotha.

When you see a girl with Pink Hair, and bestie is sporting Purple.

This can go on forever and ever but I see you get my drift. Bottom-line is I AM NOT CRAZY FOR CUTTING MY HAIR because guess what girls? THE ISH GROWS BACK!

You know what else is interesting? Life is tricky! So instead of wondering how your spectators feel about the length of your hair and other oddly-all-up-in-your-business concerns, just know that people will wonder about who you are regardless of what you do and how you look. They want to go further then that. They want to know WHY?

So I say:

Cut It…Chop It…Crop It…Color It…Smack a wig on…Weave it and Whip It…Flip It…Go Natural…Wear it Straight or Don’t…Pony Up, Shave the Sides or Go Bold and  Be Bald…Take Pictures of It and share it with your grand children.

Take pride in whatever you decide and remember to keep it GLAM Honey!!!

-lex

 

What she said. . .

I LOVE that we are embarking on this journey publicly,we are WAY to interesting to keep our therapeutic insanity to ourselves. Let us put a band-aid on our/your drama while offering (our)real life solutions that get us through our day to diz-ay!

*(side note) Feeling like I am not apart of this technology savvy world. I’m way too young to not know the ins and outs of our social media frenzied society.
We’ll figure this out together BFF!
-Ms J (for the kids OWWWWW!)