I am Not my Hair

I got hair issues ya'll.

Somehow down the line, as I think I've mentioned before, I've "gone natural." It's in quotations because it wasn't really a concious decision, but more a case of practicality=thriftiness. Let me explain.

As most of you know, I decided last year to accommodate Woodstock's request for me to grow my hair out. Now, I must say that I personally favor the short 'do. When my hair is longer, it tends to grow into this boring bob that goes from: wrap to curls to flips. The short spiky cut is like an automatic bit of excitement regardless of what I put on that day. But, I digress.

In order to better facilitate my hair growth, I've been getting weaves. When Woodstock left, I had a weave, and when I took it out to get my braids, I figured putting a relaxer in would be a waste of time and money. Five months later, I realized that my relaxer had almost completely grown out. Now, a year later, I have a full out 'fro. And therein lies the problem.

Among my friends and associates are two schools of thought on my hair. Half totally hate it, and the other have like it. There is no middle ground. On the "hate" side are Woodstock, Mom, and Lil sis. On the "like" side are Roadrunner 2, New Guy at work, White chick at work, and one of the Gulfport crew. Now, those on the "hate" side have pretty much erred on the side of straight hair. I know for a fact that mom and Lil Sis dismiss those "nappy" styles and I was actually surprised that mom liked the kinky twists I sported for two months (I thought she'd deem it too "ethnic"). I could go into a whole tirade about how it seems that those from the Dirty South are less likely than those slightly north of the Mason Dixon line to be accepting of natural hairstyles, but that's a whole different post.

The problem is that I actually like the fro. I put some gel in the front and rocked a psuedo afro puff while running errands on the economy last week. It was so easy, and it felt good to have my real hair out for the first time in a year. But when I told Woodstock, he gave me an on-the-verge-of-crying emoticon until I assured him that only Germans had seen the natural and I would resume my weave-wearing for work and all other places where I would have to interact with Americans.

Now, I must add that Woodstock isn't completely anti-natural, he just doesn't like the fro. He can get with the twists and the little curly 'dos, but sadly, my hair is waaaay more kinky than curly.

In any case, we both agreed that my best bet would be to wait until we get to the states until I make a decision about what to do with my hair. I will have more options, and I am hesitant to make a rash decision, though it's easy to do when I'm slathering my hair with conditioner, struggling to comb through my kinks.

So for now, I guess i will continue to hide my thick unruly main under straight layers of weaves and remember that it won't always be this way. Once I get to the states, I will make an appointment to see a natural haircare specialist to see my options. Maybe I will reconsider, put in a relaxer or a texturizeror my family will learn to embrace my naps. Either way, I can't wait until my locs can finally be free.

Back to Black

I have a confession to make.

I like Amy Winehouse. For months, I saw her name and picture splashed across the gossip blogs and rags. I hated her sickly frame and - as much as I like big hair - her natty boufant. And I didn't like that she was listed under the "Blackmusic" genre (in Germany, it's not hip hop/r&b/rap; it's Blackmusic). I'd never actually heard any of her songs, save for a snippet of "Tears Dry on Their Own" I found on Concrete Loop. Not having an American radio station listen to, I'm waaaay behind on the latest hits. But I refused to accept this lady as the hottest new thing before having listened to her.

That all changed when a friend, trying to convince another friend how great Amy Winehouse was, copied her first CD, "Frank." I skimmed through the CD before passing it along, and as usual, was unimpressed by my first listen. But then I got hooked on one of the songs - number 4: F$%k Me Pumps. Honestly, how could you not like a song that contains these lyrics?
"You don't like ballers/They don't do nothing for ya,/But you'd love a rich man six foot two or taller."

or my personal favorite:

"Don't be too upset/If they call you a skank/Cuz like the news everyday you get pressed."

What? You don't get it? I guess you had to be there. Anyway, although I only liked a couple of songs on "Frank" I broke down and bought her newest CD, "Back to Black" on iTunes. It was only $9.99, so I figured what the heck?

And I'm feeling it. These songs ... this lady is a mess. But maybe the reason I can get into it is because I'm a bit of a mess too. The lyrics make me laugh out loud sometimes. I mean, the beats are cool, but you can tell that she writes her lyrics the way she talks. Take this line from "Wake up along": "I stay up clean the house, so I'm not drinking." Or from Rehab (I'm embarrassed to admit this is my favorite): "The man said why you think you here/I said, I have no idea."

Spoken like a true drunk.

Anyway, you don't have to take my word for it, here's a video. But close your eyes: seriously, the emaciated body and hair mess up the whole atmosphere. Enjoy!

F#$k Me Pumps




Back to Black

Bored

I think I'm having a quarter-life crisis.

I can't help thinking that the types of things I want to do these days are better suited for a 21-year-old, but I can't help it. I'm used to change. I can't stand to always be a part of the ordinary, and there's nothing more prevalent in the Army than ordinary.

Case in point: I want to get my ears pierced. Not the regular way, but an industrial piercing, where a barbell goes into one part of the ear into another.


I think it may be because I'm entering the "third-year itch." Since high school, I've lived three places. College was four years, Tallahassee three, and now I'm feeling like it's about time to move on from Germany. Don't get me wrong, I love it here. But I'm starting to feel that urge to do something new. Something different. Like right now, I'm listening to Amy Winehouse. Not such a big deal since she's gone kinda mainstream now. But I have a little heartburn over it. It's different enough to make it OK, but mainstream enough to give me guilt over listening to her. Of course, I have the same guilt over our new vehicle, but that's another post for another day.

I'm scouring 80s-themed T-shirts (remember Jem and Holograms? The Fraggles?) on 80stees.com, deciding which Tee would best suit my sparkly black and red leggings. And as previously mentioned, contemplating alternative piercings and tattoos.

I just need to do something different, but I don't know what. So far, I have a trip to Poland and a trip to Dachau scheduled. Perhaps that will do the trick.

All I know is I'm getting a little antsy, and feel like I need to break out of my mold.

Hopefully, buying 200 euro worth of dutch ovens and serving dishes does the trick. Otherwise, I might have to break out the AMEX and get that "Ride or Die" tattoo. Just kidding Woodstock.

Unless you wanna do it.

Nappy Roots Day

I stumbled across this blog, written by a St. Petersburg staffer, on tampabay.com today. The entry is about a white teacher who was suspended - and will be required to attend diversity training - for calling a black child's hair "nappy." And while the reporter didn't editorialize the story, it made me wonder: Is it offensive for a white person to use the term "nappy' regardless of context?

The blog story reads, "According to an account by the district’s Office of Professional Standards, a student asked Call *the suspended teacher* why another teacher was combing the hair of an African American girl. Call responded, 'She is trying to do something to her nappy hair.' Another teacher reported the remark to an administrator.
Call, a veteran teacher with a good employment record, told investigators she did not know the term was offensive."

This is what the board members who handed out her one-day suspension had to say.

“I don’t know that the word is racially offensive,” Clark said. “I’m not black, so I can’t speak from personal experience. But it is an adjective, correct? It describes your hair.’’Mary Brown, the board’s only black member, said the term has been used in a negative way to describe black people. Another board member said she'd stumbled across a web site, "A Nappy Hair Affair," which seemed to celebrate the word nappy, but also said she didn't use the term.

Hm, I'm a little stumped here. As a black woman, I know who I should be offended, or am expected to be, but I don't know that I am. Is "nappy" the new N-word? One of those things that can be used and accepted in the black community, but is considered a racial slur when used by whites?

For me, it's more context than the actual words. Imus's infamous "nappy-headed hoes" was obviously meant to be deragatory, whereas this woman's words were, I don't know, merely ignorant? And what if a black teacher had said it? Would both black teachers have shared a knowing chuckle, and glance? A sort of "I've been there" moment?

I'm really torn about this, and how I feel about it. I don't think the teacher meant it as a hurtful statement, but then again, as a teacher, I don't think I would have made the comment.

I talked to a white colleague about this, and she thinks that though the comment probably wasn't racist, it was inappropriate. But while listening AND agreeing with her, that little voice in the back of my head said, "Well, what would you expect her to say?"

So, I want another opinion. Was this racist? Is "nappy" in and of itself off-limits to whites, despite having heard more than a few white people refer to their own hair as nappy?

I think I am pretty objective on most matters of race. And although I don't immediately associate every slight, real or perceived, with race, I understand that sometimes race IS a factor.

But still, I sometimes wonder if other blacks think my background and diversity of my friends, disqualifies me from matters of race anyway because I'm "not black enough."

But THAT is a completely different issue.

P.S. I considered putting picture on here, but didn't to avoid any potential racist overtones :)

Wishes

Let me get a piece of business out of the way first: Roadrunner you owe me 50 cents.

Ok, my wishes? It's hard for me to reflect on those things I'd wished I'd done without feeling just a little bit disappointed in myself. This exercise just reminds me of the goals that I failed at, or those I let slip by without even trying. For me, it's less "zen" and more looking-at-my-life-flash-before-my-eyes and not liking what I see. But hey, RR it's your birthday week, and if a list of wishes is what you want - my impending depression notwithstanding - a list is what you'll get.

1) I wish I'd taken my French professors advice and continued on to intermediate French. At the time, I was looking at what it would take to finish school in 4 years, not what would enrich my life or impact my career. This is a major sticking point for me since my dad was a foreign language teacher. He would be so disappointed.

2) I wish I'd planned better for the future. When I left for Germany, I had a barebones plan, and no way of executing what little I did have. Now career-wise I'm scrambling to make up for the last 3 years.

3) I wish I had continued playing the piano and clarinet. It's been so long, now I have to be re-taught. It's a shame to squander a gift like that.

4) I wish that every now and then, I could just let it go, whatever the "it" of the moment may be. If something annoys me, I obsess about it. And my obsession with that thing annoys me even more, which leads to more obsessing and - yeah, it's a never-ending loop of obsession and annoyance in my head.

5) I wish I had the nerve to wear a huge afro and dye it red. No major revelations about this one, I just think it would look really cool. And so would a tattoo on the back of my neck, but that's a different story.

I could go on and on, but won't.

And I'll try really hard not to obsess over this list of wishes after I hit publish.

Back in the Day

High school was simpler, easy.

Those days of carefree living. Only worrying about grades and whether he liked us or not. Not knowing that really WAS the best time our lives, just like our parents said. No wine, no vodka to clear our minds, we didn't need it. No bills, no responsibilities, no war. I miss those days now. And I'm tired.Tired of all those things that we could have never imagined would have happened when we were in high school. Buying a new outfit. Going to the game. Hanging out with our friends, not a care in the world. And as much as I thought then that I didn't have a real childhood, I realize now that I did.

And now it's too late to appreciate it.

Crazy

Does it make me crazy that ...

**I'm tired of hearing about the TB guy? He's OK, the people on the plane are OK, Now give him some antibiotics and a shot of penicillin and let's move on.

**It annoys me to see all these slow a$$ police "chases" on the news? Why you gotta interrupt something I might actually be interested in to show me another shot of the same person driving the same car on the same road? Just let me know when you catch 'em.

**I'm a little bit jealous of the Schweinfurt HeShe's swagger? Seriously, someone who can convince countless soldiers (not just the closeted ones) to believe he's a woman got some secrets I want to know.

**I don't care to see the "distinguished visitor" the PAO claims is coming to Schweinfurt today. If it's not Barack Obama, Common or Woodstock, why do I need to hear what he (or she) has to say in person when I can read about it later?

**As a career counselor, I'm getting paid to help soldiers with their career path when I'm still trying to solidify a career future my d#$m self?

**I think adults obsessed with the Harry Potter books and movies are kind of weird? I'm not saying they shouldn't read them. I'm just asking if it's necessary to talk about it. And post Harry Potter pictures your myspace page. And take off work early so you can go see the movie.

**My shoe just broke and I'm trying to decide whether it's acceptable to attempt fix it with mixture of staples, super glue and thread instead of throwing them away?

**I think colored tazers are stupid? Since when did personal safety devices become an accessory? And the sad part is, someone will say, wow I'll finally break down and get one. Not because I've been mugged 3 times, but because it matches my pink Razr. Although I can't say for certain I wouldn't carry a Beretta 92 SB with hot pink side panels.

What gets on YOUR nerves?