I Am Not My Hair

The stylist, Roger, picked my hair out and took out his scissors.

I looked down and saw the first clump of hair fell onto my smock.

"What are you thinking?" my sister, Russatta asked.
"That it's too late to turn back now," I said, halfway joking.
"No it's not," she quipped. "You can always get up and run out of here. I'll catch up with you around the corner."

But we both knew I wouldn't move. This was a day who's time had finally come.

I made the concious decision to go natural during a visit to Michigan last Thanksgiving. I was in town for my sister's funeral and another sister was putting a konk in my head so I'd look decent for the ceremony. I sat at our dining room table, forehead and ears slathered in Vaseline as she dug gloved hands into the container of chemicals. I tried to figure out how I'd keep the style up when I got back to Rhode Island, seeing as how I'd yet to find a stylist there.

For the last 22 years, I'd worked hard to make my hair, essentially, a blank slate. My strands have been fried, permed, braided, curled, cut, twisted and wrapped for years. It hung listlessly from my head, with no identity or personality of its own. I'd spend hours flat ironing my hair to stave the dreaded naps away. And as a result, everyone loved my hair. Guys ran their fingers through it. Girls complimented me on the sleekness of my wrapped hairstyle.

Everyone loved my hair but me. I longed for hair that said something. That embodied who I am as a person. That wouldn't require as much maintenance.

To me, going natural was the solution. My hair would be free to do what it pleased while my limp bone straight tresses would be replaced with thick kinks or curls in a style all my own. In January, I lobbed off five inches or so of my hair to ease myself into a shorter style. The months that followed were filled with flat ironed days, roller set nights and braided weekends.

By Saturday, I'd had enough.

It was raining in NYC and the natural set I'd been rocking for the last week was done with. By the time we got to the salon, my slight waves had turned into a frizzy poofball.

"Yeah, it's time to get this handled," I told Russatta as we walked back to the car from the event we'd just attended. "My hair is a mess."

We hopped in the car and headed to Follicles in Brooklyn to make my transition. By then, I'd already heard words of encouragement from Russatta and one of her friends, who'd gone natural recently. They told their war stories and joked about how they bought huge earrings and lots of makeup to make sure no one mistook them for a girl shortly after they began rocking the naturals.

I didn't really ease my fears, but just made me more anxious. I sat down in Roger's chair and told him I wanted to cut all of the perm off. He said little and soon, the floor was littered with clumps of my hair.

Russatta was sitting in the chair to my left, for moral support.

I couldn't bring myself to look in the mirror. What if I looked like a boy when he finished? My head is too big to carry a natural, I reasoned. What will they say back in Rhode Island?

Then, Roger spun me around. He was finished. I glanced in the mirror. A woman with a tiny afro peered back at me. It didn't look strange. It actually looked pretty cool. Her head really wasn't that big - well, at least the hair didn't look bad.

We went over to the shampoo sink and Roger began washing my tresses. At one point, I lifted my head up slightly, so he could get a better hold of my hair, just as I'd always done at the hairdressers. Mid-lift, I remembered I didn't have long hair anymore. I gently laid my head back into the sink.

An hour later, I emerged from the salon with a head full of comb twists. The damp New York air felt odd on my scalp. I rubbed my head, fingering the small coils that rested there. This would take some getting used to.

I'm glad I cut my hair. It was something I needed to do for me. Since I've shown my new look to friends and family members, for the most part, the response is the same.

"It looks great!" they exclaim. "It's so you!"

I thank them and smile, wondering in the back of my mind exactly what that means. Then I dismiss the thought and run my fingers through my hair, fingering the small coils now resting there.

(Captions, top to bottom: "I am not my hair" - otherwise, I'd be at the bottom of someone's trash bag in Brooklyn; Russatta and I just before I got my hair cut; Me, post cut, rocking a t-shirt with my new daily affirmation.)

My day of liberation

Saturday, June 24, 2006 will forever be engrained in my hair history. The story is coming soon. Are you ready?

This post brought to you by the color green and the letter T

So, I got my letter from Jarrod, who got his letter from Jameil, who got her letter from one of her friends, who I'm sure got their letter from one of their friends and the cycle goes on and on and on and on....

Get at me if you wanna get a letter.

And now, ten things that start with the letter T:

*Tacos - The perfect food for a party. Taco parties are the bomb and, I believe, should be held as often as possible. Think about it: you've got friends, you've got music (or an activity) and you've got tacos. Who could ask for anything more? Not me.

*Troop - Remember them? "All I do is think of you/day and night/that's all I do/I can't get you off my mind/think about you all the time/all the time" My sister had their poster plastered on a wall in the room we shared when I was younger. They had some hits. I wonder where they are now.

*Tahitian Treat - One of my vices in high school. For my HU heads, this stuff is like the Gourmet Services Crack Punch from Caldwell Cafes. When I was in Detroit this summer, I'd get one every so often, just to get a sugar rush. Sure, I was bouncing off the walls for the rest of the day, but it was worth it. It always bothered me because they hardly had it anywhere in the south. So, whenever I see Tahitian Treat now, it reminds me of high school and home.

*Tantilizing T - The nickname given to me by one Mark Stringfellow during the last production night at the New York Times Student Journalism Institute Class of 2003. We'd all come back to the newsroom after the banquet to put the finishing touches on the paper. It was getting late and I'd already laid out the double truck bio page at least 5 times (each time it kept getting lost). Everyone was tired. Then, the printer malfunctioned. So we had to cut and paste huge pieces of paper on the walls and do our markups from there. But Mark and Akeya remained positive, and gave everyone nicknames as they cut tape to paste the pages together. For some reason, Mark felt I should be Tantilizing T. To this day, I have absolutely no idea why because I stayed with the Buford ponytail, some jeans and a graphic tee on. Ah well. When you got it honest, I guess you got it.

*Thick - So, I don't have a black girl booty. And finally, I'm okay with that. I never had it and I honestly don't think I ever will. For some reason, I used to think that since I had big hips, that made up for it. It doesn't. But that's cool. I still look good. Though I do sometimes have a bit of booty-envy.

*Thugs - Don't go to college. Nor do they have bank accounts. At my alma mater, young men sold weed from their dorm rooms and got buck if you talked about their hood. They'd talk their "gangsta" talk to all the chickenheads who didn't have enough sense to know these boys weren't talking about nothing. I'd watch them spit game on the steps of Ogden Circle and laugh, thinking if these cats were actually put in the hood, they'd probably wet their pants. They'd get laughed off the block. You can't be a gangsta taking Macroeconomics at 10 a.m.

*Toilet - To me, a toilet is a toilet is a toilet, no matter where it may be. I didn't (and still don't) care if I was at school, work, home, a friend's house or at the mall, if I gotta go, I gotta go. I figure if it's the comfort of my stomach versus the comfort of your nose, my tummy wins hands down every time. I do my business quickly and quietly and get gone so no one sees me. But if they do, I'll just smile at them as I wash my hands. And I always do courtesy flushes.

*Tomfoolery - I'm up for it. Any time, any day, any place, with anybody. It keeps me motivated.

*Towels - I always have clean ones for guests, unlike someone I know.

*Travel - I just got my passport, so I'll be doing a lot more of this in the future. I've always wanted to do it, and I have, to some extent. So far, I've been to New York, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, Maryland, D.C., Virginia, North Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, California, Ohio and, of course, Michigan. I've also been to Canada, but as far as foreign countries go, that hardly counts. My sister, Russatta, travels all of the time to cool places like Thailand. She's going to Africa this summer. I gotta get some stamps on my passport, man. I'll probably start with Canada, though.

A post for Kells

First off, shout out to Kells for giving me Squirt and shooting the bobos with me Sunday night while I was in the D.

And here, in tribute, is Kells favorite eatery in my hometown of Flint, Mich.

Note the name, Kells. Note the name.

Shameless Plug

I've joined forces with four other up and coming journalists to profile our ups and downs, struggles and lessons over the next three years. It's ambitious, but I think you'll enjoy the journey.

Check it out: www.ten95.blogspot.com

Waxing Poetic

One stormy Saturday night, my sis Russatta, her beau - Ocean, Marcus and I decided to tap into our creative side after a particularly heated game of Scrabble. We played a game of round-robin poetry which, Russatta explains, works like this:

It works this way for two people. Guy writes the first complete line of poetry and only the first word of the second line. He hides the first line, showing only the second line to Gal. Gal completes the second line that Guy started and supplies only the first word of the third line. Gal hides the first and second lines, showing only the third line to Guy. It goes back and forth until you decide to wrap it up. What emerges is anyone's guess.

And here are the fruits of our labor. Next stop: Def Poetry Jam

Untitled*
Today is the first day of the rest of our

Lives on the corner with a bottle of beer

His girl was all over me like black on tar

Then a little leprechaun popped from underneath the tree

Biting my tongue to hold back the words

Streaming on his soul like R. Kelly on a 14 year old

Hoping that she's open and not gloatin' in her soul

Scrabble dreams broken, now she's locin', eyes rolled

Because Scrabble cheaters never make it far in love!

*copyright 2006, Russatta, Ocean, Marcus, Talia

Following Instructions

Ask and you shall recieve. Who's next on the tag list? Ummm, how about whoever feels moved to do so. No pressure. Just let me know so I can go read your list, too.

1. If you could be doing what you really want to be doing for a living, what would it be?
I already do it. I love being a journalist. But I think if I could get paid to cook for fun, that’d be awesome, too. Grabbing the EVOO and chopping scallions for a paycheck – yeah, that’d be cool.

2. If you could slap the crap out of any famous person, alive or dead, who would it be?
Without getting arrested for treason or anything like that? George W. Bush.

3. What's the dumbest decision you've made in the past 5 years?
Wow, that encompasses all of college. We’ll skip over the nights of drinking and debauchery. I’d say not following my gut when it came to Young Gangsta. I could have saved myself a lot of energy and time if I had done so. Learned a lot, but it was still dumb.

4. Give up one for a year: (good) sex or (good) music.
Sex. Easy. Sometimes you need a good song to help you make it through.

5. Dudes, would you rather have a big dick or a great sense of humor? Ladies, nice tits & azz or common sense?
I say common sense. My body won’t really help me when I’m interviewing the chief of police on his department’s treatment of minorities during traffic stops. But then again…

6. So you've been invited to an all expense paid Blogger Prom in The Bahamas. You're sitting at the bar on the beach. Which blogger do you want to join you for hours of good convo?
I’d say I’d bring Hizzle, Kells and Velocity to get the party going. For some testosterone, I’d bring Jarrod – just cuz he’s hilarious. And he’d probably enjoy being surrounded by women in bikini’s on the beach getting liquored up.

7. Which blogger would you most like to cuddle with on the beach? (And don't defer to your current significant other either. Infidelity won't count against you. Duh.)
I’m still going to say the man-friend. Just cuz I like cuddling with him. With anyone else, it wouldn’t be so much as cuddling as it would be me using their body as my pillow to take a nap. Not the same.

8. You're going on a 5 hour road trip...which 5 CDs do you bring
Outkast – Stankonia or Love Below/Speakerboxx
Love Jones - the soundtrack
The Fugees – The Score
Jill Scott – Who is Jill Scott
One of my mix tapes with soul, reggae, jazz, hip hop and anything else I deem appropriate

9. Would you rather bury your children young or have your children bury you young?
Bury my children young. I wouldn’t want them to have to go through most of their lives without a mother. Also, I’d know they wouldn’t have experienced all the heartache and pain that comes with growing old, and they’ll be able to live the rest of their lives in heaven.

10. What's your biggest insecurity?
That I’m not living up to my potential and that somehow, I’m a fraud

11.What's the first blog you read every day...or however often you read them?
The Man-Friend. I check to see if he’s updated, then I check out Velocity. She updates fairly often and she always cracks me up.

12. When's the last time you peed your pants?
Ummm, honestly, I can’t recall. I remember one time I peed in the bed and I got the whooping of life. Don’t think I peed on or in anything besides the toilet beyond that. Unless you count those times when you hold your bladder so long a few droplets seep out. If you counting those, I plead the fifth.

13. Which was better, your first kiss or your first pay check?
LOL, first paycheck. I was working at Merrill Lynch in High School, getting paid $10 an hour. I thought I was PIZAID! First kiss was actually a make out session with this guy I knew the summer after my junior year. Mama wasn’t home and I thought I was grown…

14. Do you have kids? Want kids?
I don’t have kids and I wonder sometimes if I even want them. I’d love to have some grown ups. But I don’t know if I want or can handle the responsibility of molding another person’s life into something fantastic. I can hardly do it for myself. Shoot, some days I forget to eat. What I look like having some kids just so ya’ll can call “the people” on me? You got me bent.

15. You get dropped off at home after the office holiday party by your bitch azz boss that you can't effing stand...you exit the car and he peels out, runs a red light at your corner and rolls up an unsuspecting midget. The next day the midget watch groups are on TV outraged at the heartless hit and run, and are calling for any witnesses to please come forward...that half dead midget has a family at home waiting on C-mas presents. Would you take $1000 hush money? $500? $100? A six pack?
Alright, I believe I’d have to be a stand up citizen and squeal. Specially if my boss (a journalist no less!) isn’t coming forward. And bump job security – my work speaks for itself. Besides, who’s going to take the word of a guy who runs over midgets?

16. Live the rest of your life without your eyebrows or your fingernails?
Eyebrows. You can draw them on, but you need your fingernails for everything. I get mad when I get a hangnail and have to peel my nail down to the meaty part. That junk hurts. Eyebrows, I say.

17. What makes you angry?
Dismissal, people not living up to their potential and bills

18. What makes you horny?
The smell of my guy, a guy in the kitchen cooking up a fabulous meal, frank conversation, soft touches and long kisses

19. What makes you nervous?
Walking alone to my car at night, guys who make catcalls at me, weird sounds in my apartment, not hearing from someone once they’ve reached their destination, and in some instances, attention

20. What makes you smile?
Lunchables, food in general, the color green, my man-friend, reminiscing on good times, making new memories, photo albums, good books, great music, Flint, family, unexpected phone calls from friends, success, cool words like kerfuffle and spry, oh yeah - and gummi bears

Summer Vacation

From the look on her face, I thought my boss had good news.

She was walking over to me with a slight smile on her face and a piece of paper in her hand. Reaching over the half-wall into my cubicle, she handed the paper to me.

The Vacation List.

"You have seniority over someone," she said with a smile. "Pass it along when you're finished."

The paper mocked me as she walked back to her office.

I gazed at the list, not really sure what to make of it.

Seeing as how I was hired before January, I don't get a week's vacation. Instead, I get some God-awful computation that equates something random like every five days I work + every story I write - the number of cookies in a pack of Oreos = one day of vacation time for me. Once I clock a year, I'll automatically get two weeks vacation. Until then, things look a little bleak for me.

Still, the list held my attention. From the dates requested by my seven other co-workers, it looked like I might be working every major holiday for the next 10 years.

A ping of sadness washed over me as I realized I'd be spending my summer working while my co-workers took weeks off at a time.

*Sigh*

At least there's always NABJ.

I got those headlights for cheap, cuz

Did you know you could get the headlinghts stolen off of your car?

I didn't. At least until this morning. Thankfully, I didn't have to learn from personal experience.

A Hampton friend of mine was helping his friend drive up to Providence from Atlanta yesterday. His friend had an internship at a company here and needed a place to crash for a day or so while they settled on some housing.

I offered up my house.

As I headed to the laundromat at the crack of dawn to wash towels and sheets and prep for their arrival, I sent a text to my friend to guage their status. They'd driven from ATL to NYC last night and stayed with a friend in Brooklyn until this morning.

My friend text me back with their location and then: "Tell me y our headlights got stolen"

Say what?

Apparently, during the night, someone popped the headlights out and the pair didn't notice they were missing until they went to head out in the morning.

When they pulled into my driveway this morning, two holes sat where the headlights used to be, making the Nissan look more like a expensive metal Jack-O-Lantern than the sedan it started its journey as.

And, unbenknownst to me, this is apparently not a new trend.

Apparently theives dismantle the car for parts and sell them on the black market, or use the parts in their own cars.

"Wonder what a headlight goes for on the crack market," the BF asked.

Not sure, but it's going to cost the friend of a friend $700 to get a new light for his car. Oh, and that's per light.

Means he's looking at $1400 easy - plus labor.

So, what's the moral of the story:

Whatever you do, don't drive your car in Brooklyn.