I am not my hair

For the last 3 days, I have loved the way my hair has looked. It has been my best feature. Normally, I try to avoid all mirrors but this week I have been seeking them out and I have felt absolutely beautiful!

This morning, I decided to wash, blowdry and flat-iron my hair - all things I normally do - but my hair turned out differently today. It wasn't hideous but it wasn't gorgeous either. Consequently, I have been battling negative self-talk all day today and feeling less attractive because of it.

Why do we women feel the need to define ourselves by our hair? Am I any less of a Nubian queen because my crown is not perfect. Do I cease being a loyal friend, a compassionate lover or an all around good person because my hair doesn't look as good today as it did yesterday? Do I have any basis for feeling less about who I am because my hair is less than what it could be? I think India.arie may be on to something.

I missed Shane Battier mingling with the common folk!

I had a ticket to watch the Grizzlies play the Charlotte Bobcats at the FedExForum last Sunday afternoon but the woman in me took over and I decided to go shopping instead. It would be just my luck that a game that threatened to be less than ordinary turned out to be the exact opposite.

Just before tip-off, there was a fire in an elevator shaft. Twelve thousand people, including players and other Grizzlie personnel, had to be evacuated. When the game finally resumed an hour and a half later, referees began handing out technical fouls to the goody-two-shoe Grizzlies like they were candy, which ignited the normally sedate crowd and inspired them to do a wave. To top it off, the Grizzlies won in a tight game. I miss all the fun!

Beautyshop

Spending 3 hours or more at the beauty salon is the cross many black women must carry. Making the experience bearable is the wide range of topics we discuss and the enthusiasm with which we discuss them. Everything from politics and social issues to who Halle Berry is dating now. There’s never a dull moment. Here’s a sampling of my most recent visit. I wish I had brought a tape recorder, as this doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.

On George Bush and Condoleeza Rice

Beautician: W knows he is hitting that and he loves it! It’s going to be the story of the century when everybody finds out that Bush and Condi have a child together and nobody knew it because she’s so skinny no one could tell she was pregnant.

On Oprah and Stedman

Pregnant client: Did ya’ll hear that Oprah and Stedman are going to get married?

Beautician: Yeah, 20 years ago!

Pregnant client: No, this is a new rumor. They are supposed to have a wedding planned.

Me: Stedman is Oprah’s cover; she is not going to marry him.

Beautician: Yeah, she’ll marry Gail before she marries Stedman.

On boobs and being pregnant

Beautician: How far along are you?

Pregnant client: Three and a half months.

Beautician: I can tell. Your belly is starting to stick out and your boobs are getting bigger.

Pregnant client: Yeah, my husband loves my boobs. He’s like “Ooooohhhh” (she feigns excitement).

Beautician: Men think your tits belong to them. Even after the baby comes, they will try to drink some of the milk. They think you produce it for their benefit.

On Internet dating

Beautician: One of my clients went on a date with this guy she met on the Internet. He took her to dinner and announced that even though his profile says he is looking for love what he really wants is some ass. He then added that he thinks that when men and women are dating they should share the financial responsibility and proceeded to tell her they should decide before they order how they are going to handle the check. He recommended that she buy tonight and he said he would buy on the next date.

Me: I hope she offered to split the check and never see him again.

Beautician: She told him to order whatever he wanted; she was just going to have a coke and 30 minutes later, she left him at the restaurant.

On black men

Beautician: Why do you think everybody wants to date a black man? Because black men have it going on. They are beautiful creatures. I’ve met some black women who use these Internet dating services and think they have to expand their horizons because there are no good black men out there. I tell them they need to expand their horizons all right but out of the city or state they live in. Search for men elsewhere. There are good black men out there; you just have to find them.

Sweet Sixteen, here we come! Everything that happens after this is just gravy.

Independent woman, my ass!

I like to think of myself as an independent woman. A 21^st century gal. To quote Aretha Franklin: a sister doing it for herself. Truth be told, I am anything but independent. Like the millions of unenlightened women before me, all I really want is a man to take care of me. Not financially, I work my butt off everyday accomplishing that task. That I can handle. What I need is someone to take care of the little things. Those odd duties that traditionally belong to men and that I would rather not have to deal with.

Here is a perfect example of what I am talking about. I was working at my desk the other day when I noticed a wasp sitting about 8 inches away from me. I screamed like a schoolgirl and then sat there frozen, staring at the creature. My boss looked up from his paperwork, walked over to my desk, smacked the wasp with his bare hand and casually went back to his office while I breathed a sigh of relief. THAT is exactly what I need! Someone who is willing to ride up on his white horse and rescue me from the mundane yet annoying events of life.

I became convinced that I needed a man in my life when I tried to change the battery in my smoke detector. I have yet to find the compartment it goes in. Clearly, the evidence suggests that I need someone in my life. If not a man, then an attendant.

I have never wanted to be married more than when I discovered a dead mouse on my patio. I practically fell to my knees and begged God to send me a husband that very minute. After several moments had passed and with no Prince Charming in sight, I was forced to don a makeshift HAZMAT uniform and scoop the dead rodent up myself, cursing my singlehood all the while.

Such actions do not befit dainty southern belles like me. I have not been taught to handle these kinds of situations. My training consisted of learning to bat my eyelashes and fan myself in such a way as to entice men to do my bidding. It makes for me being a much happier albeit less liberated woman.

Three-Six Mafia, your work here is done!

A couple of co-workers and I were having a serious discussion today on the various eras one lives through when one of them commented on the difficult nature of our current time. The other co-worker, an elderly, Caucasian female responded, “Yeah, it’s hard out here for a pimp.”

I almost fell off my chair laughing.

As a rapper, you know you have arrived when little old white women are quoting your lyrics.

Congratulations to the Univeristy of Memphis Men's Basketball team for winning the C-USA Tournament Championship title for the first time in 19 years!

Now let's go dancin'!

Congrats to Shane Battier...

For being named to the 2006-08 USA Senior National Team. Make mama proud!











Which brings us to...

GrizzBabe's X-mas wish list: Item #2

2. Puh-leeaase let the Grizzlies make the playoffs and not get swept...again.

Yo' Santa, you know you're my boy, right?

Chivalry is not dead...yet.

As I crossed the parking lot the other day, heading toward the bookstore entrance, a man about 15 feet ahead of me stopped, waited for me to catch up and politely held the door open as he allowed me to enter ahead of him.

Maybe it's because I live in the south but I can't remember the last time a man did not open the door for me. I assume that such a slip in manners has occurred, but I have no recollection of it. By my estimation, every man within the last year who has approached an entrance at the same time as I have has always held open the door for me. It is not that I stand there waiting for them to do so; they willingly take the initiative. My uncle practically races to the door so he can open it for me.

This is not a gesture I take lightly. I always make it a point to say thank you in a tone that suggests this courtesy was a pleasant surprise. And it usually is. Even though it happens all of the time, I never expect it.

Such chivalry may not be dead but it is slowly waning. I can remember, as a teenager, visiting my mom at her office. She introduced me to a group of men who stood up as we entered the room. This particular act of gentlemanliness never happens to me anymore.

If chivalry is dying, my gender is partly to blame. It seems we women have traded chivalry for independence and equal treatment. Some women are actually offended by men performing acts of kindness reserved solely for the opposite sex. Personally, I am not ready to throw the baby out with the bath water. I enjoy the gallantry. With every swing of the hinges, I am reminded of the beautiful differences between men and women that I have come to embrace.