Shower Epiphanies Are Greatness

Last week, I was watching a video about what Republicans said they would do should they gain control of Congress in the fall/winter. Part of it including blocking Universal Health Care, the end of Don't Ask Don't Tell, extending tax cuts, and creating morally bankrupt immigration laws. It sickened and scared me. I closed the tab, and tried to move on with my life.

The next day, I got in the shower, yet couldn't shake the video out of my head. For some reason, the shower for me is another person's toilet. I come of with my best ideas there; I think more clearly. Thoughts and epiphanies come and go regularly.

That happened that morning. I was thinking about the GOP's blocking of the Democrats ending DADT and banning LGBT marriage in particular. While in that video, the Republican representatives were denouncing "Big Government" and saying how annoyed they were about the government being involved in the affairs and business of the individual, I found a gross hypocrisy inherent in what they were saying.

Shower epiphanies, y'all.

Republicans don't want to be told whether or not they can own guns. They don't want to be told what should be done with their money. They don't think the government has a right to do any of these things and more, yet many Republicans think that it's the government's right to interfere in the lives of individuals when it comes to sexual orientation. You can't tell them what to do with their money, but we can't let the LGBT community get married. They can't even openly serve in the military.

Where is there a bigger example of the so-called "Big Government" they're fighting against?

I'm not trying to paint all Republicans with the same brushstroke at all. But I can't help how many of those Republicans who want to "save America" by forcing the government to back off of their rights want to legislate discrimination and infringe on the rights of the individual, something they claim to be so against.

I should install a shower in my bedroom.

SMH.

On Thursday, my moms wasn't feeling well. I ended up taking her to the hospital to get some bloodwork and a CAT scan (she's just fine, by the way). While waiting for our turn, I decided to pull out my reading material to bide my time.

I started reading my newest Ebony magazine with the succulent El DeBarge on the cover. I turned the pages, reading the various articles, when I stumbled across this ad in the magazine. I took a picture with my Mac camera so it's mirrored, but take a look at the product being sold.

Yes, that is indeed SKIN BLEACHING CREAM.

Now, the product says that this cream is simply for lightening dark spots and restoring your normal skin tone. I find that hard to believe when it's called SKIN BLEACHING CREAM.

Now, believe me, I know all about having hyper-pigmentation. I have it on my neck, chest, around my lips, and my elbows (although I noticed yesterday that my elbows are looking better. I think it's the baby oil...). And I have to admit that my junior year of college, I hid from everyone my purchase of an Ambi product promising the same things as the above advertisement because of the insecurity I had about these blemishes.

Needless to say, the couple weeks I used the cream didn't really show any improvement an actually irritated my skin. Plus, it smelled like cow tongue. The plus side, though, is that they didn't tell you straight up that it was SKIN BLEACHING CREAM. They at least tried to camouflage that shit.

For dark skinned people, this is the crux of a major internalized inferiority complex. In places like India and Jamaica, skin bleaching creams are as common as chapstick, and all in the attempt to look white to attract mates or employment. But although I just wanted to lighten up areas of my body that were considerably darker than the rest, people use it to lighten up their whole bodies, even doing it to their infants.

Say it with me: This is some bullshit!!

If anything it's more horrifying than anything. And despite intent, I would question of anyone using cream like this. Make-up is a wonderful thing; just do that if you're insecure. These creams are incredibly dangerous and while it only irritated my skin after a few weeks of usage, these people who've used it for years are risking SKIN CANCER. That's freaking scary.

What's crazy, though, is how a magazine catering to African American women and women of the African diaspora can market a product like that. I guess they think their heart is in the right place, for they'd be "helping" insecure ladies, but bleaching cream, I believe, goes to far. Yeah, my skin's lighter, but I'm going to chemo. The ends truly justify the means!

Whachu talkin' bout Willis?

After my own dipping into the cream, I just didn't want to do it. I realized how crazy it was. I was tired of being insecure about the hyper-pigmentation. I had to get to a point of acceptance, and that's where I am right now. And the peace and solace that comes through acceptance is a wonderful thing. Besides, I'm still fly as hell.

I don't know. That ad just rubbed me the wrong way (pun not intended).

What do you think? Comment below!

WHAT'S in Your iTunes Library?! Day Six

Coheed and Cambria, "Welcome Home"

This performance is where I first discovered and fell in love with the song.

This version you can rock out to.

Coheed and Cambria -Welcome Home
Uploaded by bigheadche. - Watch feature films and entire TV shows.

Yes, it may be hard to believe, but I actually like to rock out. Sometimes, I miss having my long hair so that I can get up and headbang, feeling my hair hit my face numerous times in some weird form of a clap. I can get down with some heavy metal! And this song, my friend, goes hard.

You wanna know how I survived the hell we all have come to know as "high school"? This song. Right here. If it had not been for this song to channel my aggression and unrequited adoration through, who knows what jail cell I'd be sitting in and for what crime?

Even more, this song features song crazy impressive guitar riffs. The drummer, especially in the live performance (look for it on youtube) just gets it in. Lyrically and vocally, too, the song is amazing. There's some serious artistic commitment here.

Plus, the lead singer's hair is out of this world. I love it!

WHAT'S in Your iTunes Library?! Day Five

Jason Mraz, "I'm Yours"

This song is so unlike my usual musical interests, I feel. The only word I can use to describe this song is "whimsical." It makes me so happy! It's like that version of "Something Over the Rainbow." You know which one I'm talking about. The one that makes you want to dance in a setting island sun before cooling on a sandy beach sipping umbrella drinks with the one you love.

Anyway, the song is so cute, so full of glee. It makes me happy. WHIMSICAL!

WHAT'S in Your iTunes Library?! Day Four

When I saw the video for this song, I knew this was an absolute gem and classic. What can I say? I have a soft heart for pop....and half-naked men. |lifts eyebrows sleazily|

Plus, this is just totally danceable, and I love songs I can get my groove on to. And what an amazing and original way to pay homage to Barry White with a sample of "It's Ecstasy When You Lay Down Next to Me"?

The Day I Cut My Hair

I'm sorry I've been skimping on the posts! I've been busy hanging with friends and trying to stop being a failure so that I can get a job and do something positive with my life. My internet is also being a pain in the ass (Yeah, you, COMCAST!) You can only read blogs and play Facebook games for so long before things get boring and monotonous.

I've been thinking lately, though, about the day I cut my hair. I don't know why. Maybe it was my working with my hair, being amazed by its length after nine months. It was a very special day in my life, and I want to share that.

The last time I got a perm was on Halloween 2009. I looked kind of like this (pic is from 8/20/10):

I had been flirting with the idea of going natural for a while. My homie Lindsey had made the decision a few years before, and my wallet was quickly turning against me. But I wasn't sure. I had been getting perms for as long as I could remember; by this point, it was protocol, ritual. Besides, I had shoulder-length hair. I could NEVER cut that; I'd feel naked. And what about men? They like long, straight, flowing hair. Nah, I couldn't do it.

But the thought stayed in my mind. My hair was very unhealthy, and I wasn't taking care of it like I used to because Senior year of college is always a beast. And putting perms on my credit card every couple months was simply outrageous. I was conflicted.

Then I went to my aunt and uncle's house at Thanksgiving where my cousin debuted her new short 'do. I liked it. I asked her how it felt, and she absolutely loved it. I thought to myself that if she could do it, then I could too.

Then I posted this status on Facebook (I hope you can read it). Although I asked the question, I had already made the conclusion...

I was cutting my hair.

What was supposed to be a touch-up appointment was going to be the date of the Big Chop (BC). I was tired of all the bullshit that came with having a perm. I was going natural damn it.

In preparation for the big moment, I read two books about hair in the black community; I also watched Chris Rock's Good Hair. The shit blew my mind and made me more committed. I thought it was going to be easy after I read about the crazy shit our grandmothers, and even grandfathers, did to make their hair straight.

Then January 9, 2009 rolled around. I was all ready! I took pictures the night before in preparation for a photo montage of this new journey on Facebook. I woke up to an empty apartment. I only told a handful of people that I was doing this: my homie Lindsey and my roommate Lori. I didn't even tell my own mother for fear that she'd try to stop me!

Mari, my other rommate, was in Italy, and Lori was at work. I fooled around on the computer, growing excited about everything but also growing considerably nervous. As the time came closer to needing to leave and catch my bus, my nerves took hold. And when I get extremely apprehensive, I feel the need to go to the bathroom for #2.

I tried to convince myself not to do this. Obviously, the way my body was reacting to this decision was a clear sign that cutting my hair was absolutely a horrible idea.

But I thought about how I wanted to teach my daughter about her own natural beauty. I wanted to be true to myself. I wanted to know what the hair that grew out of my hair felt like in its God-given state. I thought about my damaged hair. And I also thought about how I simply couldn't afford to keep going to the shop in the attempt to do what? Look a certain way to appeal men? To have "manageability" by taking four hours every two weeks to wash, blowdry, flat-iron, moisturize, and wrap my hair and oil my scalp? Shit was ridiculous.

I got on my bus and arrived early. So early that the stores weren't open and the only people around were the old ladies who walk around the mall for their exercise. I pulled out my library-borrowed copy of Alice Walker's The Color Purple after sitting in a comfortable sofa and turned on my iPod shuffle to calm my nerves until it was time for my appointment.

It was all kind of a blur from there. I walked over to the JC Penney salon for my appointment with Dexter. I sat for a little bit in the chair in the waiting room, right leg shaking, but kept reading to take my mind off it all.

Soon, it was my turn to go to the Dexter's chair. I told him that instead of a perm, I wanted to cut my hair off. He jumped right into it, not missing a beat after making sure that I was absolutely sure about what I wanted to do. He grabbed his electric razor after putting on my smock and in no time I began to see my hair fall to the floor. I hadn't realized how long my hair was until I saw it on the black and white linoleum.

I could breathe a sigh of relief. I had done it. I was now natural. I now had short hair, and contrary to what I had thought previously, I looked great with it. Other ladies in the salon even complimented me on my new hairstyle as well as the gumption it took to do it.

After my appointment, I went to Claire's. It was time to buy some new earrings to complement my hair! I tried to buy some headbands too, but my hair was so short that I just looked dumb as hell with a headband on.

What stands out to me though are the subsequent pictures and looks in the mirror. I loved my new hairstyle. I loved what I had done though I had been literally scared shitless just hours before. I felt empowered, brand-new. This was a new leaf that I had turned. My hair, for me, was an exclamation of, "This is me. Take it or leave it!" I was uncompromising, steadfast. I was rebelling against the oppressive system that I was forced into, because, honestly, my mom didn't give me the choice when I was a kid of whether or not I wanted to get perms.

A lot of people don't think it's that big of a deal. "You cut your hair; you went natural; so what?"

But it is a big deal, considering the history of Black men and women and their hair. When you see people perming their three-year-old's hair or putting a sew-in into a toddler beauty queen, it's a very big deal. There is something radical and rebellious about going natural, no matter why you decided to do it.

And as I play with my mini-fro, twirling my curls with my fingers, I think about that momentous day in my life, a day I'll share with my children, a day I'll always remember.

So I say all this to say that that day was freaking sweet!!!

And I have never looked back. 8]

For Real.

Let me set up the premise for this post.

Yesterday was Labor Day, the celebration of the end of summer when family and greedy friends come over to eat your barbeque, shoot the breeze, catch up, and hang out. You take off work (or your blog 8]). You get your glutton on. You stay up late; I actually had to race the sun so I could beat it to bed.

Before I went to slumber, though, I spent a couple hours talking to a particular person whose identity will be withheld (and when you see where I'm going with this, you'll see why). We talked about a variety of subjects, which we always do. This particular conversation, took a strange turn for the worst...or for the bullshit.

This person brought up a situation with his former roommate who tried to force himself on a girl and didn't realize it was sexual assault. The person and the ex-roomie's mutual friend didn't see this particular incident as a problem (which is shitty in and of itself). The person told the mutual friend that the girl was awake and cognizant of the situation, and they both agreed that the situation that ex-roomie put the girl in was absolutely not cool.

Great, right?

Wrong.

The person then followed the anecdote with the words, "If she had been passed out, I would understand. Even I would have probably copped a feel..."

My mind stopped functioning. I was confused, shocked, damn-near dumbfounded. I must have heard this person wrong. Hell, I imagined this whole thing. Oh, how Barney has made my mind full of freaky, imaginative thoughts and possibilities. Whew!

No. The person said that. And meant it.

So, I couldn't let that ride. Nope; can't do it. As a woman and a human being, I had to set the person straight.

"You know that's sexual assault, right?" I said.

"No it's not."

Blank stare. "Yes it is. You're touching someone inappropriately without her knowledge and without her consent."

"But how would she know?"

A great big "OH HAAAAYELLLL NAAAAAW!!!!" with a full on dramatic turn and neckroll fully occurred in my head. Had I been standing, I probably would have made it happen.

I struggled to control myself; this person is logical, so that's the kind of appeal I'll have to make, tacking on the pathos. "It doesn't matter whether she knows it or not; it's morally and legally reprehensible."

"Well, I see where you're saying, and I see the other side of the equation, but I can't say that it's completely wrong. I mean, she put herself in that situation..."

At this point, I was damn done. It was four thirty in the morning, and I needed to go to sleep, which would keep me from grabbing the floor lamp and clubbing the person to death.

What's even worse is that when I asked the person if it would be cool if I were passed out from drinking (which would never happen) and some pervert fondled my breasts, the person couldn't even unwaveringly, flatfootedly say no. That's some shit.

This whole anecdote serves as a frame. It shows a despicable part of patriarchy, where there exists an overwhelming assumption by many men that they can do pretty much whatever they want to women if they can get away with it simply because they have a penis.

How can anyone think they have the right to touch a woman sexually without her permission? It doesn't matter how she's dressed or whether she's awake or not. I don't care if she drank an entire bottle of Grey Goose and injected herself with ten tequila shots, a man has no right to touch a woman's breasts or genitals under any circumstances without consent. Bottom line.

And for anyone who thinks it's not sexual assault, let's approach the definition. According to Wikipedia, the United Kingdom's Sexual Offences Act 2003 makes this definition of sexual assault: A person (A)

1.) intentionally touches another person (B),

2.) the touching is sexual,

3.) B does not consent to the touching, and

4.) A does not reasonably believe that B consents

For the United States, it is stated that the definition varies on a case-by-case basis, but sexual assault is defined by The Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network as "unwanted sexual contact that stops short of rape and attempted rape. This includes sexual touching and fondling."

So no matter how much ol' dude tries to justify it, breasts are also part of this category. You cannot touch a woman's breasts without her consent just because you have the opportunity to do so without being caught. It's wrong. It's disrespectful. It's disgusting. It's vile.

This person is college-educated, is for environmental justice and racial justice, and has studied philosophy and business. Too bad academic learning can't make up for morality, compassion, and common sense.

Sexual assault is not funny, and it must be taken seriously, especially by men. Men cannot believe that they have the right to touch any woman sexually without her approval, especially if she's passed out. That shit is fucking sick to me.

I'd issue a slap, but I wouldn't want my hand touching a perverted deviant's face.

Check out a related post at Naked With Socks On.

And props to The Cynical Ones, where I am sure I got the pics from.

Shit, Damn, Motherfucker.

I'm an English major. As such, I'm obsessed with language. I love looking up the etymologies of different words to understand why we use them and where they come from. I enjoy language play and double entendres. I love putting words together in ways that inspire and move people.

With this, I've been thinking about the role of so-called "curse words" in our everyday language. As you have seen, I do curse (especially when I'm driving 8]). My brothers curse. In fact, I didn't learn cursing from school like some may have but from my own mother. My relationship and belief in language simply makes this an option for me.

However, "curse words" have gotten a bad rap over the years. Reasons why this particular set of words shouldn't roll off the tongue include that it effuses ignorance, shows you have nothing to say, is disgusting, is unprofessional, is impolite, and is not ladylike, among others.

I find it weak at best. I still don't understand why this particular subset of words, over others, evokes so much disdain and dislike among people. There just is no justification of it, for me.

Case in point: A friend of mine, an amazing writer, told me that she was wrote one day. In my response, I enthusiastically told her, "I fucking love you!" Here, a word that evokes disgust from the majority of people is used as an adverb to help spread love. For me, it's not problematic at all.

However, take a certain person I know who does not curse anymore. In dealing with many people, including the elderly, intentionally difficult mother she is responsible for, she does not curse. But she indeed does yell, scream, and say potentially hurtful things. She may not curse, but what she says about other people does not reflect love, charity, even stability.

So which is worse, my expression of love with an oft-hated word or this person's use of language completely devoid of these words yet hardly reflects love at all?

I must acknowledge, however, that with language comes responsibility in every way. So whether you curse or not, there is a time and a place for every word you say. One must also consider the results and consequences that come from the words spoken. Language implies communication; there is no one-dimensionality.

At the same time, there is something conveyed in a "shit" or "fuck" that cannot be connoted with another word. It's not always filler; there is intent. And while they can be used for harm with phrases like "fuck you" or "kiss my ass," as a part of language I cannot simply discard them as words never to be used. After all, if they exist, they do for a reason, right?

Maybe one day I'll change my mind. In the meantime...

Fuck it.

WHAT'S in Your iTunes Library?! Day Three

Juanes, "La Camisa Negra"

Do I know what Juanes is saying in this song? Not at all. All I know is that he's talking about a black blouse/camisole. But the song is so catchy! The guitar makes you want to dance, clap, and sing along. The music moves you whether you know the words or not.

But I do think he mentions the constellation Cassiopeia and the tango. o_O

WHAT'S in Your iTunes Library?! Day Two

Jamiroquai, "Space Cowboy (Musaphia & Mayhem 2006 Reconstruction Mix)"

Honestly, I have an affinity for house/dance/electro music. There's nothing like a song that can force you to your feet and move your body. Jamiroquai does that, and I've loved them since "Virtual Insanity." This remix to "Space Cowboy" is amazing vocally and production-wise, and that's why it's in my iTunes library.

Say something!

WHAT'S in Your iTunes Library?! Day One

I'm always listening to music. I love it; I live it; I breathe it. At any point you can probably catch me listening to some of my staples like Mint Condition, Jon B., Debarge, Nas, Raheem DeVaughn, Tony Toni Tone---the list goes on and is exhaustive.

But the other day, I thought about the great number of songs that I have and listen to that many would jerk back in sheer surprise. I mean there is only a certain area that a self-described R&B/soul/funkphile can deviate from, right?

Wrong.

I have guilty, and not-so-guilty, pleasures---songs I listen to that aren't typical of mine but I can't help but love. Over the next thirty September days, you'll get acquainted with me through these songs.

Day One:

"Penny and Me" by Hanson

Yes, I know your jaw has already dropped to the ground, and you're wondering if you ever knew me at all. However, if you really knew me, you'd know that I fell in love with Hanson when I was a young girl, and that majestic pull is simply impossible for me to ignore and deny. They had me at "Mmmbop."

Now this particular song is just infused with love. When this song first came out when I was in high school, I'd turn it up and run all throughout the house while singing loudly---the song's just that damn good. It's a great roadtrip song too, let me tell you. It just makes me feel carefree and dance the night away.

Are you impressed? Saddened? Shocked? Relieved? Pumped for tomorrow's post? Scared about tomorrow's post? Discuss.