THINGS WITHOUT REMEDY SHOULD BE WITHOUT REGARD

Say that twice, Rinse and Repeat.

My life continues on its downward spiral. Its really quite extraordinary. From a purely objective standpoint, its like witnessing the awesome destructive power of a category 5 hurricane - from the safety of your front step in Anchorage, Alaska. Its amazing and beautiful and you can't look away, but all the same its like "i'm glad i'm not there!" Don't think i don't I see yall in anchorage, hatin.

Go 'head, snuggle while i struggle. Its ok. I got daft punk playing in the background!

Oh-em-gee speaking of storms, why does Philly have a tornado watch right now? Mhmm thats what i said; a tornado watch. I seent it on the weather channel. So you know i'm kind of sort of buggin(and secretly wishing it would happen) because im deathly afraid but irresistibly attracted to twisters. Oh yeah, me and the tornado obsession go way back. We're like old friends. Fred and Rollo style. In philly We get about three watches a year , and every time there is one i get all excited and scared at the prospect of seeing one face to face. Right now i'm all kinds of glued to the house, basement door cracked open, just in case i have to make a mad dash to the bowels of my crib to escape the funnel cloud.

Oh yeah, and while we're still on the subject of storms, lets talk about how i am blogging with a halo of hair around my face cuz i got caught in a storm earlier. You know how little girls get their hairs did, but theyre still little, so five minutes after its done, the front and sides kind of billow out? Yeah, thats what i'm working with now. I got my 5 year old swagger back. Twenty five years too late. I don't know why i share this, except that when i blog while i look like trash i feel like yall can sense the fug coming through my words. So i start explaining and protesting too much. Its silly really cuz yall can't see me. Right? Please tell me i'm right.

Actually i'm still cute in the face, and my outfit isnt bad, just my hair needs help. I called myself taking a leisurely walk to the store this morning - doing my part "going green" - and on the way home i got caught in the downpour. I had an umbrella(yay!) that wasn't working properly(nooo!), so the rain misted in and under and now i look like byzantine portrait. Hagiaaaa Sophiiaaaa! (to the tune of hollywood swinging)

Where were we? Oh yes the downward spiral. Now I don't want you to think there's anything drastically wrong. I mean I have my health, my fam has their health, and basically everything else that can *really* be wrong is not. Did that sentence make sense?

Point is, im ok. Its just that lately the subplots of my life have gotten increasingly tedious and gross. One minute its a steamy romance novel, the next a dull - but enlightening - college textbook, and the the flip gets script and im caught in a tony hillerman tale of intrigue, deception and moral corruption. That is what he writes about...right?

Anyway, so the "things without remedy..." has been my mantra for the past week, courtesy of my granddad and shakespeare. Shakespeare penned it, granddad reminded me that shakespeare penned it. 2008 started well enough, and then life happened and now i'm all over the place. Right after i get up from one blow, i get sucker punched again. So i sotto voce the heck out of lady macbeth. It calms me. It may seem silly but the aphorism is doing a good job of keeping me centered.

See, i have this tendency of agonizing over things that i have no power over. On some "wasted water is all it is." and really whats the point in crying or getting angry over a fixed outcome? "...it don't make no flowers grow." It'd be so much better i would expend my energies in productive pursuits.

I'm not a good angry at the world person anyway. I'm a hater, but in the sardonic-but-good-natured vein. You won't find me in a dark room, brooding as i listen to weezer. Nuh-uh. Not me. I'm more kerouac than kafka. With less drugs. No drugs actually. Unless you count the Aleve bender i went on July of 07. What? Don't judge me! I had cramps! Actually im not much like either author, but i was told a blog isn't good until you drop a few names to prove how well read you are, thereby reaffirming your readers that you are worthy of being read. Did it work?

Aesop. Dahl. Goethe.

What about now?

Grafton. Palahniuk(you sickos). Updike. Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings! Was the yearling not THEE most boring book ever? I really don't know why that was required reading. It certainly was not holding my 8th grade attention. Especially since V.C. Andrews(or, her estate) was coming out with a new book a year. Now that was literature.

...remind me to ban V.C. Andrews from my future daughter's personal library.

Things without remedy should be without regard. This is what i'm working on. Positivity. Making it do what it do. Ray Charles was BLIND for goodness sake. Did he spend his life bemoaning the fact he couldn't see? Nope. He just rocked and shocked. Word to your mother. There are so many positive things that are in my life that it would be stupid to get caught up in the negative. That only serves to bring me down. And at 5'3 I can't stand to be brought down another inch.

STOP THE PRESSES

Ya girl(yes i said "ya girl" im trying to be more hip don't laugh) is about to buy a two finger name ring.

two. finger. name. ring.

Now i know good and well that yall are judging me and thats ok because i judged myself hard when i first came up with idea. But then i was like funk that. I really really want one.

It won't be one of those huge blocky ones that could do a stand in as brass knuckles though. It'll be chic and tasteful. Like most things i do.

I've also decided to buy new glasses. I guess i should clarify - i will be purchasing new frames. I don't need glasses to see. I have that 20/20 but i like how glasses make me look. Am i a poseur ? Probably.

Omg wait...

Am i having a half past quarter life crisis? Am i becoming the hipster upon whom i once unleashed my vitriol? All signs point to yes.


So what are yall doing this weekend?...

SATC comes out today(correct me if i'm wrong) and i must say, i am soo not interested. When it was still being broadcast, i watched it a few times and never "got" it. Even Pat Fields' magnificent styling couldn't sell me on the show. I feel like a traitor to my sex for admitting this, but, whatever. Surely i'm not the only one who doesn't have "carrie fever?"

The only movie i want to see now is Iron Man. I've heard - from many a trusted source - that it was excellent. So i'm willing to give it a go. Other than that nothing much is really calling to me on the movie front. Wait, there is that new M Night. Shyamalan 'The happening'. I willing to give mr. Hitchcock-lite another chance. If only to redeem himself for that tragedy; 'the lady in the water.'

YOU MAY BE YOUNG BUT YOU'RE READY

Is there an expression any creepier than this?

It conjures images of bulging eyes and greasy lips. Sharkskin suits and pinky rings. Hair anointed with some sort of ahbai product. Or Vitalis. (Hey we don't discriminate.) The cloying scent of drakkar, coolwater, Hai karate...Fried chicken.

Disturbing right?

And the thing is, there are so many songs built around this premise. Its like the freakin pedo call to arms. Men(or women) on their benny mardones. Waiting for a chance to school some PYT.

Gro$$.

Don't be afraid is my jam though.

*cough*

Ok so am I the only one who is majorly excited about the new Indiana Jones movie? It comes out on the 22nd, and imnsho, there hasn't been enough fanfare. Wheres the commercials that air every five seconds? Wheres the mass marketing? Wheres the fast food promotions? Wheres the beef?(yall saw that coming i know.) Come on people. Effa Iron Man. This is INDIANA JONES we're talking about here. Not robert downey doing a george clooney doing a michael keaton. This is the Or-ig-i-na-tor. Harrison Ford. Respect your elders. But seriously, yall ain't got no love for archaeologists? No matter. Go see it on the 22nd and we'll call it even. Savvy?

By the way, i've been meaning to put my blogroll thingie in effect, seeing as how i stay up in somebody's blog and i've been feeling guilty about not giving you writers your due shine. Not that you'll get much shine here, because like three people read this blog(me myself and i), but yall deserve kudos just the same. So look for it in the near future. I'd like to blame it not being done already on the fact that im lazy and a procrastinator, but its mostly because i don't like to share. I mean i am lazy, and i do procrastinate, but yeah. Its mostly the sharing thing. I want you all to myself guys!

SOOO READY FOR READERS DIGEST

I used to think my family was boring. In my childish mind, because we weren't full of scandal and drama we were uninteresting. Sure, we had our quirks and moments oddball behavior, but that didn't make us cool and engaging. It just meant we were weirdos.

I wanted a dad that listened to hiphop and a mom that was more of a girlfriend than a mother and grandparents who doted to the point of spoiling and cousins who were big and bad and maybe an uncle who had a prison record and aunts who talked too much about everybody's business.

This was cool to me you see.

Instead i had a dad whose love for popular music died in 1979. A mom, though quite affable and easy going, let me know there were boundaries. Grandparents who bore gifts, but in exasperating moderation. Cousins who were cool but too studious to have reps. An uncle whose only vice was maybe he was a bit liberal with the alcohol. Ok, he had a few "magazines" too. I'll blog about my discovery of these another time. Aunts who were a picture of restraint and graciousness.

*Yawn*

All well and good for an uneventful and rather well turned childhood, but it made for a painfully obvious lack of funny stories. No salacious one-liners here. Nothing tawdry and exciting to regale future coworkers and boyfriends and scare the children i expect to have one day. My friends all seemed to have such witty stories concerning their lives and the relatives in it and i, well i had nothing. Until i realized that the funniness was happening all around me, but i had neglected to see it.

Which brings me to last week.

In one of their thrice yearly sojourns, my grandparents are up visiting. When the grands come to visit, its a mini family reunion because they live so far away from the majority of their children. We all descend on each others homes eating up each other's food like locusts, as my grandparents make their rounds on family and friends.

This past weekend my grandmother is spending time with me at my house and we're sitting at the kitchen table talking. She's asking me about my friends and whats up with them.

Let me tell you something about my grand mom. She has a memory like an elephant. I don't mean that in any untoward way either. Its a total compliment. She can meet someone once for only 10 seconds, but she'll remember them forever. Its an endearing quality, and everyone who's ever met her, loves her. And, if she manages to learn a little about you, she makes sure to put it in action.

For instance, one of my parent's friends -we'll call him bob(actually that is his name.) - loves, loves, loves cowpeas.

Now before you go asking me "whats a cowpea?" I implore you to google. Don't you love how google has become a verb? Man...google is one of those ideas i wish i came up with. Id be so rich right now. Where was I? Ah yes. Please google. Wait, don't google. Googling might mean you leave this page, and seeing as how im being exceptionally longwinded, you might never come back. Stay here. I'll tell you what a cowpea is.

A cowpea is a legume, and is a staple in many southern homes. Its quite similar to black-eyed peas and often prepared in much the same way. Happy now?

So dear Bob loves cowpeas. My grandmom learned this on one of her visits a few years ago, and each time she comes up, she brings him(whom she's only met ONCE) a bag or bags of dried cowpeas. One time she had came up without them, due to a bad harvest or something - the great cowpea famine i guess - and she was soo apologetic that you'd think she'd leaked the valerie plame identity. Thats how sorry she was. She kept telling my dad, "tell him im going to make sure i bring him some next time." Her failure to provide Bob with his beloved cowpeas was a serious business.

I say all this to say my grand mom makes it a point to remember people and their specifics.

So she's asking about my friends. Im telling her about this that and the other when she interrupts me to ask:

"how is that girlfriend of yours?"

Now i know i don't have a LOT of girlfriends but dang yo. Im not that socially awkward. I have enough so that asking me about "that" girlfriend is a bit too vague.

I ask her to specify.

"Oh the brown skin one"

Most of my girlfriends are some shade of brown, so this too wasn't much help.

"brown skinned one?"
"Yes. She's taller than you too."

Well that narrows it down. Except for one girl, all my friends are taller than I am. Of course i'm 5'3 so it isn't hard. It completely sucks because when im with them i feel all lilliputian and inconsequential, but when im with the girl who is shorter i feel like a huge beast. I can't win.

"I can't think of who you're talking about."
"You know who! The brown skinned one with hair that look like cat tits."

*record scratch*

Did my grandmom just say the word tit? Did she just compare someones hair to cat tits? Yes, yes she did.

"What did you say?"

I'm asking her to repeat herself, not because i didn't hear her - because i totally did - but because i can't believe the words that came out of her mouth.

"...The one whose hair look like cat tits."

I start laughing.

"what?" I say incredulously.

"you know what a cat tit looks like?"

She's not seeing the humor in the insane way this convo has turned. Im cracking up, doubled over in laughter and she's smiling, but not for the same reason that i am laughing. She has a bemused look on her face, a mixture of pity and sympathy at the fact that perhaps i've never seen a cat tit.

I peer into my mind's eye, imagining cow udders, only on a smaller scale.

"ye-yes i know what it looks like."

"Well your friend has hair that looks like cat tits."

1. please stop saying cat tit.

2. At this point im struggling yall. @ what point in my life was my self esteem so weak, my standards so low and my eyes so blind that i'd actually befriend a woman whose hair that is reminiscent of feline mammaries?

Think. Think. Think.

I know my grandmom and we are not going to get off this topic until she makes me remember who she's talking about. I don't even bother trying to switch subjects.

So i'm laughing and thinking until finally it dawns on me.

"ohhhh! you mean S_____!"

"yes!" she says, relieved. "I knew you'd remember! How is she?"

So we're both overjoyed with the revelation of a lifetime when it occurs to me:

cat tit?

Im thinking of my girl S's hair. When my grandmom met her she was wearing her hair in bantu knots. It was summer and it was an easy style for her. I thought it was cute, but apparently it struck my grandma as a dead ringer for cat titties.

"She's good...she had another baby."

Speaking of which, lets discuss how this girl is two years my junior, married and has two kids. Ok lets not. I'm focused mannn!

And before my grandmom could ask -

"She doesn't wear her hair like that anymore though. Its straight now."

"Well good. That hair was ugggleeee."

This was saturday.

AND THEN TODAY(i told yall this one was long)

We're in the kitchen again, talking - why is it that the best conversations happen in the kitchen? - and she's telling me about her teen years when it was all going down in the 803. I've heard these stories about a billion times but they're always a riot, so i don't mind the repetition. That doesn't stop my mind from wandering though. Charge it to the game.

So im thinking about how i feel like i gained 5lbs and im scared to get on the scale to check and see, but my clothes still fit me nice so i shouldn't be too worried and dashitall i must stop the late night snacking -

"...stinky kitty kat"

These three words © stevie - break me out of my reverie. I missed what she was saying but something tells me it bears repeating.

"Say that again?"

"Oh i was just saying that emmalene had a stinky kitty kat."

"kitty kat?"

Before you go giving me the crazy face, i know what a kitty kat is. At least in modern slanguage. Fall back. What i don't know is if she knows what a kitty kat is, or if she is even talking about what i think she's talking about. She could be referring to a literal kitten for all i kn-

"Her pooky smelled bad."

I giggle - embarrassed. Oooh grandmom said pooky!

Oh, yall don't know what a pooky is? My bad. Pooky is my fam's word for v-a-g-i-n-a. Growing up thats just what we called it. In fact i thought this was what everybody called their hoo-ha, until i started hearing of people with the nickname pooky(pookie?), which really weirded me out. And of course, going to school and discovering that the favored word was coochie, among girls at least. In fact i never met anybody else that called it pooky until my filipino SO told to me that the same word was used in tagalog as slang for a woman's nether regions. This means two things, my family isn't alone, and I also might be part pinay.

Oh yeah! I gotta share this one with yall too(im almost done i swear)

The other day my dad was talking about how women stay in abusive relationships, because the men always apologize and control the woman's mind with that most potent persuasion, "make up sex."

How bizarre is it discussing "adult topics", with fam? Its like; "i appreciate that you recognize im grown - but please, not like this." Lets not be that candid, thanks!!!

Yes, my dad said make up sex around me. First of all i don't want my dad knowing that i even know what sex is, much less the concept of make-up sex. Second of all, since when did my dad feel free to say such a thing around me, his daughter? In his eyes i should be forever innocent - in fact if he considered me as asexual i wouldn't care. My children - His grandchildren - will be conceived brave new world style and delivered by stork. In fact thats how i came into existence as well. Grossly inaccurate? I don't give a hoot. Tell me sweet little lies.

FAIRWEATHER FRIEND

So basically i made a pact with myself, that i wouldn't blog until the weather bowed to my will and hit @ least 75 degrees two days in succession. I have the unmitigated gall to protest nature. Actually its more that i like making dumb challenges for myself. Since i made the pact, (on friday) The weather has gone like this:

Friday: 66
Saturday: 63
Sunday: 65
Monday: 51 (wtf???)
Today: 72

Its not bowing guys.

...which means that technically i shouldn't be blogging, as evidenced by those pathetic temperatures. I mean really. Fifty one degrees? In May? Trifling. Seriously, monday night i actually had the fireplace going. I felt ridiculous, but it was either that or turn the heat on, and that, i adamantly refuse.

Yeah so i shouldn't be blogging but i am which means my will is weak, and my pacts are as binding as the treaty of versailles...and worth even less. It also means that the weather hates me, but since i went into diatribe about my hatin hair the other day i'll spare yall one on hatin weather...for now.

Besides, what if it never gets warmer? Al gore told us the inconvenient truth, straight, no chaser. The mid-atlantic's weather pattern could be forever altered, and I, in a fit of capricious pact-making(is there any other kind?) would have bitten off my nose to spite my face.

Anyways there is so much to talk about. Nothing of moment - natch - but a bumpercrop of topics all the same.

Like how i slathered all of this self tanner on my gams to eradicate the pale and bring in the (faux)warm glow but its too cold to go bare legged. Or how i haven't done my eyebrows in two weeks out of of sheer laziness, and am scaring myself with my wookie eyes. Speaking of eyes, how my vitreous floaters are in effect mode and its driving me crazy. How im convincing myself that said floaters don't cause blindness. How its not working. How i'm still afraid of the dark. Why i'm eating a biscuit at this late hour. How i'm contemplating eating another after this. How there's a family of raccoons that assault and battery-ize my trashcans every night. How i totally struggled with spelling assault in the previous sentence.

Stuff like that.

So while you're here, I'd like to thank yall for taking a moment to read and indulge my emo stream of consciousness from the other day. I was buggin, and yall know it and i know it. But you guys let me know i wasn't alone. Which was awesome. I reread it and was like :

"lex...really?"

Straight up to talking to myself in third person. On some sybil ish. Wait, that's a little serious. More like Beyonce/Sasha. There, that's better. Less touched and more touch my body.

Speaking of which, can we discuss the Nick and Mariah Nuptials? Before the inevitable divorce. I know you see it.

I WOULD LIKE TO TAKE A MOMENT TO THANK THE BRILLIANT MIND OR MINDS

That came up with the phrase emo.

Yes, i know the word emo is short for emotional. Wait...is it short for emotional? I'm assuming it is, but i've been wrong before. It could be short for emollient for all i know. I have a bad habit of being clueless. For example, it wasn't until...recently(i refuse to say EXACTLY how recently) that i learned that D'Angelo's "brown sugar" was a metaphor for *cough* something else. I always wondered why the love from his girl made his eyes a shade of "blood burgundy." I assumed it was because he was an ardent lover and was staying up all night, pleasuring her.

Yes, yes. I know.

For the purposes of this blog though, i will go on the assumption that Emo is short for emotional. And though the word emotional is nothing new...how long has it been in the english language? Since the 15th century perhaps? The shortening of it to those three letters is pure genius.

The beauty of it lies within its succinctness. It carries all the gravity associated with the word emotional, but since its so short and sweet, its embued with levity, carrying an almost humorous quality.

The first i heard it expressed, i was struck with its immediate catchiness. At once i knew what it meant, when and where it should be used, and how often. Much like i did with other cultural memes such as, "where's the beef", "ladiesss my mercedeeees" or "no homo." It just felt right.

Emo allows you to say, i'm depressed, im blue im in a funky funk, without saying im depressed, im blue, im in a funky funk. Like you can be sad, but still maintain your dignity. Not saying there's no dignity in being sad, but you know what i mean.

It also allows the person who hears the news that you are emo to not be overly concerned about you, because dude, you just called yourself emo. And if you were that bad off you wouldn't be using hipster slang to describe your condition.

So yeah.

Anyway, this blog wasn't supposed to be about being emo. Its just that for the fourth day in a row i've subjected myself to the emotional roller coaster that is old yeller.

before i go any further, let me disclose something about myself. i get on movie jags. I'll watch the same movie over and over for like a week at a time. Three weeks ago it was 'The 39 Steps'. This week its Old yeller. The best doggone dog in the west. Omg that movie hits me in the old pump. Like i didnt cry in schindler's list but im practically drowning watching old yeller.

So i'm watching old yeller, getting emo, and my mind starts wandering. Before i know it, its on some weird tangent and im wondering why im not in the midwest staking my claim and raising a brood of children and catering to my rugged(but good looking) husband, who tills the land by day and ravishes me by night. By the end of the movie where *spoilers* travis has to shoot yeller, im weeping, but im not sure if im weeping over the movie or the fact that i am childless and unmarried and not being ravished and don't have dairy cows and a vegetable garden.

Oh yes, its like that.

Like that-a-that-that-that yall.

See, most of the time i'm quite logical and in control of myself but then i have these moments of incoherent delirium where all of the crazy comes out of the closet and starts chasing me around the room.

Apparently old yeller has the power to provoke this kind of moment. Who knew?

Anyway i know i'm bugging...but..

Its just.

I don't know. I'm thinking about how my mom was pregnant with her third by the time she was my age and my grandmother was 5 kids deep.

Its like wtf am I doing?

Not that im planning my life by their timetables - but don't it make my brown eyes blue when i think about how my forbears were living in domestic bliss by the time they reached my age, and im sitting in front of the TV eating mcdonalds apple pie and crying over an imaginary dog, when i should be tucking the kids in and wondering whats for dinner tomorrow.

I mean really. Who's zooming who here? Btw that song is totally how will i know, slowed down.

Have i completely bought into the notion that despite everything achieved in life - its a woman's ultimate goal to be a wife and mother? Do i believe that? On some not so subconscious level...is this what im longing for?

Wait a minute...omg...am i having one of those "clock is ticking" moments? If i look over my shoulder will i see that awful dancing baby dancing in my doorway? Speaking of dancing baby, that had to have been one of the worst cultural phenomenoms of all time. That stupid graphic was everywhere. Its anatomical structure was so weird too.

Whats sad is when ally mcbeal first came out i was still a teenager and all of that ticking clock dancing baby my eggs might be dying meant nothing to me. Thirty seemed ancient. Over thirty five, you might as well have been dead. I was young, i was nubile, i was the new kid on the block. I scoffed at these ninnies fussing over their men, or lack thereof. I mean yall are LAWYERS! You have money and dope apartments! Funk the men and the babies. But now...um...

AND THEN, its like all of my friends are married. Well not all, but enough so that im a little paranoid. In an intimate moment over two whoppers @ a local burger king, I revealed to my girl that i'd like to be married by 2010. She got all serious on me, talking bout "girl...please don't rush. you don't know how good you have it."

First of all im like don't rush? 2010? I'll be in my thirties. That is not rushing. Secondly, im thinking, just five minutes you were gushing over your husband and kids. Why you trying to block entrance in the club?

Its like that episode of seinfeld where dude told elaine there were no more villas available for rent in tuscany.

"in ALL of tuscany?"

"Thats right, all of tuscany."

I mean i know marriage is hard work and all, but don't be telling me about how happy you are, then when i mention it, be all "you need to wait." I see you girl. I love you, but i see you.

Wait...am i tripping about her "wait for marriage" comment again? I swore i was over that. Was i kidding myself?

I can't be. Or..can I? Is my entire world crashing all around me?

Ugh, see, this is what happens when i'm left to my own devices. I start kirking out and crap. See what i really should be doing is working out, and not sitting here ruing the fact that i don't have my own harlow winter or nahla.

Ah well.

I think, therefore i am...emo.

Hey thats not half bad. I'm totally putting that on shirt.

YET AND STILL

I appreciate - even desire - the random hugs. The surprise kisses. When you put your arm around me as we laugh among our friends. The shameless staring that just happens to take place over the grandpa country fried breakfast at cracker barrel. Btw, the hashbrown casserole? To. Die. For.

So yeah, basically what im trying to say is that i'm a mess...but not that much of a mess. :)

LEMONADE WAS A POPULAR DRINK AND IT STILL IS

Hi, My name is Alexis, and my hair hates me.

Yes i know the statement following the title is a bit of a non sequitur but ive been on my vintage hip hop hard the past few days. At first it was just something to prove:

"i don't just listen to classic soul, 80s R&B, 90s new jack swing and classical!"

But then it was like oh snap i forgot how much i loved hip hop, so now im just going through the years and reliving my childhood/teenage days with hip hops sugar cuts. Unfortunately that one line from dwyck got stuck in my head, and im hearing Guru's voice repeating this phrase over and over in my mind. Now as i embark on hour number three i figure the only way to exorcise it is to type it out.

...

ok. i'm still hearing it. I'll give it to whenever it is im finished typing out this entry and then its off to the kitchen for some sweet lobotomy action.

So back to my spiteful tresses. They're long, they're thick, they're basically everything a head of hair should be. I know this because my bottle of pantene pro-v tells me so.

Yet and still, despite my loving care and daily ablutions, they seem to harbor some deep seated resentment towards me, which means we are at a tipping point. Somewhere along the way, i stopped wearing my hair, and my hair started wearing me.

Normally i don't talk about my hair much, because me talking about my hair = complaining, and my complaining about it always elicits the same reactions:

"shut up."
"girl please"
"are you kidding me?"

...Or variants thereof. Folks don't have too much patience with me when i start bellyaching about something that for all appearances seems to be just fine.

Admittedly the lack of forbearance is completely warranted.

I remember calling my SO one saturday afternoon, in tears, after one of my quarterly visits to the salon:

*sniffle.*"..baby?" *sniffle*
"whats wrong?"
*sniffle* "my hair"
"what happened? Did they cut too much off?"
"no...i didn't let them cut."
"then...whats wrong?"
"she just didn't do it right, i wanted it all bouncy and she made it too flat"
"alexis."
"what?"
"why do you go to the salon? you never like the way do it"
"ugh you don't understand. im going to go home and try to fix it. i'll call you later."

Bless his heart. I know i drove him crazy with my tears for fears bit that occurred just about every time i went to the salon. Its conversations with him, and just about everybody else with whom im close, that make me realize that discussions in which my hair is the topic dujour are not welcome.

Which is why blogging is so cool, im free to harangue ad nauseam, you're free to read and assess. You can roll your eyes and condemn, or nod your head and commiserate. Its like NATO except it really works. And if it gets to be too much you can log off. I mean its really up to you.

8th grade was a year of firsts, i got my first relaxer, my first hair cut, and my first kiss. His name was artie. He was cute. Three years later my cousin and I ran in to him and she asked him if he remembered me and he was all "i...vaguely remember an alexis." Actually he said "a alexis", but i hate bad grammar so i couldn't bring my to type it.

Vaguely? funk YOU. I rocked your world buddy. Anyway he was cornier than i remembered so it was whatever.

But back to my eighth grade hair. The cut was one of those asymmetrical thingamabobs that everybody had back in the day(ugh i can't believe im old enough to even have a back in the day) and i just had to have hair like that too. Nevermind that my hair was luxurious and cascading down my back and full. I begged my mom to get it done and she capitulated.

"Alexis you have beautiful hair, people pay to have hair like yours and you want to cut it!?"

"Yes!"

I spent the remainder of my school years bemoaning my loss of hair with the stupid cut. I let my hair grow out of the style, but kept the relaxer. I wondered why it never returned to its former glory.

Eventually i had a moment of clarity. i decided to let the relaxer grow out and cut my hair into a katie holmes bob -minus the bangs - in 1998. Wow...i can't believe its been ten years since my hair has been touched with perm.

In 1998 i started hanging with some cool girls and they introduced me to gold n' hot flatirons. I became a flatiron junkie and the koreans at the hair supply store were my pushers. At one point i was flatironing my hair three times a day. "touch ups" i called them. Yes, i was a true fiend. And with every "bump" i was weakening and breaking my hair. My mom asked me to stop, but no. My hair didn't say anything and silently took the abuse. The result was that my hair stayed coko from swv smooth, but never grew past my shoulders.

I figured that i was just destined to be one of those women who would talk about how long their hair used to be:

"when i was little? my hair used to be down to here.." *points to ankle*

and you listen and nod your head meanwhile youre thinking

"yeah right..."

So i had resigned myself to being one of "those" women. Not that anything's wrong with that. Anyway around 2001 i saw the light(again) and decided to stop fretting with my hair. And like a phoenix from the ashes...slowly but surely it started growing back.

I remember going to work one day, and a colleague was like "is that all your hair?" all incredulous. Yes hater this is all my hair. She was white, so i took a little offense at her comment. What? Black folk can't grow hair? Lets not be racist judy. I mean yeah i enjoy the impressing the heck out of folks with my hair growing skillz, but i want you to be impressed for the right reasons. Be impressed because i have nice hair, not because im black with nice hair. Ugh.

Fast forward to 2008 and my hair, when its blown out, is totally in the middle of my back - and still growing. Save for the miss jessie's debacle of late 2005, I've been wearing my hair long since that day of enlightenment in 2k1. It stops just short of the length it was when it was before i got my first cut.

I'm sick of it though. The style, the length...everything. At its length theres really not much to do with it. For the past 3 weeks whenever i go out its in a bun. Its elegant and shows off my graceful swan neck, but boring. I look like an extra from a balanchine production. I've become the girl with the bun.

My sister recently cut her hair into a modified rihanna. Its cute, and im a little jealous. She too had long luxurious locks, and in one swift stroke, decided she was done with em and wanted something different.

Me? I've lost the nerve to do something with my hair. The thought of experimenting with a new style makes my blood run cold. I'm 20+ years old. I might experiment and that ish go all wrong. After the miss jessie's incident i can't take another hair misshap. My psyche is too frail. Besides, i remember what my mother told me so many years ago.

"alexis you really need to pay your bills on time. you're going to ruin your credit!"

Oh wait. Wrong memory.

"people spend money to get what you have!" (There we go.)

True.

Im not tryin to be conceited or boastful or nothing. I inherited this honest and im proud of it. I mean, some people have great legs or to-die-for bosom. Some can sang, some have the intelligence of einstein. Maybe they're a good public speaker. Some people are beyonce. The point is, we all have different assets. I have nice hair.

Its just that my hair hates me. I wanted it to be long again, and now that it is, im over it. The maintenance, the arduous process of washing, combing, blowing dry and styling is just too much. Plus i have 50 different textures and curl patterns. Part of my hair is like kunta kinte, another is margaret thatcher, and yet another is tracee ellis ross. There's more but you follow the general idea.

I need like five combs with teeth in varying widths just to get the job done. And all that for what? A ponytail or chignon? My sister keeps telling me to get layers and maybe thats what i should do. But then i'll go to the salon and tell my stylist im considering cutting my hair, and she gets this greedy look. The eyes don't lie. She's itching to take 6 inches off my length i know. So i see her look and say maybe next time(which never comes) just so she can calm the heck down. She gets all crestfallen and does my hair in "the usual" which means my curls are going to fall out by the time i walk to the car.

So summer is around the corner and with it comes humidty and with humidity comes all kind of hair unruliness. Im going to have to get a hair strategy or else it will be another summer with my hair slicked back robert palmer girl style, or wearing a slightly less wild teyana taylor.

I KNOW THAT IM CARRYIN ON

Nevermind if im showin off
I was just frontin

-Pharrell


I don't talk about relationships much because face it, im not particularly witty, eloquent, or poetic. I'm kind of clumsy with words which means i have foot-in-mouth syndrome and have no business discussing a subject as sensitive and potentially polarizing as human interaction - on a romantic level no less! Yes, me talkin bout our love, or your love, or their love is major tragic kingdom. Like truly, on bull in a china shop status. Never a good look. Plus i don't think yall are ready for all of my neuroses. Shoot. I'm not ready for all of my neuroses. lol Not to mention, my relationships are not that interesting. No...really they aren't.

Now that i finished with the deprecation, lets move on.

So, i was thinking. When i'm all hot and heavy in a love affair my behavior is not....conventional. Not that there are any hard and fast rules as to behavioral patterns within a relationship, because they all differ...but still. There are accepted norms and i fall far outside most of them.

When i like a guy...its like, i don't like him. Not that im rude, mean, or any other typical signs of dislike. Its more, he's not even on my radar. For instance, if we are out together - no one would ever know that i had the slightest feelings for him. Which, admittedly, can provide my beau with much confusion. I don't treat him any different than i would the other fellas. I don't like to play my hand like that. Even if we're together as in an official duo(i hate the term couple lol) you would think "they're together? she acts like she barely knows him." I have had dudes come up to my dude on some "is that you?" because they wanted to make a play and didn't want to wind up stepping on toes.

You don't want to know how many nights i sat up trying to explain my "i love you, but please get out of my face" approach to our relationship. Its not fun soothing egos @ 2 am when you just want to get sleeeep.

...frontin what I'm feeling,

Denzel'in acting like you ain't appealing when you are...

I know. Im totally weird right? (if you are like this too feel free to back me up here. lol) When i was younger it would manifest itself as out and out dislike. I didn't know how to handle myself in the presence of a crush. If it was just a regular dude, i could laugh, play, be my usual jovial -if socially awkward - self. If i liked liked him though? I was cool. Anti social. Reserved. Sarcastic (ok the last two are run-of the-mill for me)The antithesis of girl like guy behavior

One of my girlfriends was like "guys must love you" because i give my men wide berths and i am totally content to not be under him...at least not in public any way. ;) Then again, she was/is the clingy type(we went to a party and when her bf danced with me she had a hissy and got all insecure) so i suspect her "compliment" was more backhanded than anything else.

Still, i wonder if my "abnormal" actions are a little off-putting to guys. Do they want to be fussed over and stuff? Do you want me draping myself all over you when we're in public, marking my territory? Do you want to see me jealous? Give nasty looks to other girls who are appraising you admiringly?

...all nonchalant if front of an audience

My SOs have all been cool with my laid back demeanor, but i oft wonder if they were just going along with it because thats how it was/is.

...you know i want you babe

I mean, i try to be accomodating - if you want to hold my hand in public or put your arm around my waist or heaven forbid - give me a kiss on the lips, we can do that. Just don't make it a habit. lol

My reasoning is this, you are mine, i am yours. In private i make that all too clear. In public, eh. I can take it or leave it. Its not that important to me. I watch my sister with her beau and its like vomit mode. Whenever they are in each other's presence its constant touching, rubbing, lingering glances, private jokes...the whole nine. The fact that there is an audience is immaterial. The whole time im like yucko. Thats so not me.

I suppose if i wanted to get real freudian with this, i could say my actions may stem from my need to be in control in all situations. Not controlling. Just in control.(subtle difference. i think. lol) Control. The reason i sip my likker and obey traffic laws. When you're drunk, you don't have full command of your body...or mouth. And when you're in an accident, you don't have control over anything. Thats not a good place for me. So too with my emotions. Having them all _pladow!_ for community display makes me uncomfortable. Im saying...if you looking at me makes my eyes become limpid pools of desire...i'd rather you not look at me. And i won't look at you. Lets keep that aspect of our relationship soley for us.

I will jone on you in public however. Mercilessly even. lol.

Yet and still my lack of demonstration doesnt presuppose my depth of emotion. I love hard. I get tender. I'm affectionate. I have pet names :-P. Im just very private with mine. Fortunately my mate(s) understand(s) and tend to be like me in that aspect.

I know. I'm a piece of work. But for those that understand(you especially) here's a little somethin somethin: Aya - nobody knows me

WHAT I LEARNED THIS WEEKEND

:: I really need to sit up when sitting down. Eff all the relaxing and getting comfortable. From now on its all about sucking in, breathing shallow, and extending that spine as far as it can go. Unless i want to see more pictures of me looking like im six weeks past due. With triplets. So not cool.

:: Thou shalt not paint nails unless all the necessary accoutrements are AT HAND. Not, "oh i think i left the remover in the study...or guest room." Instead of going to the salon i decided to do the nails myself, and i made a boo-boo thats annoying the crap out of me. And now i can't fix it cuz i have no idea where the remover is. Its so unfair. Wahh.

:: I look like i could be the mother of a 23 year old. Remind me to never go out with my sister again. When i'm not looking like her twin, i'm looking like her mother. wtf. where is the justice?!

:: All of my SOs have been lite brites. My conditioning has been conditioned. Am i colostruck? Can't be. My number number one crush is still bryce wilson. Am i protesting too much?

:: The quarter bag of fritos is now 50 cents. What is this madness!? Its been a quarter for as long as i can remember. Is nothing sacred? J'accuse ethanol.

:: Scented lipgloss = good in theory, bad in practice. I just bought some nude colored gloss with a slight chocolate aroma. Nothing cloying. Perfect compliment for the 'coolers. Apparently, though its just a hint a fragrance to a human nose, it must be overwhelming to insects. The bees and gnats and other bugs kep swarming, flying, landing and sticking to my lips. Ugh. Nature hates me.

:: Wendy's new strawberry frosty shake thing. Oh yeah. Its that goodness. Or maybe its just cuz im drinking it late at night that its so yummy. When its late everything tastes better. At least with me. The "refined palate" portion of my mandible closes @ 10 PM. Hm. I guess i'll will have to get another one tomorrow to test the theory.

:: Laughter is the best medicine.

DONT GIVE ME NO LIP LET MAMA DO IT ALL

- bouncy knowles (suga mama)

Today was one of "those" days. The sun was out. It was (relatively) warm. I woke up feeling refreshed. My hair cooperated with me. My duds looked fly. Skin was bright and clear(for once!) so i didn't wear makeup. Everything was good. Stuff thats so superficial and shouldn't make a difference, but still really matters.

I walked out the house feeling incredibly sexy and unstoppable. You know what i mean ladies? What the heck, gents too. Im sure we all can relate. A day when you feel like you could conquer the world, not break a sweat, and still be home in time for jeopardy. I swear i could hear "im every woman" in the cadence of my footsteps. Corny but true.

I'm a bad mamma jamma. Sometimes anyway.

"I'll take your man" status. (Not that'd i do that, EVER. Just that i could. Jokes! Don't look at me crosseyed. lol)

Not swagger, just plain ol' confidence. And it feels good. Life is tough, but life is beautiful. Word to Robert Benigni.

This feeling is liable to change @ a moments notice, so im determined to enjoy it while it *IS*.

Have a good weekend everyone.