Saw this display at my local Walgreen’s.

WHAT THE HELL.

I’m all for Spanx and other body-shaping underwear, but the fact that they are now marketing these products to men is DISTURBING. Obviously, dudes can do what they want, but it just looks absolutely ridiculous to me.

Do YOU think that guys should wear such things? Or, as a woman, what do you think about females who use Spanx, and now Squeem?

Flippin’ weird.

Since the beginning of the year, I have become SO much more natural-hair conscious. I notice us more in commercials and TV shows, in magazines and on the streets. AND I LOVE IT.

This is SO awesome.

I found this commercial/trailer on the fabulous blog, The Black Bot, and it’s a great promotion for the website The Coil Review, which has SO much information about natural black hair: news, images, styles, tips, products, salons, etc.

In the last month of me being natural, I have found a plethora of blogs and videos and forums about natural black hair and how to care for it…and am finding more every day.

A decade ago, we didn’t have the same sort of resources before all this Internet technology…or rather, there were people who wore their hair natural, but it wasn’t as easy to access their information before Youtube and blogging became huge.

In retrospect, after watching Chris Rock’s Good Hair, I really feel he #failed at showcasing all black women and our hair. I enjoyed the documentary, yes, but he only touched on relaxed hair and weaves–nothing of which was new to me. The kicker for me was the fact that Rock said he didn’t want his daughters to think they had “bad hair,” so why didn’t he explore natural haircare more?

This industry may be in the minority, but it is booming as well!

Gorgeous artwork from www.ilovemyhair.com

For me, the blustery, Chicago-cold new year of 2010 rang in with my head feeling a whole lot colder than I’ve EVER been used to.

On December 31, 2009, I stripped my hair of all the weaves and extensions and wigs and relaxers and products that I have used for pretty much my entire life. I took out all my tracks, washed and conditioned my own hair, twisted it to dry, and fluffed it out for the New Year’s Eve festivities.

“FREE AT LAST, FREE AT LAST! Thank God Almighty, I’m free at last…”

Surely Martin Luther King, Jr. meant the above statement in a different manner, but it still applies, and it’s how I felt. And while getting rid of the extra hair on my head may not seem like a big deal to some people, it REALLY was to me.

As a young child, my mother did my hair in the usual twists and puffs and braids and plaits and beads, typical of many

Types of hot combs, also known as intruments of torture.

young black girls. As I grew older, my mother would press my hair to make it straight, also known as “hot combing.” Hot combs can be electric (plugged into an outlet like your curling iron), or put on the stovetop for maximum heat (because densely coiled African hair takes a LOT of heat to straighten). It was always painful and a LONG process, because in order to reach the desired straightness, you’d have to grasp each and every single tiny little baby hair curl. And my hair has always been thick, so despite my mom’s gentle touch, my hair had to be pulled in order for the blazing hot comb to “tame” the masses of natural tresses.

There were also the instances where I, trying to hot comb my hair myself, burnt off INCHES of hair, sometimes leaving nothing but a half-inch crisp of brown fried bangs where there were, seconds ago, longer locks. That SUCKED. And EVERY black girl has done it at least once, I promise.

Painful the hot comb was, but my younger sister and I always LOVED the results: smooth, straight, shiny hair that sometimes blew in the wind (even though a lot of the time, it didn’t).

I suppose becoming accustomed to the pain of the hot comb in order to achieve white-girl-straight hair became embedded in my psyche, because from that era on, dealing with my hair was nothing but a pain. And I embraced it.

But why?

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For all the wonderful experiences of Christmas 2009, it sure ended on a super-dramatic note (including us calling the police and our downstairs neighbor calling Sean “Steve” in a drunken stupor).

But let’s back the truth trolley up a little bit before I get too deep into the ridiculousness.

Christmas Eve was pretty low-key for us this year–we didn’t end up going to church, so we decided to watch The Fugitive. (I know! The Fugitive is such a great holiday film! Non-sequitor much?) The 1993 flick was pretty good– it featured such notable acts from today’s pop culture: The Cheerleading Coach from Glee, the Janitor from Scrubs, and a cameo from Chicago’s finest: Senator Roland Burris, who years later would replace President Obama’s Congressional seat in a shady act orchestrated by former Gov. Rod Blagojevich.

The movie ended around midnight, and as the screen faded to black, we heard loud music in our downstairs neighbors’ apartment.

A woman in her mid-30s named Anjelica lives below us with her partner, Ruben, and their 12-year-old son. Anjelica has always been friendly and welcoming: separating our mail, bringing our packages in from the front stoop, and even coming upstairs with toys and learning games for kids which she suggested we give to our nieces and nephew. Anjelica was always quite nice to us, while the residents in the basement apartment consistently smoke weed in the back porch area, subsequently stinking up the entire building and especially our kitchen.

Ironically enough, Sean recently wrote a blog post about how nice Anjelica is and how horrible the basement tenants are. Little did we know what was about to ensue, and how potentially wrong we were about the people right below us.

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December, 2009.

Reality TV.

Two words.

Jersey Shore.

Whether you’ve watched the MTV “Reality” show or not, you’ve heard SOMETHING about it. Perhaps it’s the fact that a girl got sucker-punched in the face at a bar, or that UNICO National, an organization all for advancing the rights of Italian people, is staunchly opposing the television series.

Sean downloaded the first three episodes the other day, and I LOVE IT.

The self-proclaimed guidos and guidettes.

I don’t have cable, and I generally don’t watch trashy reality programming, but with all the hype surrounding Jersey Shore, I had to take a stab. It’s total trainwreck hilariousness bomb mindless entertainment, and who doesn’t like a bit of that every now and then?

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