Sh!t's Not Real Enough Yet

I have friends who can go out and barely spend a dime. Meanwhile, I need a drink or two along with my  meal and appetizer.

Lesson 1: Alcohol ain't cheap.
Lesson 2: Especially if at a chain restaurant, the food won't even taste that good.
Lesson 3: And it's likely overpriced for the portion size.

I've long admired those who have the ability to "live on less." Though I know discipline is needed in these times, I've tended to act out in rebellion. "I still deserve to enjoy myself," I say, as I indulge in some vice that only briefly makes me feel better, if at all.

A mentor who was applauding himself for finally getting out of credit car debt paraphrased the tough journey by saying he wound up paying hundreds of dollars in interest - on top of the price tag -  for stuff he can't even remember buying in the first place...yeah, that sounds about right.

Yesterday I spent $22 on accessories when all I wanted was a headband to cover my edges. I wanted a blazer (I'll need it for my future job, I reasoned) and some shorts (for next summer!) as well, but those damn earrings cost way too much, and they were final sale. I immediately felt all kinds of buyer's remorse. I sat down for lunch and was so mad that I didn't have the discipline to tell myself NO for once.
Note: Such remorse is unusual. It usually comes only after making emergency purchases such as a new car battery, or purchases for others, such as cat food.

And then it hit me: Earlier I'd been chiding my sister for having a sh*tty job and not trying to find a better one. "Sh*t's not real enough for her," I said.
Because she still has the luxury of mommy and daddy footing the big bills - and helping her in-between - the situation isn't dire enough for her to actively pursue something else. And whilst I was beholding the mote in her eye, I wasn't considering the beam in my own. 

I have a shopping problem. And it's only a problem because I buy these items with credit, which means I really can't afford them at all. Until recently, I've always had good credit, so getting another card wasn't an issue. But if I didn't have the luxury of a card, how would I purchase these items? Exactly: I wouldn't. I need to get just that real with myself. If I don't have physical dollars and coins, I don't have it. And I KNOW I'm only hurting myself in the long run. When you knowingly continue to do things that are deleterious, that makes you an addict. It's not crack, it's not liquor, but it's harmful to my financial health and well-being. I am putting myself further at a disadvantage with every receipt I rack up, and as someone who claims to hate being in debt, that just doesn't make sense.

They say admitting your problem is the first step. So I'm owning it. And while I really believe in buying stuff before I need it so I can stay ready for 'come what may,' I have to challenge myself to live on what I make...not what I hope I'll make later so I can pay for it then.  

*Deep Breath* This isn't going to be easy....

LOOK MA! I'm in ESSENCE!(.com)

SO thanks to the power of Facebook, I responded to a call and was able to squeak out a column for ESSENCE.com. I am so happy that I was given this opportunity. It (and the subsequent support I've received) were certainly the highlight of my week!

Curly Commentary: 'My Boyfriend Encouraged Me To Go Natural'

The hair on my head has been permed, bleached, mohawked, braided, fried, dip-dyed and weaved. A look at the so-called “Photos of You” on Facebook is misleading. I’ve had so many different looks you can’t tell it’s the same girl!

It’s not that I love switching up the game. The reality is I grew up despising my hair. While my sisters had fine hair that turned to springy curls when water was applied, mine required frequent “pressing” with the hot comb and regular visits to the salon for taming. When those roots grew back in, baby, there was nothing I could do about it! I hated that my hair was kinkier than my sister's and I tried every style in the book in rejection of the texture I was given. In 2008, I started dating a young man I’d met in high school. He and I had mutual crushes on each other back then, but didn’t pursue anything until I returned home to Detroit after attending college in Florida. One thing was different about him from the start: he loathed my weave.

To be honest, I did too. It never came out the way the stylist said it would, never looked like the magazine picture I’d cut out or the girls I saw on the street. Before the month was over, I’d be ripping it out in frustration and surprisingly, my boyfriend would help me do that, too. He’d be right in the bathroom with the scissors, cutting out the tracks I couldn’t see and begging me to wear my real hair.

“Babe, I just hate that you spend hundreds of dollars on a hairdo just to take it out in two weeks,” he’d say.

“If my hair did what I wanted it to do, I wouldn’t have to do this,” I’d always yell back. My boyfriend explained that his hair wasn’t always curly either. But he took the time to find products that worked with his texture. He told me I could train my hair if I was just patient.

In 2010, I decided to transition. Managing the two textures was tough and I decided the only way I could see my true texture was to start over. One day I announced, “For my 25th birthday I'm cutting my hair. It's gonna look just like yours.” My boyfriend wasn’t even fazed. His reply? “I don't care. I don't have ‘Long Hair Syndrome.’" That wasn’t the response I was expecting. I stood there confused until he explained, “I love you, not your hair.”

While I pride myself on being independent, the idea of going natural was intimidating. My big chop was a huge adjustment, but his support eased my fears and still helps me hold my head high on those can’t-get-my-hair-right days.

As my teeny weeny afro — and my comfort level — grows, he’s there cheering me on. When I did my first twist-out, he was genuinely impressed and told me how good it looked. Recently, I got in the car on a wash-and-go day and with the biggest smile he said, “Look at those curls! They are banging today! I told you it would happen!” 

 

He did, and I’m glad I listened.

In Praise of Steebie J

Alright, I'll go ahead and say it. I mess with Joseline from the Vh1 show "Love and Hip Hop Atlanta."

Is she a ratchet side piece who doesn't know her place? Yes.
Is she a strip-ho? Yes, and usually they automatically get a credit score of -000.

Buuuuttttt I like this chick. Damnit. This contradicts so many other posts from me, but my educated homegirl and I have discussed that she just might be the realest woman on that farce of a show, and if you know DevaDonna, real recognize real is the motto.

Now, please allow me to defend my position with specific and accurate facts.

1. Joseline's body is on point. She paid for the tatas, she said it, and I usually give demerits for falsies. But they're a prop. Her parents were poor immigrants who don't speak English (which is likely why Joseline can't either. I mean, really, would a cat raised by dogs still purr? Who knows, just throwing that out there), her brother has autism and she was doing what she had to do to help pay the mortgage. Yes, the mortgage. And his medication. Everybody has a damn sob story, I know. So what, her body is still enviable. She looks like a track runner, and them b!tches iz bad. Allegedly, she's working on a fitness DVD. Am I gonna cop it? Sh*t yeah.

2. She contradicts herself often when it comes to Steebie, but there are flashes of clarity. For instance, in one episode she met with a manager or somebody without Stevie's knowledge. The girl said, "Steebie don't make or break me." I respected that! She is determined to make it with or without his help, leading us to believe she is not just effin' for tracks. Now, two days after that she'll be in somebody's magazine talking about how she does whatever her daddy tells her to do...but show me one woman who hasn't been stuck on stupid over a man.

3. Joseline was on the radio in Detroit on Sunday talking mad tough. She said, "I am an international pop goddess, and I'm standing by that." She went on to say that she is a dream catcher, and she is always going to catch her dreams. At the end of the day, she is going to go get everything she wants out of life. Forget what people say, Joseline thinks Joseline has talent. She also has a giving heart. On the radio she said she was giving bottles and money to the baddest girls in the club because "times are hard out here. If I can help pay a light bill or whatever, Ima do it. It's nothing to me." (Did she swag on that azz a little bit right there? OK, but "how do players play? Every day, all day.") She doesn't hate on other women, and encouraged all of us to realize "we run the show."

Above all, THAT is why I like her. She has unshakable confidence. She believes in herself. She has enough self-esteem to package and sell it to the rest of us, and I honestly admire that. So go ahead, clown me if you want. And be honest: every straitlaced person has a ratchet idol or alter ego. Who's yours?

Money Can't Buy Common Sense

"For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?"
-Mark 8:36

 I tend to think of this verse when celebs do dumb sh*t, as they often do. In all of our idol worship, have we considered that while these people put incredble effort into their crafts, much less attention is paid to their character? Unfortunately, they don't have to - being rich is a license to do what you want to do.

However, the rules aren't necessarily the same for everyone, and my heart aches when I see that the Boo-Boo the Fool being trashed today on the blogosphere is a black, male athlete. It's like watching a horror movie, when you see someone going into the house instead of running away from it. You scream, "Don't you know how this ends?"

Yes, this is spurred by the announcement that the Miami Dolphins released wide receiver Chad Johnson a day after he was arrested for allegedly headbutting his publicity-starved wife of one good month, Evelyn Lozada. One day. He didn't get an investigation. He didn't get the PR statement that most teams immediately give to the media, "We will reserve comment until the details become clear." Nope, they just cut his silly ass. Why can't these children seem to remember that race trumps talent, no matter how many catches, carries or yards they get? Oh, you thought it was different because you don't wear a suit and go to corporate America every day? Nope, the music's still playing. Tap dance, you must.

Now, to be fair, Chad was on his last  leg after a not-so-productive season with the Patriots, plus, he's getting up in age - at 34! But his incident follows an offseason where several members of the Detroit Lions managed to get arrested twice.  Too busy being young and rich I guess to be concerned with such details as calling a driver service instead of driving drunk. Or leaving the marijuana at home, not taking it along for a midnight ride through the suburbs of The D. 

Some people are above the law. Ask Ben Roethlisberger. (And Charlie Sheen, sidebar.) But some are not - namely, the 67 percent of his black colleagues in the NFL.  Ask Michael Vick. You won't see a game where his arrest and prison time aren't mentioned. The asterisk will forever be by his name.

But sometimes I just feel sorry for them. Because the truth is, these men are overcomers. They tend not to come from private schools and the upper echelon of society.  I watch the documentaries, I read the profiles. Many of these young men fight their way to the league to get out of their deplorable surroundings. However, as the saying goes, you can take a person out the hood, but you can't take the hood out the person. Imagine that overnight you go from being hungry to being a millionaire.  You know how you go all day without eating, then go to the buffet and stuff yourself silly? Translate that to a world of fame, women, drugs and other vices you can indulge in without anyone telling you no. The candy store is bigger. The prizes are shinier.

A football player called me once in high school. I answered the phone as I was raised to do, "Praise the Lord." That was essentially the beginning and ending of the conversation. But somehow he managed to tell me before the hang up that he didn't believe in God because the streets were all he knew. All he saw was his mom struggling and people getting killed. Football was going to be his way out...I'm sure he's not the only one who thinks like this.

Money doesn't change people; it amplifies who they really are. If  you are selfish, you'll just be more selfish with money. If  you lack discipline, money will support your gluttony. And if, perchance, you are rough around the edges and not used to having anything, money will NOT automatically give you class. Paychecks don't come with instructions on how to spend them properly (other than to not sign below that hash line on the back.) I see a lot of good people trying to survive, yet other people get blessings they aren't equipped to handle.

The sad fact is sometimes these men have it all - money, endorsements, houses plural, cars plural, a model/actress on their arms...and not a bit of sense. That's a problem football can't fix.