My DEEP-SEEDED ISSUES with the Black Beauty Salon - 081816

I have some deep-seeeded issues with the Black Beauty Salon.  Because....well because my wedding.  Which is probably HANDS DOWN - for those of us with enough BALLS to enter into holy matrimony - The Most Important Hair Day of our entire life.  Am I right, sisters?!?

GODDESS BRAIDS

GODDESS BRAIDS

So imagine - when on the morning of my wedding day, I arrive to my 9a.m. hair appointment early at 8:45, and my chosen stylist, who has been commissioned to create my wedding look – the famous “Goddess Braids” (examples shown above) is a NO-SHOW.   That's right, I said no-show...as in, I am slowly watching my anxiety level build, watching the time on the clock slowly slip from 9:45 a.m. to 10:00 a.m, to 10:15 am.  And, this being my wedding day, I still have a huge list of last minute errands to run, including purchasing my first pair of “thong” underwear...an absolute MUST with the dress I’ve chosen (see photo below, and please excuse the photo quality..this was 20 years ago - on "film-film", and its a scan of a copy of the photo). 

At around 10:30 a.m. when my stylist has still not arrived, I turn my attention towards Bettye* the only other stylist in the shop.  Bettye has been at the salon as long as I have, either chatting to the receptionist, or crying on and off to someone on the telephone.  Bettye has apparently just found out that her boyfriend has been cheating on her. (*not her real name)

Her eyes puffy and face streaked with tears, Bettye agrees to try the Goddess Braids - I have the photo with me, but she has never done them before.  As Bettye makes a half-ass attempt to create this style through her tired, blurry eyes, I steadily watch my dreams of playing Goddess for a day come crashing down...HARD. 

As she finishes up, I am barely fighting through tears now, and my hair looks absolutely DREADFUL.  I request that she take out her work and give me simple side-twists, something I can probably do better on my own, but I’m here now, so, whatever.   

And just as I have conceded defeat, in walks my stylist, with apologies that ring as hollow as a chocolate Easter bunny from the dollar section.  However, the mastery of her craft saves the day, and in less than 20 minutes, I have the GLORIOUS head of Goddess Braids you see in the photo below, and my dreams, every girl's dreams for their wedding day, have been – temporarily - restored. 

GETTING MY MAKE-UP APPLIED AND FEELING LIKE A GODDESS

So -  there you have just a little snippet of my baggage about the Black Beauty Salon.  I have more - for another day.  Right now, though, I need to drop off some CURRENT luggage that doesn’t belong to me...it just doesn’t.  Well, at LEAST not me ALONE. 

Since last November, I have been growing dreadlocks.  Every 4 – 6 weeks, I need to go to the salon to have them re-twisted.  This process is made a bit more complicated because my birthmother is white, with what appears to be fairly straight hair.  What this means for my hair is that it doesn’t lock - as quickly or as tightly - and needs A LOT MORE HELP along the way.   Which my stylists and I (there were several stylists there who have been in my hair, including the salon owner) had seemed to develop an understanding about throughout the months: as long as I PLAYED BY THEIR RULES, which is to sit down, shut the hell up, and let them work their magic.  Which I usually did do, except for today.   Becoming increasingly concerned about the excessive amount of HEAT being applied directly on my dry scalp and sensitive baby hairs around the hairline (you know, the first place that we LOSE our hair from years of abuse and mistreatment), I voiced my concern to my stylists.

Um, not OK.  The rule about PAIN in the Black Beauty Shop is that it is to be ENDURED.  “Pain for beauty” it's an even exchange, 'mkay?!?  Oh, and the subsequent hair loss? Well, that’s simply the unfortunate, yet unavoidable by-product of this necessary ritual we call black hair *care*.  :o|

As long as I sat in that chair, for as long as they wanted me to, we were A.O.K., but as soon as I suggested that I had sat there LONG ENOUGH and that my hair was DRY, perhaps even TOO dry, like CRISPY-dry, I had now stepped into the slippery territory of telling them how to Do.Their.Job.   And you just don’t do that.  I was iced out immediately and promptly relegated to the WORST chair in the salon (the one closest to the door, with all the street noise and pollution) to think about my transgressions.  I knew this was the worst chair because when i walked into the salon, two of the main stylists were fighting over the favored chair, the one at the backest part of the store...more privacy, less noise.  

After some time had passed,  the owner took me into her chair, and the remaining 4 hours of my stay was awkward and uncomfortable, made bearable only because i have learned how to breathe myself through these kinds of horrifying, yet all to frequent social exchanges. 

Since leaving the Beauty Shop, I have given quite a bit of consideration as to whether to return.   On the one hand, there is a part of me that deeply wants to play this game, to ultimately assimilate, if only to FINALLY feel accepted by Black Women as one of “them” (I don’t even know how it would FEEL to belong to that group). 

But - the OTHER part of me, the part that is growing in strength every time I take the time to consider what it would really look like to take care of myself, has decided that “enough is ENOUGH!”  It’s time to look this particular demon square in the eye and DO something different!

Which, at the moment is to vent my frustrations in this blog.  Which was originally intended to be a blog about all the ways in which I have felt jilted by Black Women, when it occurred to me...that I have been jilted by White Women too - its just that, well, the RULES are different with White Women.  And as a transracial adoptee raised in a white family, growing up surrounded by a white, middle class community, THESE are the rules I grew up learning.   I know how to play along to this set of rules, to establish my boundaries and draw my lines. 

So when I realized that I have been torn down by all kinds of women who have walked in and out of my life, it occurred to me: it's my relationship with women.  And recently, I have been hearing a LOT about how we - women - are our own worst enemies, at this point. 

This sentiment rings true to me, growing up as a child of the 70's, learning that there where a whole LOT of women who had paved a way before me, in order that i should live as a (relatively) free woman now.  I mean, I get that I cannot undo the thousands of years of female oppression, subjugation and mutilation, all under a soul-crushing patriarchy that seems hell-bent on killing humanity, however; I don’t think I am ALONE here when I say that its really not worth arguing back and forth about how the current ruling patriarchy came to be, or whose FAULT it is, I mean, look at the state of humanity...we just 'aint got that kind of time anymore, people.  

It’s time that we ALL look our demons square in the EYE  and at least start ACTING like we truly understand how much better we are when we work together to UPLIFT each-other, to ALL of our highest-highs, and HOLD each-other during our lowest-lows. 

The sisterhood, same as the brotherhood, has always been there – just waiting to be acknowledged, properly attended to, and cultivated. 

So the NEXT TIME you see a sister walking down the street with BUSTED HAIR, and you catch yourself wondering if she KNOWS that her hair is BUSTED, just know that she knows, to a degree that you and i are most intimate with, and that HER inner critic has already bitch-slapped her into next year, so you don’t have to do that too.  Instead, send her a feeling of acknowledgement, understanding, and love.  Send THAT instead.  And make it a habit.  
 ,
I have decided not to go back to that salon.  sisters don’t let sisters suffer in silence. 

 

 

I VOTE FOR THE CHOICE THAT’S NOT REALLY A CHOICE AT ALL. 07/31/16

It’s been three days in a row that I haven’t slept well.  Last night my perimopausal body decided to *rain-make* and I woke up several times in a cold sweat.  Minus the panic.  Thank gawd minus the panic. 

And I know of others in my small circle of friends, neighbors and acquaintances who also haven’t been sleeping well.  And when I wondered out-loud to a fellow yoga student the other day before class about this not-sleeping-well-thing-that’s-been-going-on lately with people whom I know, I also suggested that perhaps all these very uncomfortable *things* that are going on right now in American politics might be contributing just a teensy bit to everyone’s existential angst (you know, the one that’s there after you remove all the bells and whistles of the media circus  -because let’s face it, that’s what this is folks, and it’s COMPELLING, to say the least.  Especially when you see Mr. Clinton playing with BALLOONS on national t.v.  Compelling t.v., folks. )  The angst that has perhaps been there all your life, that tickles at your inner ear and your heart that something is just not quite right here, ppl .  That *special sense* that may also - every now and again - wonder who the fuck am I and why am in this box?  Well, at least that’s what my existential angst whispers to me.  Ahem. 

What this Political Circus would like to DISTRACT us from (which it does an ever increasing piss-poor job of doing lately, imho) is that while we wrangle over who is the MOST VILE of the candidates for varying degrees of Very Good Reasons,  the planet is being STOLEN FROM US right under our very noses.  And we are handing over the keys.  We hand over the keys every time we point the finger at someone else’s horrible behavior before doing a thing about our own horrible behavior.  We are all hypocrites of varying degrees, why just have a child and they will most certainly point out your most glaring hypocricies  to you on a daily basis.  Because at the end of the day, if what I SAY doesn’t match what I DO, then I have really got no business instructing YOU to do anything at all.   

And of course if I choose to play at this ridiculous game of "Who gets my (perhaps uncounted) vote", Hillary Clinton is my obvious choice!  I mean, lets face it ppl, she knows how to muther-fucking do her job…which we could argue back and forth about until the COWS come home what that particular job IS, but Hillary Clinton knows how to do it.  And if you didn’t know how muther-fucking qualified she is for the job of President of the United States of Amerikkka, well just read this here article and you will be muther-fucking schooled, once and for all.    

We are ALL complicit in the mess we have made of things on planet earth.  It does us no good to figure out which one of us is worse, when at the end of the day there is still a steaming pile of shit sitting in the middle of our shared-humanity dinner table.  I mean, who is going to clean up the steaming pile of shit, regardless of whether you and i agree on WHOSE SHIT THIS REALLY IS?!? Oh, right, that would be our children.  Like the time in the 7th grade when the 13 year old Sun came home from school asking if it were TRUE that we are currently scheduled to run out of drinkable water in the next 20 YEARS.  Or when the students were schooled about how BAD plastic bottles are for the environment, that we have plastic island called the Great Pacific Garbage Patch floating in the middle of the pacific ocean, yet the school vending machines sell bottled water.  Or how about the fact that we are being POISONED by our own genetically-modified FOOD, or by the AIR we BREATHE?

So yeah, if society as we know it (not the earth, the earth will continue to spin on her axis as she has done for last, oh, 14 or so million years without us humans giving her the finger on a daily basis) is going to HELL in a hand-basket, how would I rather go down?  Do I want to go down HARD and FAST, the way ANY meglomaniacal leader with lots of MONEY and POWER (and perhaps a big CHIP on his shoulder because his daddy didn't love him right) would like to take me down?   Or, do I want to be taken down gently, with Hillary’s soft touch, you know the candidate who's lifelong job it has been to hold the status quo so that I time to prepare a motherfucking TRANSITION PLAN or EXIT strategy our of this social experiment called Amerikkka.  Personally?  I want to be taken down gently, given more time to prepare, and perhaps sort through what my next big move is going to be, maybe get some passports in order,  purchase a couple more 5 gallon water bottles for the garage…in case of emergency.  I mean for fucks sake i'm an accountant.  I deal in money.  Which means I can plainly see that when a mere 80 PEOPLE own more than HALF the world’s entire wealth  (as IF you can actually OWN a planet) that the game is rigged folks.  It’s not rocket science; it’s just simple mathematics.  And, as James Carville coined during Bill Clinton’s run against George Bush, Sr., “It’s the economy, stupid.”

Because at the end of the day, if I am not able to earn enough money, working HARD every day to provide food, clothing and shelter for my family, I really don’t care what the fuck-ity-fuck my Prez THINKS of me, or what sort of vile names s/he might call me -  or any of my kinfolk – behind  my back, or even to my face for that matter.  I really don’t.  Honestly, is it too much to ask for you just to fulfill your fucking campaign promises?!? Apparently it is. But, as a career player in the Game of Politics, Hillary Clinton knows how to hold the status quo.  Oh believe you me, she KNOWS how to hold the status quo down TIGHT…it’s what she gets paid to do and she's been doing it most of her goddamn life. 

And anyway, it is my personal opinion that the President of the United States is not Elected , but rather, is actually Selected way before I cast my vote.  But again, I digress - my point is this: over the next three months and through the election results, I am happy to now be able to shut the fuck up about any “he said/she said” political theatrics about who I am voting for and why I am voting for them, and just point them to the direction of this Report.  

And make no mistake, although i will be casting my Very Important Vote for Hillary Clinton, i am by no means "With Her," nor will i be RALLYING around her.  

I'm with HER.
  

Carry on. 

“Going Vegan (Ice Cream)” - 042316

When I saw my body worker last week, he told me that I needed to eat less protein.  I was puzzled at first, because I really have not been eating a whole lot of anything lately, but specifically in the protein family.   As I was pondering what in my diet might be the culprit, he asked about dairy, and the first thing that came to mind was cheese.  Which I absolutely love – all kinds of cheeses.  And as my body worker was going on and on about how the vegan cheeses are so fabulous these days, he also threw in a plug for the delicious vegan ice creams as well.

And, as I was walking away from his office, mentally calculating the very tiny amount of cheese I have actually had over the past, say, month since I saw him last, I thought about my ice cream consumption, and the teensy Ben and Jerry’s habit I have developed over the past, say, lifetime, which has gotten super bad over the last couple of months.  At least every other day, which means sometimes I can do a seven day run before realizing I need to pump the brakes.  

And when I relayed this story to a friend, she commented that “It’s also a shit-ton of sugar.” So before any of you get the idea to go lecturing me on the shit-ton of sugar I am ingesting, know this: I am completely aware of my sugar habit (awareness is the first step), and trust me when I tell you that I have chosen my current addictions very carefully, and sugar is well aware that she needs a bitch slap. 

But sugar is gonna have to take a back seat to dairy, because I really need to try and eliminate it.  I love it so much, but it really is quite nasty stuff when you think about it….let’s just not. 

So on this week’s trip to the grocery store, instead of purchasing Ben N Jerry’s Ice cream, it took me only 10 minutes of staring woefully at the -epressingly named and limited number of dairy-free options, before selecting the cheapest and yummiest-sounding option, Ben N Jerry’s Chocolate Brownie Non-Dairy Ice Cream.  And right next to it was a tub of “Suzanne's Ricemallow Creme, so I threw that in the cart as well.  Because I needed more sugary vegan stuff.  

I mean, what was I expecting, really?!?  Vegan marshmallow cream doesn’t even sound right, and I should have taken a hint from the 1950’s- era packaging on the yogurt-shaped container.   I peel off the plastic lid, and - the presentation is not promising: there is a *surface* on the thing, if you know what I mean.  Semi-put off now, but not deterred, I scrape the surface off into the sink, and am confused and slightly frightened by the texture.  Slightly deterred now, I dip my spoon in and come out with the smallest bit of goop.  I touch the spoon to my tongue.  

Ewwwwwwwwww.   So. disgusting.  It should be illegal to sell this caustic crap.  

So currently, I 'm nursing my bowl of Ben n Jerry’s Vegan Ice Cream , and as my mind started to turn to thoughts of how disgusting dairy really is, I look down at my bowl of  ice cream…and realize, no need to gross out…I’m eating vegan!  

Which even Tommi the cat has just sniffed, sampled and rejected.   

This is really gonna suck.

“Just a Note…” - e-mail from My Birthmother – 2/14/16

Valentine's Day, 2016

Talk about your rough “re-entries”! 

Last week, fresh from my 7-day, 6 night yoga retreat in glorious Yelapa, Mexico, high off of fresh saltwater air, too much sun and no responsibility, other than to show up for yoga (and you didn't even have to do that if you couldn't be bothered), not only did I succumb to a bacterial infection in my va-jeene caused by the use of Poise Supressa Bladder Supports, but I proceeded to move way too fast throughout the first several days back (in a gallant attempt to make up for *lost* time, I suppose?), and sliced my hand open trying to get dishes put away too quickly. 

When I ended up in the emergency room the same exact day I was there to receive my ultra dose of ultra antibiotics, I asked the ER nurse whether, if I was admitted and didn’t end up needing stitches, did the meter start running on my hospital bill?  I have a very unforgiving self-employment health insurance plan with a $2K co-pay and am already in dispute with Blue Shield for a $2k co-pay for an ER visit in late 2015, so I wasn't about to rack up a second emergency room bill.  

After super-gluing the skin together, i rustled up a codeine tablet (leftover from the ER visit in 2015), cried myself to sleep and vowed NEVER, EVER to retreat from life again.  At least not without a plan.

Later the next day, nursing my hand and my crushed fantasies of a life lived in leisure and comfort, I received this e-mail from my birthmother, and was brought to tears.  Thank you, (insert birthmom’s government name here) – it was so nice to hear that someone out there thinks I am a gift. 

"Dear Maureen--

Been spending some time catching up on facebook and your ritz cracka blog in particular. I choose not to have a PC at home so in my bi-weekly trips to town when I can spend some time on the library computer I fall way behind. Now my neighbor is out of town and I am house/cat sitting. She has a computer so I am catching up (sort of). Laughed myself silly reading about your experiment with the new bladder control product and especially your conversation with your doctor. Your writing is very captivating and so funny.  And touching.  I laugh and I cry. Can’t say too many writers have that emotional effect on me. Maybe cause you are my daughter? Anyway it is after midnight. I am getting tired.  Dorabelle--my little kitty-charge would probably like a little cuddling and I still want to find a fish recipe for tomorrow's dinner. Just wanted to drop a line to say hi and let you know how wonderful it is for me to read your stories.

I  will try to read back through all your ritz cracka' blogs. Thanks for being so open. I so love that about you.

 In my thoughts all the time (and hoping that infection has cleared up)

 Keep writing. It is a gift. You are a gift."

(obviously i will need to school her on the importance of the use of the letter "k" in "kracka.")

VIP UPDATE VIP UPDATE VIP UPDATE on The Ritz Report’s FIRST EVER Product Review: Poise Impressa “Bladder Supports“ – 01/28/16

For those of you who missed my VERY EXCLUSIVE FIRST EVER Product Review on Poise Impressa Bladder Supports, I have an extremely important update you will not want to miss…especially if you were considering trying the supports on yourself.  I recommend that you don't.

"FLAGYL"

Please read on and discover how yours truly, in an act of selfless concern for today's humanity, donated the use of my very own body to science in a non-commercial-privately-funded trial of Poise Impressa Bladder supports.  It was - initially - a very exciting prospect - the idea that there could be a far, far better, sleeker option for bladder-leakeage sufferers, as compared to the current competitors on the market: pee pads and adult diapers. 

Two weeks after my trial ended, I am now nursing a case of Bacterial Vaginosis - with the super-antibiotic Flagyl...the likes of which i haven't seen since my college college days in the hot Arizona sun running competitive track and field in 120 degree heat - and spandex.

I knew something wasn’t quite right with my va-jay-jay after my trial with the bladder supports for a couple of reasons: I had some slight cramping, and then A couple of days later …there was that peculiar, yet very familiar, um. smell.   

You know the one, ladies!  Most of us have had this very common vaginal infection at some point in our lives, and those of you who have NEVER had it,  well then, you should be donating your body to science!  Briefly, bacterial vaginosis results from when you eff up the normal pH balance in your va-jeene.  This can be accomplished in a number of ways, tampons, sex, and apparently bladder supports.  Your va-jeene responds to this foreign object by trying to balance the *imbalance* by growing bad, smelly bacteria, that must be destroyed by powerful antibiotics, such as the tried, true and tested Flagyl.  Even the name *Flyagl* is gross because its name alludes to what the medicine is killing: the nasty, smelly bacterias,who have taken up residence in your tender bits…and they have little flagella - whip-like tails, that allow for mobility.  Ewwwwww.

So what did I do when i had the thought that - just maybe - i had upset the pH balance in my vagina just a wee bit?  Weeeeelllll, there was no discharge, there was no associated pain, I am not currently having *intimate relations* so yeah, i didn't put a rush on it.  Instead, i (temporarily) talked myself into the idea that perhaps it would *clear up* on its own, when i went on my yoga retreat (three days later) and got really, really healthy all of a sudden from all the great food!  Or perhaps, I was just freaking out and it wasn’t anything at all (that actually happened at my last annual exam, where I thought there was something, and it was nothing), or maybe it HAD cleared up that time. 

And then, first day in Mexico, my period arrives (lol god) and now,  here it is a week later and I have an actual date this afternoon, and i'm thinking…I gottta get this checked out!

So I go in today, and begin to tell Dr. Wu the story of Poise Impressa, and he interrupts me and says, “Just tell me when the smell started.”

Me: About two weeks ago, when I tried this new product…called “Poise Impressa Bladder Supports.” It looks like a big tampon that you put inside that rests against your bladder and stops leaks and…

Dr. Wu: Well, I mean now, common sense, you shouldn’t be using anything up there that may cause an imbalance and…

Me: (now slightly offended that my common sense is apparently in question) : well, Dr., this is a new product, and so really, how was I to KNOW that it would upset my female parts?

Dr. Wu: Oh, oh, it’s a product you are using?  (Apparently, he had been only part-way listening and had concluded that I was just shoving any ‘ol plug up in my tender bits).

Me: Yes, they are - 

Dr. Wu: What is the name of this product? (At this point, he turns his paper over and begins to scribble out some notes.)

Me: They are called Poise Impressa Bladder Supports, and they come in three sizes…

Dr. Wu: Oh, three sizes?  Hmmmmm…I have never heard of these. 

Me: Yes, they are brand new and they are being marketed as alternatives to adult pads and adult diapers, and I am pretty certain that this product has caused a bacterial infection.  

Long story short, after the Dr. and I work our way through some language barrier issues, an exam up in stirrups then ensues, a sample is taken and, indeed I have Bacterial Vaginosis. I looked at the Dr.  and said "I knew It!" all proud, as if I had won some sort of self-diagnosis lottery.  

Dr. Wu writes the script (the script that I had earlier hoped I could just get over the phone, because these infections are so common, like yeast infections.   No deal – anti-biotics are not yet OTC.

So – what’s next for me?

Kegals, B#tches. for. fucking. real.

No joke this time.  I gotta try to keep some things in-tact for as long as possible. 

I will report back later.

And just say NO to Poise Impressa.