Archive | October, 2015

The Battle of Curly vs Straight Hair

27 Oct

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I was the little blonde with straight hair until about 5th grade when the hormones hit. My hair got darker and curled up into tight ringlets.  Adding to the dork factor was “the bowl cut” and the bushy bangs.  Most of us have had that truly awkward stage. Mine lasted forever. Add to that, the horror of bra snapping because I was blessed with quite the rack at an early age plus some crooked teeth, and you have Francis what’s his dick calling me jagged teeth in the playground…a total nightmare. I was totally jealous of my sister and cousins. They were blessed with the amazing hair (including color) and Italian features. I got the mouse brown, kinky curly hair. If my ass didn’t match theirs, I would totally have thought I came from the milk man.

Fast forward to the less awkward years where teeth have straightened and I’ve finally done something with my hair and I still have those awkward moments. Don’t we all? Until one day, I had my hair blown out straight and the perfect dye job, and holy shit…it was like the stars aligned. I didn’t feel so awkward. And thus began the curly vs straight debate.

How many times in a week do I get asked these questions: Is that your hair?  Can I touch it? Followed by the comments. Wow! People would pay so much money for your curls! it’s so soft. Wow…soft. They are perfect curls, like ramen noodles,

And I get it.  There are things I love about my curls. That I can throw in some Curls Rock and let it dry and…Voila! Perfect curls!I don’t even have to blow dry my locks, But on the other hand, these are the things I don’t love about it. You want to touch my tresses? Now you’ve gone and frizzed it up. When the girls at work want their hair to be played with, (don’t judge us…we have to get through the night some how) guess who never gets their hair played with. Yep, that right bitches, it’s me. “DP, play with my hair pleeeeeaaasssseee!”  Sure! No problem. I don’t feel left out of the hair playing at all. (note the sarcasm…also note that I am a nice friend and will always help a sista out)  I also just can’t wake up and have hair ready to go. I always have to get up early and wash it.  I’ll scare people if not. Boo!

The four or so times a year I get my hair done, I always have it blown out. My amazing hairdresser, Angie, does the best job!  We laugh every time about me coming home and looking like a different person for a couple of days until the humidity hits and I look like a poodle again. Every time I come home, my son comes up to me in awe like he’s seen me for the first time. He takes a deep breath, strokes my hair and says “Mommy, you are so beautiful!” And I feel it. Nothing says goofy girl like curly hair does. Straight hair for a couple of days and all of a sudden I’m not treated like the goofy chick I really am. Everyone seems to get a little quieter around me. People take me more seriously.  And if I get the opportunity to get all dressed up with my straight hair, I stand up a little straighter, get a little sassier.   Every curly hair girl who has had their hair straightened can attest to being treated differently.  Damn you straight-haired girls!!!!

So in the great debate of keratin or not, I’m not so sure what I’ll choose. But I do know this. Regardless of how people treat me, I am imperfectly perfect just the way I am.  I am strong despite not having the perfect body. I feel good whether my hair is curly or straight.  I have accomplished so much in a short time that me being me is totally cool. And if I decide to be straight for a bit, it will only be for a change, not to make a better me. I f@cking rock just the way I am…even when I don’t feel amazing.

What does this mean? Be you. Be your perfectly imperfect self. In the end, it won’t matter what your hair looked like. It just matters that you are a good person with a good heart. Spread that shit around like a glitter bomb. I’m going to keep on being my sassy self..curls or not. We all have the opportunity to be who and whatever we want to be…we just have to be brave enough to take the step. So be you…and do so bravely!

The things that drive me crazy about me…

2 Oct

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We all have these things that annoy us about other people. But today I was thinking about the things that really piss me off about me.  Please don’t get all preachy on me, I’m only bringing these things to light because of course there could be some humor found in them and if it’s not funny…I’m working on changing it. If we can’t change it, we should laugh at it. I’m not talking down about myself. I’m telling the truth.

I am the chick who lives with her foot in her mouth. If there is a one shot in hell’s chance that someone is saying the wrong thing, it’s me. If I can muck it up…I do.  Then after I’ve done gone and screwed up by saying the wrong thing, I get all chick-ish and over think the things I say and say more stupid shit to make it worse. Then before you know it, I have absolutely nothing left to say because I am too busy thinking about how dumb the things I said were. (See, I’m such a chick!!!!)

I say the most inappropriate things at the most inappropriate times.  When my grandfather was dying I was 3 months preggo.  In the middle of an emotional moment when I realized he wouldn’t be there when I would have my baby, I went rogue on the peaceful cousin moment we were having together. “Nonni, I know you won’t be here when I have my baby, but you kind of will be here. Can you make sure you aren’t too close though…because girly parts?” I’m sure I got hit by someone. It’s the Italian way. Someone surely threw out a “really, Donna?”  In hindsight it’s kind of funny. It was kind of funny then, but the nurse in me always goes inappropriate.  I also did the same thing when my dad had a heart attack last year. Post code he looks up at me all clammy, sweaty and pale. The doctor says that we have to prepare to say goodbye. Not me…I’m not saying goodbye. I’m going to be me. “Daddy, you better fight. You can’t leave me here with these bitches.” My mom didn’t hear me, thank goodness. And of course I was just trying to make him laugh because that’s all I could do. He looks up weakly and says “I’m trying…” And he did. So there! One year later after being totally inappropriate. My dad lives to tell the story about how his youngest daughter didn’t want to be left with….the bitches. We drink wine and laugh about it now. Yes even my mom and sister laugh too. They love me despite my inappropriateness and the fact that I may have called them bitches. I’ve let them call me worse!

Losing self-confidence. Maybe not so funny, but still something that pisses me off about me.  Why is it that I’m just not enough for me, or anyone for that matter? Truth be it told, if I really reflect on it.  I am totally enough. I’m enough for everyone that cares about the real me. I’m a cool chick, really. But somehow I find myself comparing myself to those who I see as “more.”  If I take a good look, I am enough. I don’t need more of anything. I don’t need a perkier rack, or thigh gaps. Those things won’t make me more of anything. I love strongly, I feel deeply. I didn’t get hit with the totally ugly stick. I got hit with other sticks, (“I’m not a model” stick, “I have a big ass” stick, “I’m a pain in the ass” stick) but no matter what…I’m enough for whatever people see in me. I am enough. That’s a tough statement to believe in today’s world of everyone wanting more. I just want to be enough…for everyone and most importantly…me!

Lastly, going hand in hand with self-confidence, self sabotaging. Is that even a term? If not, it is now! I am an excellent saboteur. I love to build people up and be their cheerleader. But I’m terrible at cheering for me. I set a goal and as soon as I see I may be succeeding, I throw my own wrench in and totally f*ck it up.  Don’t get me wrong, I give myself credit for how far I have come. I know that I’m not the round-faced chick I used to be, the one who wallowed in her pint of double chocolate chip ice cream. I’m still working toward a goal, I’m not done yet. And recently, I got back on my wagon and even pushed off toward success. I have a birthday goal. And I saw me nearing the goal…and what happened? I totally f*cked it up. I bet we all do that.  It’s not the brightest decision I’ve ever made, and it made me completely angry today until a wise man basically told me to put my big girl panties on (the cute lace ones of course) and get on with it. There is no giving up.

What does this mean?  I’m always going to be one spouting inappropriateness and thinking way too much about it. But that is totally ok. I am me and I am enough. To know me is to love me…or like me at least a little (because I’m fun and funny all at the same time).  You are all enough too…and no one is “more” than you.  So stop sabotaging and be good to yourself.

Oh…and if you see me with a sweet treat in my hand and it’s not cheat day…hit that shit out of my hand. (At least until I hit my birthday goal)