Better still, he’d perfected that i-don’t-give-a-fuck-one-leg-propped-behind-him-lean-back-against-the-wall-stance that left your mouth dry, your thoughts hazy, and your panties square around your ankles if you weren’t paying attention. I’d barely spared the interloper a second glance, save to admire those resplendent locks he’d absently whisked from his face with a flicker of his neck. But boys like that—quiet, sexy as hell boys—they weren’t checking for me, and I was all crushed out. My girl, “Amber,” had mentioned that Lee had asked about me. Boys with creamy smooth skin like that, with hair like that, didn’t want me. I wasn’t certain whether this was a function of my talkativeness, or his retardation and inability to understand what I was saying. I’ll get you anything you want.” I’d never been the kind of girl to take anything from a man (this was hypothetical, of course, because no one had ever offered…but I’d assumed that should the occasion ever arise where a man make such an offer, I’d be exactly the kind of girl to politely decline. I noticed the furnishings, some pictures here and there. My crew of girls, dark and light, alike, aren’t divided among color lines with respect to their loyalty to me and nourishment of our friendship; they’ve all born my monkey idiosyncrasies with casually amused dismissal. Sure, maybe he wishes he could skim a few pounds off of your carb-indulgent, though steadfastly determined to rock a two piece ass, but– if he likes you, he likes you. Any collegiate issues I had with women—all my complexion or darker (except that one time, and really, she wasn’t at fault at all. There think of a hundred times when my 5 re-assured me; a thousand when my girl, “Law School Logan” held my crazy ass down; a million when a particularly new trio of beauties amped up my blog and encouraged me to keep writing; and an infinite number still when the woman who inspired this post ( Leona Lewis, geniuses) listened to my troubled meanderings, withholding judgment in favor of support. My mocha-colored juvenile angst put so many bad vibes into the Universe, I’m starting to feel halfway responsible for some of that shit. I don’t know if she made somebody of herself or if the sins and misgivings of her youth were redeemed in adulthood like so many of mine. I know that I have attended some of the nation’s top schools. And people like me, have to just sit there, mute, ears BLEEDING, so as not to seem “too good.” Well, I’m not at the salon, right now. And I want everyone within the (theoretical) sound of my voice to hear this: THAT IS SOME IGNORANT ASS, STUPID SHIT, PEOPLE. THAT’S THE DUMBEST SHIT I’VE EVER HEARD IN MY ENTIRE BLACK LIFE. When I’d inquired as to what, she’d smiled coyly, and said that he’d thought I was cute; that he’d wanted to know if I had a boyfriend. I’ll note here, that this was an awfully progressive line of thought for an adolescent black girl at the time, coming up in an era when a boy was expected to show his affection for you via purchase of herringbone necklace). He’d returned the smile and kissed me on my forehead, saying softly, “I really like you. His seemingly non-committal, but fuck it, what did I care Muslimness. We talked, briefly, about his family, about school. You’re sittin up in this motherfucker’s house like you fittin’ to do somethin’. And men—the truth about them is, if they’re with you, they’re with you. Granted, maybe he wishes you’d given a bit more forethought to that upper arm or upper titty tat you were so insistent on getting at 18, and now your ridiculous ass is 30 and relegated to a life of long sleeves and turtlenecks, but—if he likes you, he likes you. black, monkey ass is what he wants.) And me—my own personal truth—is that I can’t think of one instance when a lightskinned, baby haired/thick,long,luxurious haired, crazy,funky,wild spirally-haired bitch maligned me. So, for all of the unnecessary hating— For the animus rooted in my own insecurities, and reinforced by societal standards of beauty that I so enthusiastically took to heart– And damn, for Leona Lewis, who I not to mention every lightskinned broad that is dominating my universe now, but….lol…lessssssssst y’all get at me….i’ve reserved mad love for a freckled nigerian, a fashion savvy cropped coiffed beauty who Baltimore has stolen from me, and, as always……timeless……”natalie.” [note which name i put in quotes…cause your real name is sometimes your fake name] I don’t believe in regret. I know that I sat through one of the country’s hardest Bars and passed it on the first go round. I’m not passing judgment on you or your apparently feisty, syphilis-y generation, but I’m going to immediately cry foul and remove myself out of your collective “us.” Way, way out. And I profess to know nothing about sexually transmitted disease among animals. THE ONLY “CAT” THAT HAS THE POWER TO GIVE A MAN SYPHILIS SITS BETWEEN A PAIR OF KNEES. Jessica Lowndes wore her lustrous locks long and straight with a sexy side part.She looked gorgeous with this sexy long sleek hair.
This is a cute long sleek hairstylefrom Emma Stone.
I would later give a more civil explanation to my friends when they inquired about the cool down between me and Lee. And, for the longest time, it entirely escaped my attention that your numbers in my friendship ranks were beginning to swell; that I had surrounded myself in a veritable sea of amazing women who defied every loosely-constructed stereotype my own ignorance wouldn’t allow me to view as false. I have some true cuteness going on all up in my face space. Her particular melanin composite never garnered her any popularity contests in those days, and when she married my father, a man whose hue was identical to hers, she suspected any children of theirs’ wouldn’t fare much different.
I have to go.” I rushed out of there like there was fire to my ankles. I bore you all so much animus for so many years, adjusting my ire and contempt only when the inclusion of a new lightskinned, baby haired/thick,long,luxurious haired, crazy,funky,wild spirally-haired bitch in my friendship circle necessitated an exception. My mother—my amazing, can do everything in this world mother–grew up dirt poor in a town with an unrecognizable name in Nowheresville, North Carolina.
I want to tell you about the second boy I ever kissed on the mouth. That’s awfully old to have a first mouth kiss.” You’re right. As I live and breathe let me assure you that should I roam this earth another eighty years, he will continue to be the finest man with whom I’ve ever shared any intimacy. He had an accent that betrayed a background so entirely different than any of ours. We began this phone interlude that largely consisted of him calling, and me talking. Granted, it was on a side of town that my mother had preferred I not frequent, but, my mother had never known fineness like this. As an adult, I now know this to mean “fuck you without calling you my girlfriend”). The truth of the matter is, I should only be focusing on upper lip is a replica of Tom Selleck’s. But whenever I’m pressed to remember the tragedy of inaction, this story comes to mind, and I relive it, again, as if it were yesterday. Like he went so far beyond the call, I can hardly get my mind around it. And of course, he had to play upon the most deep seated anti-Asian prejudice in the book—that the restaurant cut up cat, and put it in his meal. And it was probably an extra powerful cat-strain too, cause it lasted through the heated cooking cycle.
I’d tell you about the first, but, in retrospect—there may or may not have been a slight inference of Contributing to the Delinquency of a Minor involved with that one, in that I was a mere 16, and he was, you know—27. Let’s call him “Lee.” So right, there I was, 16 years of age, confident that the world was my oyster, and quite assured that I knew all there was to know about anything that was even remotely important. He was rough around the edges, and had rasp in his voice to prove it. I’d go on and on about some this or that, and he’d laugh, occasionally, but mainly just listen. Seriously, this man’s hair was so thick, and so lustrous, and so beautifully maintained. We’d gone to the mall, once, and he’d bought some sneakers, and as we were walking around a department store he’d asked, “Do you want anything? My crew of girls, dark and light, alike, aren’t divided among color lines with respect to heartache; they’ve all known it in equal measure. My matriculation to adulthood has seen Halle Berry get beat by two men and made a black fool of by one, Vanessa Williams get married twice and left with a hundred children to raise all by her lonesome, Stacey Dash take an asswhooping her damned self, Rhianna get stomped unconscious in a Lamborghini (a feat I didn’t even know possible), and Leona Lewis get slapped the shit out of in public by a complete stranger. I don’t know what ultimately became of Remonica Jenkins. Maybe he knows that he didn’t get it from either one of those broads and he’s going to have to come up with an explanation, and quick. And then he ate the cat/beef, and chewed up the syphilis all in his mouth, and then swallowed it. And now, legions of black women from parts unknown are repeating this story in beauty salons across the land. Clad in a three piece suit and 4-inch pumps that elicit sighs from every man I pass.
This hair style will be great for any special occasion and will need hairspray for long lasting hold. Slick and smooth is what this hairstyle is all about.