Old Dog, New Tricks?

Because of a conversation I had with a friend the other day, I've been thinking about some of my personality traits and whether or not I'm an old dog needing to learn new tricks. And should I? Can people change as they get older? Should they? I think about this all the time because I know that some of my personality traits keep me a bit isolated from people.

I've always been a very private person. I think that the reason I love this blog so much is that it allows me to be so expressive from behind a screen in a semi-anonymous way. In real life, I tend to be shy and not as sharing. Most people who read the blog don't know me. I'm just this person typing out her thoughts. It really is a win-win situation.

That friend I was talking to the other day got up in her feelings and mentioned that she thinks I don't trust her. I never knew she felt this way! She told me that after all the personal stuff she's shared with me, I never reciprocate. I didn't realize how true that was until she brought it up. Honestly, I do trust her for the most part but I'm just not as comfortable as she is in "sharing". Ironically, I think that one of the reasons she shares with me is because she knows that I can be like Fort Knox when it comes to someone's confidences.

My best friend is probably the one person who knows almost everything about me now that my sister is gone. And my she thinks this can be kind of dangerous. Once, I was casually dating a guy - nothing real serious, just in that whole getting to know each other dance - and my best friend was the only one who knew about it. This went on for a few months and when she realized I hadn't mentioned anything about the guy to my family, she was really alarmed. Comically alarmed. She worried that if something happened to me, no one would know about the guy. I said that she knew. She responded by reminding me that she is old and has had a previous heart attack. "I should not be your last line of defense, girlfriend!" I so love that woman.

I'm also a loner. That's another thing that worries my family. They get it, but every now and then they remind me that they are there if I should need them. I know that. What makes it easy for me to be a loner is that I know I don't have to be. It's that whole alone-but-not-lonely situation.

So, what else should I try to change? Should I try to be more social and outgoing? I am getting somewhat better about socializing with my neighbors. I still don't attend the potlucks and other get-togethers but I have been doing a little more mailbox socializing. For a long time, I only checked my mail during low-traffic times in the hallway. I would even usually do my laundry as late in the evening as I could. I just didn't want to get roped into those conversations full of building gossip. (Okay, I kind of like some of the building gossip but from a distance. I like distant gossip...) Lately, I have taken to chatting more with a couple of the more easy-going women in the building, so I'm not completely antisocial. Not usually.

What else? Maybe I could work on some of my phobias? I've gotten a lot better about plane rides. I didn't even have to get a little bit lit before the last trip to Arizona. Of course, that flight is almost shorter than the drive to the airport. Next time I travel, I plan to use my Kratom powder or CBD oil to calm myself. I'm better with that stuff than I am with alcohol.

My sister-in-law wants me to go on more road trips with her and my brother this summer. Of course, that would mean getting out of the house and into a car situation that I wouldn't be able to escape from for at least two or three hours. On the other hand, I adore my brother and sister-in-law so I wouldn't actually be stretching my boundaries.

I was chatting with my rheumatologist during my last check-up (I think he thinks I'm quirky) and he idly asked what I planned to do with my summer. Do? As if I have a different life for every season, right? I told him that I planned to buy more plants and maybe get a different sofa. He said he wasn't talking about my apartment. He wanted to know if I planned to do anything fun or special. I told him that I'm a homebody and I find it fun and special to make my home homey. Now I'm worried he might refer me to a therapist!

Here's the deal: I know that I have an odd personality and weird ways and lots of phobias, but I am okay with my life in general so why can't people let me be? (And why did Kenny Loggins just flash through my brain, singing "I'm alright. Don't nobody worry 'bout me. You got to gimme a fight. Why don't you just let me be"?)

Speaking of that, I just love this thing I ran across on Reddit a while back. I keep threatening to have it printed onto a t-shirt.

How perfect is that?

So, you know what? I don't think I will be making any changes to my personality after all. I am okay with who I am and if you aren't, that's okay too.

Peace
--Free

The Opposite of Love?

For some reason, my sister has been on my mind more than usual these past few days. Ordinarily, I think of her most often on the anniversaries of her birth and passing. Sometimes, I get in a mood and will start looking at old photos, then memories of her flood my heart. But these past three or four days, she has been popping up in my mind. Her smile, her laugh, or the way she would suck her teeth right before she was going to say something funny.

While thinking of my sister, I always remember how loving she was. Along with my mother, she was the comfort of the family. Her children, her nieces and her nephews, her friends' kids - they all experienced the healing power of my sister's hugs. She gave the best hugs.

Something dawned on me while my sister was on my mind this week. It was about the meaning of family love and friendship love. I realized that there is no power in the word 'love' - people have tossed that word around so much that it's beginning to lose impact. The power of the word is in the person offering it up. Scripture tells us that "Death and life are in the power of the tongue". I knew that passage but I have only just now been thinking deeply about it.

When my sister gave you love, she did it with compassion and a pure heart. She patiently listened to your problems or waited out your anger or just soothed you through your fears. And she never seemed to want anything in return. She did get love reciprocated but that was never her goal. What I realized too late in her life was that sometimes we were all too busy depending on her to let her lean on us. I hope she did know how much we all loved her back. She taught us all so much about standing strong. She taught us all so much about everything. Because of her, I have finally realized something important about life and love. So she is still teaching me! It's as though I got to have a little Bible study with her again.

What I have come to fully understand is that love means nothing without truth and sacrifice. The opposite of love is pride. Love - true and real love - is giving, honest, open and willing. Love shines outward and pride radiates inward.

Peace
--Free

Music & Shame

Is it just me or does anyone else have songs they are ashamed of loving? One day, I was using Alexa to listen to the playlist I have hidden on my computer. I started hiding that playlist file a few years ago when I would let my little nephew use my computer. He was only supposed to be playing his games and watching some kid movies. However, at 4 DJ was smart enough about computers to probably write code. And there was no way that the child needed to know what was on that playlist.

I am ashamed of some of the songs I like simply because they are slightly inappropriate. First of all, no self-respecting woman should be grooving to the lyrics in Tupac's "How Do You Want It?" or Prince's "Lady Cab Driver. So I only listen to those songs in private. I mean, Tupac's song is a straight up thugged out stripper groove but, damn, it is a nice groove. I don't even know how to explain the cab driver song, but it's great music to clean house to.

Some of the songs I like though are secret only because I think my family would tease me about them. For instance, I have always loved the song called "I've Never Been to Me" by Charlene. I'll play that one on days when I just need to drain myself of tears. Sometimes all I need to feel better is a good cry and that song will certainly do it. I have other songs that I like to cry to (and, yes guys, that is a thing). There are songs that make me think of the loved ones I've lost. I can never listen "Don't Let the Sun Go Down On Me" without thinking of my father. James Taylor's "Walking Man" is a little easier on my heart but it makes me think of one of my cousins who died young.

By the way, one song that I don't have to hide is James Taylor's "Fire and Rain". That's a lifetime favorite for both me and one of my older brothers. Years ago when I found out he liked it as much as I do, I almost wept. Now it's a thing with us. It's nice to have a sweet thing like that with a sibling.

Millie Jackson's songs are some hidden favorites. Her songs might be raunchy but they are so real-life and honest. There's not a lot of sugar-coating with Millie. It was my sister who introduced me to Jackson's music and the first time I heard "If Loving You Is Wrong" I loved it even though I was too young to really understand it. I am double ashamed that I once felt like Millie was singing about one of my relationships when I heard "Hurts So Good". Great song, bad situation.

Speaking of songs that are kind of strange when you really pay attention to them, one of my favorites was always "I'm Going to Make You Love Me". Great song but... stalker much?

There are other songs I like and am not ashamed of but are surprising to some of my friends. One is Charlie Daniels' "Devil Went Down to Georgia". That is a bad-ass song with some top talent fiddle playing. However, it is right up there with the theme from "Deliverance" on a list of songs I'd rather not hear while riding through any sundown towns...

My favorite song to sing along with is Bette Midler's "Do You Want to Dance?" That's a great song! So sweet and romantic. And I don't have to strain my vocal cords or make horrible faces to keep up with it.

Then there are the filthy songs I only liked because I never paid close attention to the lyrics. One of the dirtiest songs I've ever heard is called "Magic Stick". Just the fact that it was Lil Kim and 50 Cent (you know, Fitty) singing should have been a clue. I actually could make out the first few lines of the song but couldn't really be alarmed.

I got the magic stick

I know if I can hit once, I can hit twice

I hit the baddest chicks

Shorty don't believe me, then come with me tonight

And I'll show you maaagic

(What? What?) Maaagic

My little brother was in the car with me one day while I was blasting that song and actually singing along with the "What? What? Maaagic" part.  He asked if I knew what they were singing about. Because he is younger and I know I should set a good example, I felt bad admitting that, yeah, I knew it was a song about weed, but I just liked the music.

Listen. I thought my brother was going break a rib laughing. When he could breathe again, he explained that the "magic stick" was not a joint they were talking about "hitting".

Oh. My. Damn. Now every time I even think about those lyrics, I feel like I need to wash out my brain with holy water!

So, I am over here, putting together a new playlist that I don't have to hide. Because I come to things late, I've only been obsessed for a few months with Amo Lee's "Seen It All Before", "Colors" and "Arms of a Woman" - basically everything on his debut album. All I can think is how did I not know about this singer before? For a couple of days, I had those songs on a loop along with John Mayer's "Gravity" and Bonnie Raitt's - not Steve Winwood or Blind Faith, but just Bonnie Raitt - singing "Can't Find My Way Home". I tossed in my man Al Green doing that masterpiece "Simply Beautiful." Perfection.

As for not paying attention to song lyrics, I bet I'm not the only one. If you are old enough, think back to the sweet and innocent-looking 80's darling Sheena Easton singing "Sugar Walls". Ever pay attention to those lyrics? Yeah. Prince wrote that freaky song. I can forgive him though because he also wrote one of Earth's greatest love songs when he penned "Adore". ~sigh~ I so want someone to play that song for me one day before I die.

Anyway, now that DJ is no longer constantly around my computer, I guess I can come out of hiding with all my playlists. If I'm not too embarrassed, one day I'll post a full list here. For now, I have to put on some decent music and clean the kitchen.

Peace
--Free

Back to Church

I can't remember (and don't have the patience to check) whether or not I have ever posted here about why I left the Pentecostal church. Basically, it was all about that church being a legalistic man-based religion instead of being Bible-based and God-led. The church I grew up in worried more about a person's outer appearance than they did the inner heart. And they really loved to pick and choose which parts of Jesus' teachings to follow.

Anyway.

One thing I did always love about the church services of my youth was the music. There is no Broadway production that can beat a Sunday service at the right church. When the preacher finishes performing, then comes the choir with its musicians.

I have always had a hard time explaining to people what the music was like in the church I grew up in. Then I found this video. It took me back 45 years and sat me down in a pew in Big Spring, Texas just like I never left.

This is why some church services lasted well into the night. Just when you thought you were going to be dismissed and get to go home, someone on the keyboard or drums would get inspired to hit one more note and then someone else would start to get "happy" and we'd be back into another round of singing and shouting. I got used to being in church and banging a tambourine until as late as ten o'clock on a school night.

Say what you want about all the stuff that's just wrong about the "Holiness" church, you can't badmouth the musical talent.

My ex and his cousins were the musicians in our church and their talent was just astounding. My ex is the best musician I know. He grew up in church and around all that great music. Too bad that growing up around all the preaching didn't rub off on his behavior as a human being.

I want to mention that not all people associated with the church were bad. There were a lot of good, well-meaning and true-hearted Christians who attended. Just like in the rest of the world though, it's easier to focus on and criticize the worst of the bunch.

Peace
--Free

**GRIOT** Bacon Grease Lotion

This is about one of the stories my mother liked to tell about her youth. (I lost part of the old notes about this one so... some things might be skewed. Forgive me, Mama.)

When my mother was a girl of about 14 or 15, she and her cousins had to walk quite a way to school. They took shortcuts through alleys and people's yards. Once when my one of my mother's cousins (I can't recall which one) had taken too much time getting ready for school, the other kids had gone ahead and left her. When she was almost ready to leave, she realized that there was no skin lotion around. There were a lot of girls in the home who all slicked up with moisturizer every day. Jergens was a household favorite but, when they ran out, they would use Crisco (which my mother still sometimes used as an elderly woman). This cousin noticed that not only had the lotion been used up but she couldn't even find the Crisco. Her skin was dried out from her bath and she needed to at least take care of the ash on her knees and elbows.

No lotion? No Crisco? The next best thing was some of the bacon grease that Grandma Jack collected in a tin can that sat on the stove. Bacon grease - aka fried meat grease or "seasoning grease" - was only mostly from bacon. Sometimes it was from ham drippings or some-other-part-of-the-pig drippings. People are more health conscious these days but back then, it joked that Southerners would eat everything on a pig but the toenails.

source in the photo

Anyway, this cousin had no choice. She dipped out some of that bacon grease and put a shine on her legs and arms.

I don't know how she was bothered by being ashy for one day but didn't mind smelling like a country breakfast. Maybe she had a poor sense of smell? Maybe but by the time she got a couple of blocks from home, she was reminded that dogs have a great sense of smell. It's not like they had to be bloodhounds. She was wearing pork grease. I smoked for a lot of years and to this day, I can walk into someone's house and tell if they use bacon grease to cook with...

Mama always got so tickled at the point of the story when she'd tell how her cousin had to sprint and leap a couple of low fences when some neighborhood dogs caught the smell of her on the wind. Apparently, despite her girly vanity (I mean, she could have waited to borrow lotion at school!), this chick could move like Wilma Rudolf and leap like a superhero.

The cousin made it to school in one piece but by the time she got there, she was a hot sweaty, stinking mess. Literally stinking. Bacon grease only smells good on bacon.

So that is one of the stories my mother used to tell. I'm glad that I had some notes in one of my old journals to remind me of it.

Peace
--Free

As Seen On TV

WARNING: I feel a rant coming on and I've had a lot of coffee.

Remember back when Dove started doing those ads showing "real" women? I kind of loved that, but... I kind of didn't.

I have a love-hate thing going with commercial media - television, films, advertisements. I love being able to temporarily and vicariously experience things I probably never actually will. I have to face the fact that, with all my phobias, I'll probably never fight off gangsters, monsters, or zombies. I have trouble dealing with cranky store clerks and sullen teenagers trigger my anxiety.

I'm fascinated by female actors who can immerse themselves into a fictional world and become these badass characters. They go in as Mary Lou, originally from Cleveland, and appear on screen speaking a foreign language and using 3 different types of martial arts, all while wearing perfectly fitted leather body suits so smooth and shiny that I could use them to apply makeup. Just getting into one of those suits would be the last superhuman feat you'd see me perform.

Still. we all sometimes need to have a Walter Mitty moment because a little escapism can be therapeutic.

On the other hand...

I think that we've all gotten a little too lost in the world of make-believe. We forget that actors are real people and that we are too. Life is not a fictional thing (for most of us) and it's so toxic when we forget that. This is the part I hate about commercial media.

You have to pity the person who has managed to make a living on stage or screen. Notice I didn't say that you couldn't be jealous of them. But can you imagine other people not being able to separate who you are in your real life from who you are on stage or screen? For us "commoners" that would be like your boss calling you by your job title and always expecting you to be on the clock. I once almost quit a job because my boss asked me to work on my birthday.

But that is my sorrow for the famous. For myself, I hate what media has done to the world I have to live in.

As a dark-skinned black woman, for years I was opposite to the standards of beauty portrayed in media. When I was a teenager, the only thing I had in common with the girls on the covers of magazines was that I was skinny and flat-chested. Until my late thirties, I had the build of a boy taking small hits of estrogen.

Not only was "white" media not my friend, neither was Jet or Ebony. The only black girls I saw in movies that looked like me were the "field" slaves in "Roots" or the hookers in Blaxploitation films. The men could be dark skinned. Think Richard Roundtree as Shaft or Jim Brown as Gunn (and what the hell was up with all the phallic names?). But the ladies could usually pass the paper bag test.

Diana Ross was kind of my image hero because she was thin and (kinda) dark like me. Except, she could sing and act and, eventually, her skin seemed to lighten up a little. Or is that just me? That cannot just be me, people.

She's bad to the bone, but... c'mon now

By the way, I still dig Ms. Ross. If you're going to be a diva, be one of the first.

I will be damned if, by the time my dark skin came into vogue, I had suddenly grown hips and boobs. And the total "boy" look was still in. Son of a bitch!

Still, dark skin stopped being the biggest stigma for black girls. Sometimes, it reversed itself. I dated one guy who admitted that he liked me because I was "exotic". Not because I was funny or nice or just fun to be with. But because I was exotic. I wasn't sure what that meant. Every time he came around I wondered if he felt like he was on the Serengeti or dating a chick from his National Geographic fantasies. Once again, son of a bitch.

That was the heavy stuff. On the lighter (um hm) side of my love-hate affair with the media, let's deal with the commercials. Race and color aside, when it comes to straight advertising, I can find at least 3 other issues to discuss with a therapist. Size, height, and lifestyle. This kind of brings me back to the Dove "Campaign for Real Beauty". Shows how much attention I pay, I didn't even know that was the name of the campaign until just now.

It's too late for me to acquire more self-esteem. If I haven't learned to accept myself by now then, to paraphrase The Blue Notes, I will never never never... But kudos to Dove for lifting up the heads of young women. That's some needed air to bring into the conversation about self-acceptance.

Then there are the commercials I grew up with. The ones that didn't make me feel excluded by race and ethnicity but just confused me.

I never did understand why there had to be a commercial about a  mother and daughter discussing vaginal freshness. That was right up there with other things to be discussed in the privacy of my bedroom with my mother. That's where we had our talks about sex, smoking, drugs, and that one play auntie who likes women and I was supposed to respect and stand up for nonetheless "because we don't care if Wilma Jean lives with Martha Sue Townsend. That's your auntie and you aren't supposed to be up in grown people's bedroom business anyway."  (~deep breath~) Somehow this last bit derailed my initial question about what exactly was French kissing and was it okay for American girls to do it too. (I hoped so because I didn't want to think that my cousin Candy was breaking some kind of international law.)

Also, there were the commercials showing how some families in some apparently fictional land called "not at my house" lived. In these commercials, kids ate a lot of Twinkies and McDonald's French fries whenever the hell they felt like it. In our home, we ate homemade cakes for desserts and once every other anniversary of Halley's Comet we got to go to What-A-Burger. In our house, kids did not just run and grab stuff out of the fridge whenever they had company over or wanted a snack. No no. If I had company (it was usually some kid related to me), Mama served us what she wanted us to have. If I wanted a snack, I'd have to ask permission and my mom would most likely look at the clock first to judge how much time it had been since the last meal. We weren't deprived but we did not run the house. Mama ran the house until Daddy got home, then they tag-teamed the crap out of us.

I watch commercials now and wonder how the heck these people have their lives so together. Everyone's car is spic-and-span clean. All the furniture in their homes matches everything else in their homes. They wear clothes that are new and color-coordinated down to their underwear and socks. They manage to have their hair done, house cleaned, dinner ready, children well-behaved (or adorably mischievous), and their spouse only looks at them with all the love in the universe. No one wakes up with morning breath, eye boogers or hair shot up on their heads. Oh, and their bedrooms are always sun-filled and (apparently) fresh-smelling because (again, no morning breath) and (damn it) color-coordinated.

Here's the part I hate most about those commercials. For one thing, even if I had the kind of money it took to live in the universe of perfect homes, you'd never see me lolling around in it. I'd be so busy working my high-powered job or turning tricks or selling drugs or being a politician to pay for all that perfection. Because, let's face it - I can't sing or dance and I won't do the sex- tape thing. When the hell would I have time to enjoy my sun-filled, fresh-air smelling, color coordinated, impossibly always perfect home? Tell me that.

What I am saying is, it's all a lie. One way or another, some evil power is playing all of us against each other. They or "it" keeps us all so busy wanting what someone else has that we have to remind ourselves to be happy where we are. I firmly believe that there is some "celebrity" out there who envies my ability to go to Walmart without fear of being stalked by fans or photographers. I just know that there are days when someone who lives in one of those perfect, furniture coordinated, always fresh smelling homes wish they could trade places with me. Well, maybe not me because my life is pretty crappy right now, but you know what I mean.

Now, just for added fun and cruelty, we have the internet, pushing us into the same cracks of self-doubt and dangerous comparisons...

Speaking of the internet and trends, I was reading a book the other day that made a great point about the relationship between the words "Influence" and "Influenza". Now think "viral" and "virus". We currently use those terms to convey positive things. (And, yes, I am over here point a finger at myself for that joining into that silliness.)

Here's my message to all my brothers and sisters out there - ALL of you, regardless of race, color, ethnicity, or gang  social media affiliation - let's use media for what it should be. Let it entertain us, bring us together, take us away for a while, show us something we didn't know, and just be our temporary entertainment. Don't try that TV pretend sh*t at home. That goes for the commercials too. Buy what you need and what you want - not what someone tricks you into thinking you need or want. Be kind, be funny, be loving, be healing, be helpful, and be as healthy as you can in your mind, body, and soul. And always, always be you.

Peace
--Free

My Hurting Heart Doesn't Want That

Depression is an illness that there is no intervention for. How does one intervene in unexpressed pain? What ultimatums do you give a broken heart?

As someone who has long struggled with depression, I don't have any answers for how to make things better, but I do know of things that have never helped me. People offer suggestions and advice out of love and concern, but most of what they suggest and advise means nothing to a person in the middle of their darkness. And depression is its own galaxy of very little light, filled with fear, doubt, hopelessness, despair, and self-loathing. All those things rotate in the tortured mind of the depressed.  Every now and then, a little bit of light gets in and allows the person to get through to another moment alive. But that light never stays on. That's the cycle: me and it, suiting up against each other, fighting it out, retreating, and then doing the whole thing all over again.


I've had well-meaning people tell me what they think will help me. I love that they care but I hate their advice. To quote one of my favorite writers, "You got to go there to know there." No one else can navigate the dark places my mind has taken me. Often the advice I get is only frustrating.

"Exercise" is what a lot of people will tell a depressed person. "Get up and get out in some fresh air and take a walk." I am sure that that works for some people, but not for me. When I am in the worst of my depression, I can't even move to wipe tears from my face. I have sat immobile on the couch or the floor because I didn't have the energy or will to move. I have sometimes just kept still because of a feeling that I would shatter from grief if I moved. I have lain in bed unable to even push the covers off when I got too warm. So exercise only works for me before the deepest of the darkness settles in.

Another suggestion is to "count your blessings". This is one that really hurts. My faith means so much to me that it's the thing I wrestle most with when I am feeling at my lowest. I pray long conversations with God at this point, but it's very hard to count blessings while you are in a fight for your life. I am always thankful to God because I have never been forsaken, but that doesn't help the pain when I am drowning in it.

I've also been told to just "buck up" -  as if I'm an animal who only needs to remember how to move correctly! And what the hell does it even mean to "buck up"? Whatever it means, I wish getting from under the grip of depression was so easy as just doing something other than being depressed. Maybe the next time I'm taking care of a household bill, instead of sending in a payment, I can just command the bill to "be paid!"

There was a period in my life when I almost couldn't deal with attending church because I would just weep through the entire service. One time a woman sitting beside me in the pew hugged me and whispered that I should just "pray that sadness away". I didn't go back to church for a month. My tears in the church weren't from the sadness, they were from feeling so completely grateful. No matter how low I have ever been, I have never felt abandoned by God. I've felt mad at Him but I've never felt separated from Him. I never forget Romans 8:38-39.

So what am I trying to say? I'm not trying to speak for everyone who suffers from depression. I can only speak for myself because I only know what my hurting heart doesn't want. First of all, you can't 'fix' me with advice. My doctors are trying different types of medicines. I don't even know if I can be fixed. I'm just trying to survive and your words - as nice as they sound - don't help. What helps is knowing that you love me. Please know that I am more than my depression. Know that my depression comes and goes, ebbs and flows. Try to love me when I'm in the middle of the darkness as much - or maybe more - as you love me any other time.

Sometimes, the best thing that a friend or other loved one can do for me is to just let me know that you are there but give me space. I'm familiar with all the voices in my head and I know how to cry them, pray them, and battle them away. I just need to know that you're still going to love me when I come out of the fight.

Peace
--Free

All That We Are

So, I was in one of my moods the other night after taking my injection. Since the most I can do on those days in lay down and try not to be nauseous and achy (think of the mild flu), I tend to do a lot of thinking. For some reason on this day, I went way deeper than I usually do when I don't feel well.

What I started out thinking was that we as humans don't often realize just how much more we are than flesh and blood. (And I have no idea how that sentence sounds because I'm foggy today so bear with me.) We tend to our flesh - with food and drink and sex and drugs and all the emotions we can muster up - but do we pay enough attention to the rest of what we are?

By the way, when I was looking for an image to post here, this perfectly suitable one popped up on Pinterest:

I personally think of my body as being only maybe ten percent of who and what I am. The body is what you see, but my mind and soul and thoughts and inner mystery is the most significant part. The body is just a vessel - convenient but overrated. The body is really the part of us that causes our sorrows - or most of them. It's the keeper of our health and our sins and our weapon of negative actions.

A quote that I always loved - though I misunderstood and wrongly attributed to C.S. Lewis - goes something like this:

You don't have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.

While I get that the theology of the statement is a little crooked, I still like the core of what it means to me. I realize that I am a body imbued with a soul and, thankfully also the Spirit indwelling. What the quotation means to my train of thought though is that we don't think as much as we should about our souls. Our neglect of the soul is the root of so many troubles.

I think that when people say that they can "sense" something good or bad about a person, what they are feeling is the character of that person's soul. Often, when I meet someone, I will feel something really positive or really negative vibing between us. They can be a completely decent person who I just get a bad feeling about or a seemingly horrible person who I feel safe with. I've been wrong at times of course, but a lot of the time, I'm proved right. Also, I can meet someone and just know that I want them in my life. That's how I met my best friend.

The world - or rather, society and its norms - have trained us to be more aware of and to react more to people based on having (or lacking) so-called good looks, success, charisma, or the 'It' factor. I believe this is how we made bad choices in friends, relationships, and safety. There are murderers who have charm and looks. There are great-looking people who will ruin your life if they get a chance. Some psycho- and/or sociopathic people thrive because of the shallow nature of the rest of us.

People who look deeper and feel deeper and think deeper are so often thought of as 'strange' or odd. I had a hard time when I was younger because I just didn't care as much about the same things as most of my peers did. I was never the person who felt comfortable at parties or other common social situations. I would find myself trying to have a good time but getting distracted or lost in my thoughts about what was going on around me. Thank God I had wonderful parents. They let me know that it was okay not to fit in everywhere. They would tell me not to worry about have a lot of friends and just to try having good friends. Plus, I come from a large extended family so I had cousins and such. Being a military kid was a blessing and a curse since I was never going to be around the same crowd of kids for long.

Once again, because of brain fog, I've kind of forgotten where the hell I was traveling on this train of thought! Mainly though, I just wanted to talk about how we don't get to know other people - or even ourselves - as well as we should because we never look deep enough.

I will give up trying to pull my thoughts back together and just update this post if I can on another day. Of course, I'm pretty sure my brain will wake up all ready to cooperate just when I get good and sleep tonight...

Peace
--Free

GRIOT: Big Mama, Big Food, Big Love

Originally posted on Tuesday, April 05, 2016

I'm taking a couple days' break from reviews. I've received so many EOs for cleansing and moisturizing, I need to let my body (and skin, and hair) rest! I've washed my hair so much that I've rid myself of future dirt.
Today, I want to talk about memories. I've been in that mood. I was telling my niece the other night about the times I used to spend around Big Mama. My memory sucks so I probably tossed in memories that were handed down from my older brothers and sister.

We talked about how Big Mama would fix these huge and amazing breakfasts. When I say that breakfast at Big Mama's was an experience, I mean that even my mother (the Texan) was impressed. There were no simple, egg-and-bacon deals at Big Mama's. There's not a fast food chain around that could emulate these meals without adding a buffet line.

The first time I had a Big Mama breakfast, I thought I'd migrated in my sleep and woken up in the planet of No Freaking Way.

First, there was the food: slices of ham, fried pork chops, pan-fried potatoes, thick slabs of bacon, grits with salt and pepper, and biscuits that so huge and buttery-good that I think they are what the Israelites called manna. There were also eggs - scrambled eggs, sunny-side up, boiled and sliced - but who the heck could think about eggs with all that other food? One of my brothers used to joke that just two of those biscuits could feed half of a small continent.

When I say there was a lot of food, I mean, there wasn't just a dib of this and a dab of that. I mean, there was a lot of food. That was the first amazement.

Then there was the fact that there were so many people at the table. Family that lived two and three blocks away showed up for breakfast at Big Mama's. Talk about getting a start to the day, right? It was like a daily family reunion before folks went off to school or work or back to their own homes for the day.
The most impressive thing to me about those breakfasts - the thing that I never got over, even after I was used to all the food and family - was that they happened while dawn hadn't even thought about breaking. Seriously.

For a time, when my father moved our family there while he went overseas, we had to look for temporary housing. In the meantime, my mother, my siblings and I stayed in Big Mama's house. I'd feel like I'd just gone into REM sleep when I'd hear Big Mama walking around doing her morning wake-up calls.

"Rise and shine, everybody. The Lord has blessed us all to see another day!"

I'd just be wishing that the Lord would bless us to sleep another couple of hours. But, in Big Mama's house, no one was allowed to lay around in bed unless they were sick. Big Mama believed in that early-to-bed and early-to-rise thing. Super early. Crazy early. Early to bed like a narcoleptic wino, and early to rise like a rooster with anxiety issues.

Still, I loved being around my Big Mama - Miz Minnie Lee to a lot of people, but always Big Mama to me. She had her ways though...

Big Mama had a lot in common with most people of her generation when it came to how you raised and treated children. I always think of this image when I think of my Big Mama:

After she fed us all to stuffing before the crack of dawn, Big Mama made us face the day with prowess. During the school year, Big Mama could get 30 kids out of the house - on time, nourished, clean, looking good and feeling like there was nothing they couldn't do. She was like a fierce wind that pushed you out that door and into the world like all your dreams were just waiting for you to collect them. Even with all that freaking food in you.

Side note here about my aunties: I have the best aunties in this world. One of my aunties was a lunch lady at the elementary school. Who always got a fresh cinnamon roll for school breakfast? And who never had to worry that all the chocolate milk was gone? Me, that's who! (And I want to find that lost cinnamon roll recipe because I have never had one like those since childhood.)

One of my other aunties was our lioness. She'd run off bullies with a broom (true story), chaperon teen socials, carpool kids all over the neighborhood after the weekend get-togethers, and make sure that any stray kid was looked after.

Big Mama raised those aunties of mine. No surprise that they are all women to be reckoned with.
I guess I'm just glad that I have so many good memories of my Big Mama. I wish that many of the younger people I know could have experienced that kind of love.

Today, people like to call my Big Mama's kind of love "tough love". It wasn't tough love, it was just big love.

Peace
--Free


NOTE: I did make a couple of needed corrections that I only noticed when re-posting this. 

Re-posting a Funny

I've been laid up for several days and letting a bunch of scheduled posts take care of the blog. However, I was looking over some old posts and wanted to share this. This is a paste/copy of a post from June 2006 of something so hilarious that my sisters-in-law and I still laugh about it. I wish I knew where it originated. Please enjoy.


For My Lady Blogger Buddies

Okay - and the guys too. Anyone who wants to laugh. No post today, so enjoy this. It was given to me yesterday when I went to lunch with my office family. I'm surprised we weren't kicked out of the place. I'm not sure who wrote it, but YOU WILL LAUGH. (It's a little long...)

CAUTION: Be prepared to laugh out loud!

All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax.

My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom.

It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out.

(YA THINK!?!)

So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax," yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.

With my next wax strip, I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the one strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my "honey pot" and stretching down to the inside of my ass cheek (Yes, it was a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself...RRRRIIIPPP!!!!

I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!.... OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. OH NO! What have I done???!!! Another deep breath and RRIIP! P!! Everything is swirly and spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal.

I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???

Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax. WHAT?! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, my "man magnet". Which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair.

Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down. My

LIFE FLASHES BEFORE ME!!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door. Kooter? Sealed shut! Ass?? Sealed shut! Both sealed tighter than

Fort Knox!!!

I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to Shit! My head may, quite frankly, just pop off!"

What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!!!

I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right??? WRONG!!!!!!!

I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit.

Now, the only thing worse than having your ass and nether regions glued together is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax.

So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain!!

God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!

I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter -

"So girlfriend, my ass and "kitty" are glued together to the bottom of the tub!"

There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking your ass and crotch?" She must be reveling in humor and wants me to repeat it for her enjoyment.

She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night.

While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better than to have your "man-hole" girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!!

By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.

My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on my cooch, and

OH MY GOD!!!!!!!

The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend.

It's sooo painful, but I really don't care.

"IT WORKS!! It works!!"

I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair...THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!! Looking like an Osama Bin Laden goatee!

So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.

Next week I'm going to try hair color.....

Now that's funny ........ Notttttttttt.


Send this on to other ladies who need a good laugh!

Peace
--Free

P.S.: I had to come back and edit at least 3 times. It's an OLD post and the formatting was awful..

GRIOT: The Family Griot

When my sister died, she took with her a lot of our oral family history. My mother used to talk to us all the time about her life as a young woman back in Texas. I didn't appreciate her stories until I got older and there are so many times I wished I had tape-recorded her telling them. Being ten years older than me, my sister knew and remembered more of the people and things my mother talked about. Now, there are only a few members of the extended family who have this knowledge. But I do remember some things.

Can't remember where I found the image a while back

Some of my favorite stories are of the times my mother and her cousins would have "play church". There were a lot of cousins to make up the congregation, but it was Vera Lee who usually played the part of the pastor. She could stomp, preach, and hold her ear and yowl like the best of the Southern 'negro' preachers.

One time during one of these 'church' services, the cousins decided to hold a funeral. They also decided that the funeral needed a body. Cousin Bunky was the snitch of the group and she had recently gotten some of the other kids in trouble with her tattling. And that is how Vera Lee decided that Bunky should be the body. Bunky had forgotten all about the recent whoopings she had caused for the other kids so she was fine with playing the corpse at the funeral. Until the other kids got to the part where they actually tried burying her.

There were so many of these stories from my mother. I'm glad that I have old notebooks and blog posts with some of the tales recorded. I thought that I would share (or re-share) some of them here. So, every now and then, I will do those post filed under "Griot" and hope that other people will be encouraged to enjoy their own family histories.

Peace
--Free

Ride or Die?

Recently, I saw a post on Instagram that made me laugh hard just before it made me think even harder.

Liking my pic is not the problem here!

I was once  a true "ride or die" chick. The ride was pretty rough and it did almost kill me.

The ex you have heard about before was my personal Jim Jones. I loved him blindly and drank so much of his Koolaid that I'm still getting the poison out of my system. In the early days of our relationship, he told me that he didn't think that he had enough to offer me in the way of material things. I told him I didn't care and that I would live in a shack or on the streets with him. It was only after we had burned through all of my money and were really close to living on the streets that I had a couple of revelations. For one thing, there was no reason for us to be in such a bad situation. If he had at least tried to help and love me the way I did him, we'd have been just fine. For another thing, well, he didn't love me the way I loved him. I know because he eventually told me so.

It was that relationship - and all the drama and fear and anger and abuse - that helped make me sick. If you think that emotional and psychological stress can't kill you, ask a doctor.

My bad relationship helped me to realize that the love I need is the love I have to give.

Or maybe there will be no more hurt

A  few short years of being "ride or die" for someone who didn't deserve that kind of loyalty cost me so much. I damaged other relationships, I wrecked my mental and physical health, and I crucified my finances. Believe this or not though, I gained so much more than I lost. Humiliation taught me things that pride never could have. I know what being loved and valued means now that I've been through the opposite. Most of all, I learned something my mother always tried to teach me. Hope is worth more than 'happy'. Being happy can very quickly be replaced with sorrow and depression and defeat. Being hopeful helps you persevere when you think about giving up and giving in. I survive on hope every single day.

So, I sometimes joke about being burned and learned when it comes to love. Truth is, I'm still a believer. I believe that the other half of my celestial self is out there somewhere, remaining hopeful.

And that, I truly, hope, is the truth.

Peace
--Free

**UPDATE** I Tried Mitragyna Speciosa

NOTE: Kratom is not legal in all places & I am not encouraging the use of the herb.

This post is about my personal experience using Kratom

 and anyone considering using it should consult their medical team.

*****UPDATE*****

I've used Kratom every day for 6 days. Here are the highlights.

PROS:

• I felt that it did help my focus somewhat. The brain fog never completely went away, but I felt I had an easier time working through it.
• The energy boost is undeniable. There were no jitters, just a steady level of energy.
• My appetite decreased. 
• I slept better than I have in a very long time. I found that I was sleeping through the night and waking up without the hangover effects of prescription sleeping pills.
• It was easy to work around the nasty taste of the powder by mixing into beverages. I think it's best masked by mixing into some O.J.
• A 25g bag of the powder could last a couple of months if I only use it on an as-needed basis. If I had to choose, I would use it only for sleep.

The biggest benefit has been the effect on my sleep. I haven't felt so rested in a very long time. My fatigue is not completely gone, but I wonder if it would be in another few months. The appetite suppressing effect is nice but I was already losing weight on my own. That's called not eating your emotions.

CONS:

• Getting the dosage right is very tricky. What seems to work one day is too much or too little the next.
• Even though it helped me sleep better, I slept less. Not sure if this is a downside or not.
• I would have to test a lot of strains to find one that works best for me. There are a LOT of different strains and variations of strains.
• Kratom gave me headaches.

That last one - the headaches - is the biggest negative for me. No matter how much or how little I used, I would develop a headache within half an hour. The headache lasts longer than the other effects of the powder. To make sure that Kratom was the cause, I skipped an evening dose and the next morning's dose. Headache went away about noon of that second day. I took a dose for nighttime and the headache crept back in. I checked my blood pressure (which has been excellent for over a year now) and it was normal. 

I am not sure whether I will try a different strain or not, but I really love how much my sleep has improved. That feels a little bit like a miracle after all the months of fighting insomnia. I am going to think about whether to continue my search for a strain that works best for me. In the meantime, my friend bought me some CBD oil and I will review that at a later date. I didn't want to use both the Kratom and the CBD at the same time until after seeing the effects of the Kratom. 

 Mitragyna speciosa or, as it is more commonly known as Kratom is something I heard about when through an online support group for people with chronic depression and anxiety. I have been considering trying it for a long while because prescription medications have not been working well for me. 

I hesitated with posting about my experience with Kratom because I don't want to be a cheerleader for anything like this herb. Making the decision to try Kratom was like marriage and not to be entered into lightly. I didn't pay attention to that suggestion when I was at the altar but I did take it seriously about Kratom.

There were a lot of reasons I wanted to try this herb. The possible relief from anxiety and depression was a top reason. When some people told me that it also helped alleviate their extreme fatigue, I got more interested. 

I spent a lot of time looking around for reputable vendors, then I had to decide which strain of Kratom I wanted to try. There are so many choices and the information out there is so convoluted that deciding where to start is tiring. What I finally ended up doing was getting one strain that is supposed to be best for relieving fatigue (this was a white veined strain) and another strain to help with depression and anxiety (red veined).

One very concerning thing is that there are no standard dosing instructions for this stuff. All I learned was to start small and move up incrementally until you discover your best dose.  I ended up being extremely cautious about doing this.

The first time I used the white veined powder, I took it in increments of 1/8 teaspoon at a time until I realized that a teaspoon and a half is a dose that works for me. By the way, this stuff is crazy bitter. I mixed mine in with a little bit of my coffee and just slammed it back. Cranberry juice also helps mask the nasty taste.

 Both powders look the same

I got some relief from my fatigue after using that 1 1/2 teaspoon. There was no feeling of being 'high'. There's no discernible feeling at all. I simply realized, after about 10 minutes of the full dose, that I was not as weighted down by the fatigue as I had been. Thankfully, there is no 'buzz' or sense of being revved up like there can be with some prescription meds. The downside is that, for me, the effect lasts only a few hours. Still, it was great to be able to get things done for a while. I didn't notice a big difference in my cognitive function but I didn't seem to be as brain-fogged as I can often be.

I made sure to use the red-veined powder only when I was completely ready to be down for the night. I went ahead and used the same 1.5 teaspoon dose as I did for the white strain. I expected it to be more noticeable but, just like with the other powder, the effects were subtle. I forget how long it was before I did notice being more relaxed and calm. I do know that, had I shut my brain off, I could have gone to sleep about a half hour after I was in bed. Of course, I didn't shut down because I wanted to listen to a news podcast like I do every night. When I did fall asleep, I was out and I was out for the night.

The red strain worked so well for helping me to sleep that I am amazed. After struggling with both fatigue and insomnia for so long, it was wonderful to be able to get a complete night of sleep. I didn't wake up not even once through the night. I know for a fact that I didn't toss and turn. I had my writing notebook and an open bottle of water on a bedtable next to me when I went to sleep and didn't knock anything over during the night. Also, I felt incredibly rested when I got up. When I have used sleeping pills - prescription or OTC - I always wake up feeling groggy, slightly hungover and kind of dehydrated.

Day Two, I decided to take the white strain on an empty stomach and I did the full 1.5 teaspoon dose all at once instead of incrementally. That seems to work better for me. I felt as though I had had a significant caffeine boost without getting the jitters. I'm not sure if my mind was sharper but I really think that I had less trouble focusing for longer periods of time. Usually, when I am writing or blogging, it's easy for me to lose track

The one benefit that I was not expecting was that this suppressed my appetite. I didn't realize this until about 6 hours into my day. I start my morning with coffee and creamer instead of food. By lunchtime, I am usually already snacking when I prep something substantial. My meals are almost always homecooked and fairly healthy but my snacking is out of control. There are some days when I replace meals with junk and, despite all my wishes and prayers, homemade junk is just as fattening and as storebought junk. It may be slightly healthier to eat my homemade brown sugar bread with walnuts, but my bathroom scale doesn't care if it home prepped or straight from the Twinkies factory. So, score another point for the Kratom.

So far, I do like using the powder. I do know that I will need to be careful to watch for any negative side effects, but that's the same as for prescription meds. Also, like I said, this is something that is all kinds of experimental and it effects most like vary wildly depending on the individual's other medications and overall health.

Finally, this was just a rundown of my personal experience. If anyone decides to try the herb, know that you will have to do your own research and accept the responsibility. Also. this stuff is not legal everywhere. It is currently legal here in Iowa, but you can check online for the latest maps of states where it is and is not allowed.

I may update this post at some point.

Peace
--Free


P.S.: I was undecided until the last minute as to whether I would say where I bought the Kratom. I have decided to link to the site where I bought mine. I liked the item I got from Coastline Kratom. I found the prices fair and after a month of use, I am very happy with the results I am getting. Make sure that you look for any first-time buyer coupon codes. However, I do not get paid for any sales. Use your own judgment when making purchases of anything you intend to you as I am not responsible for that. This next time I am trying the white strain of Maeng Da. Again, purchase and use under your own guidance.

The Kitchen in the Bathroom

Something happened that reminded me of this video:

I first saw that video at least three years ago and to this day I don't know if the lady was kidding or not. But I do know that some people are still mystified by "the butters" and other stuff some women can't live without...

One morning, my neighbor popped over bringing donuts to share with me. I had just gotten out of the shower from washing my hair. I told her to go ahead and brew us some coffee and I went on into the bedroom to get dressed. I heard her going in to use the loo at some point and hoped she didn't mind the after-shower mess.

She didn't even greet me when I came out to sit with her. She just asked me what the hell I had going on in my bathroom. I thought she meant I'd left water on the floor or something but she was talking about all the stuff I'd left out on the counter.

It's not a huge secret that some of us women use fridge and pantry items in our skin and hair care routines. It's also not a huge secret that this is kind of an... "ethnic" thing to do. Back in Anchorage, it was just a thing. Almost everybody was into it. A lot of diversity in Anchorage and my sisters of all races were in on the moisture thing. Because Alaska. And winter. Sometimes 8 months of winter.

I now live in a tiny town in Iowa where there are about 15 black people (I'm not kidding about being able to count how many) and 3 of those are my family members. My neighbor is white and has admitted that I am her second black friend. Ever. She is in her mid-60's.

Now, if you ever go into my bathroom right after I've showered or done anything to my hair involving water, you will see some odd things on the counters. There's my coconut oil for my skin and hair; flaxseed gel if I am using it to condition my hair; yogurt and honey if I am doing a face or hair mask; and you might see a tiny jar of coconut oil and sugar that I use as a lip scrub. All that has nothing to do with the sunscreen, glycerin, castor oils and lotion that I mix for moisturizing my skin. And please don't look into the shower where I have regular shampoo, conditioner, and body oil. Oh, and 3 different kinds of soaps - USA, Greece, and Africa are represented. There's barely room for my body to be in there.

I explained all this to my neighbor and she just shook her head. She was probably thinking that this explains why my hair can sometimes smell like a tropical salad. She was most fascinated though with the oils. And I am fascinated with the number of people who don't moisturize. By the way, this reminds me of Bill Burr being hilarious:

The first time I saw that standup show, I laugh-cried all the moisturizer off my face.

Anyway, my neighbor left that day with some of my coconut oil and directions on how to use it to remove makeup or to heat-condition damaged hair. Next time I will mix her up some of my Jamaican Black Castor Oil and Palmer's lotion as a treatment for extra-dry skin.

Peace
--Free

RANT: Keeping It Real

Let me start by saying that this post might "trigger" some folk. I'm sorry but I have to do this. I just finished trying to shop online for some makeup and hair products and I somehow ended up water-sliding down a rabbit hole of madness.

Ladies, when did we get so extreme about trying to be beautiful? Is it because of the selfie mentality brought on by Facebook and Instagram? I think that must be it. I can do a whole pre-rant rant on how sick I am of seeing people pooching up their lips and squinching their eyes to look "sexy" in their photos. I admit that I am jealous of photogenic people but that has nothing to do with how much I hate the way we have perverted the simple act of posing for photos. In my opinion 'posing' for a photo means making sure you don't have food in your teeth, your nose is not shining to light a room. and you are sucking in the belly pooch. I don't know when it because such a thing to make "duck lips" (how f**king stupid does that even sound?) and squinch-eyes. Only Marilyn Monroe could get away with that and she's gone now so stop it. Just stand there and try to look like you are glad to be alive and smile. That's it. Simple. And even if you want to cute it up by pretending to be a lingerie model, that's cutest when it's an every-now-and-then thing. I don't even know some people anymore when I see them in person because they are so impossibly glamorous in every single photo. (I can swear that I am not lying when I say there are people I met online through the family that I did not recognize the first time I saw them in person. I'm dead serious.)

And I get it. We all want to look our best - in photos and in person. Why the hell do you think I was shopping for makeup and hair products? I want to look my nicest. Usually. Most of the time though, I am a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of gal. If I'm not being stubborn, I will put on some foundation and lipstick and reacquaint my body with something other than jeans and a t-shirt. At my finest, I will even try to wear hose and heels. (The heels part is a little tricky with my balance these days, but...)

I once watched a makeup tutorial video that reminded me of something my mother used to say about people just running out of sh*it to do. What I wanted was to understand what "contouring" is since I had heard so much about it. Have you seen this kind of thing before? It's like trick makeup. If you are skilled enough at this contouring stuff, you can abracadabra a person into a whole other entity.

When I was writing this I got so tickled because I remembered something from an old movie. The best part starts at the 3:40 mark.

That clip reminded me of one from the Fresh Prince:

I no longer find Will Smith, sexy or charming these last few years but this clip still cracks me up.

Some women are going to hate me for saying this but... I think it's a little unfair when ladies paint themselves into another face, Spanx up a whole other body, and go all weave-a-go-go. A guy has no idea what a woman really looks like. Sooner or later, all the special effects are going to have to be washed off. And I totally get wanting to look good your best for your man, but reality is still the name of the game. If you are jazzing yourself up in online pics to maybe meet a mate, remember one thing: you eventually have to show up in person. I just think honesty is too important in a relationship (said the woman who, when younger, got up before her husband, apply full makeup, get back in bed and "wake up" again looking lovely) and going too far with the makeup and everything is basically a lie. There's a reason my first marriage failed.

 Another reason I don't understand the obsession with makeup is how messy it can be. I wear a little bit of foundation and am lucky when I make it through the day without it transferring onto everything. When I clean my face at night - and this is just for a tiny bit of foundation mixed into some sunscreen - that baby wipe comes away looking like I used it to stain furniture. That's not sexy.

Maybe I'm just being so critical because I no longer wear much makeup. Even when I was younger, I was no good at using anything beyond the basics. I'm always kind of amazed at the talent some people have at changing their whole look with makeup.

I was talking to a guy in line at the store not long ago. He complimented me on my eyes, saying they were pretty. Before I could even thank him, he asked if my contacts were colored. They are not. I have a strange genetic thing going on that gives my eyes a blue tinge. But I can't blame the guy for asking (but I kind of can) since, these days, you never know what's real or purchased. ~shrug~

I don't know. I'm bitching and criticizing but I am probably a little bit of a hypocrite. I have been known to wear braided extensions and I am not above slathering on makeup for formal photos. One time, I tried wearing some Spanx-like undergarment to work. Two hours into my day, I had to go into the bathroom and completely disrobe to peel myself out of that contraption. I was so constricted I felt like I was about to stroke out...

So, okay then. I guess we all can be a bit vain at times. I just wish we could be more accepting of each other straight, no chaser, no coverup.

One reason I try to never doctor online photos of myself is that I'd rather you be pleasantly surprised when you meet me instead of thinking of me as a photo-shopping genius of a cheat. Oh, wait - was that vain of me?

Peace
--Free