The Problem with Being a Bra

Recently, I confessed to friends that there is a tv show that I simply endure. Like my other shows, I set the dvr up to record it and I watch it whenever time permits. But unlike my other shows, I don’t laugh, grin or even chuckle my way through the episode. They asked why I continue to watch. I told them it’s because I am a bra.

There was a time when the release of a black movie was such a rare feat that it called for celebration. Coming to America. Boomerang. Waiting to Exhale. The Inkwell. Boyz in the Hood. When I could help it, I raced to the movie opening weekend. My dad often laughed at my insistence of being black movies, almost immediately. But I explained to him that it was my goal to be the black film industry’s biggest bra -- I had to support what was out there. And that I did.

Lately, it has become hard to support, especially on television. I long for the Thursdays I spent with Dr. Huxtable and Freddie Brooks, the Sundays I spent with Maxine Shaw and Martin & Gina, as well as other nights I could spend with the Fresh Prince, my Girlfriends or The Game (the pre-BET run), etc. I don’t have many choices now, so when a new show with a black cast debuts, I immediately return to bra duty.

So when this show -- I’ll call it Feed Between the Fines -- debuted, I set the dvr and waited for my life to change. I tweeted the hell outta that bad boy’s premiere date and encouraged my friends to watch.I watched the first episode and noticed a few things -- my childhood crush on Theo remains, I have an outfit crush on almost everything Tracee Ellis Ross wears, and what is up with Tracee’s left eye?

I watched later episodes and did not react.I deadpanned my way through the episodes. And it’s not that I think the show is bad. I do NOT think the show is bad. I just think it is, well, not good. I get that this a story of POSITIVE BLACK MAN marrying a POSITIVE BLACK WOMAN and their POSITIVE DRAMA-FREE LIFE IN THE SUBURBS, FREE OF EVERY BLACK STEREOTYPE THAT HAS EVER EXISTED. And as exciting as that sounds, I’m going to need to laugh every once in a while. And clearly, I’m not the only person who feels this way.

But I survived this season, who knows how I will feel when it returns. The new season of The Game is starting soon. I was a big fan of that in its original version. Now that the show is at a different network and in different hands, I feel like it is missing . . . SOMETHING. Nevertheless, it is making somebody money. For now, I’ll keep looking around and find new ways to use my bra powers for good. I did recently watch this and enjoyed it. Perhaps things are looking up.

Photo from http://i1-news.softpedia-static.com/images/news2/Lisca-Smart-Memory-Bra-Expands-in-Cup-Size-to-Body-Temperature-2.jpg

For Dreadlocked Girls Who Have Considered Scissors & Relaxers When The Hairdresser Has Had Enough

My world stopped last week when my hairdresser called. She was having an emergency and wouldn't be able to do my hair that evening. The situation was so dire, that she didn't know when she would be able to do my hair again. So I did what I could do, I comforted Hairdresser, offered words of support, then I hung up the phone and ....

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!SCREAMED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You see, Hairdresser is a close family friend. Ok, ok, she's family. There was a time when she had her own shop and I was comforted by the nice, easy banter among us women. Sure, I was often abused ('How long are you gonna make me stay here tonight & deal with your wool, Strength?'), interrogated ('Do you have a goal for this hair? Your locs are already down your back!') and teased ('Is this a gray hair or is this your cat? Oh, it's a gray hair!'). My favorite part of the shop was the way said Hairdresser would greet me, with a hand on her hip and a firm "What do you want?"

But all good things must come to an end, I guess. Economics forced Hairdresser to close up shop and start working at The Hair Shop and Salon. Things are different there. For example, someone answers the phone with a robotic "Thank you for calling the Hair Shop and Salon, where we experience beauty and wellness. What are your wellness needs today?"Each time someone washes your hair they say something like "It was my pleasure to service you." Have I mentioned how much they charge? I mean, I expected to pay a pretty penny for this thick head of hair. But they charge extra for EVERYTHING. An extra $10 just to cut the strands off the locs? Seriously?

So when The Hairdresser couldn't do my hair, that left me with few options. I could either go to The Hair Shop or do it myself. (Or obey my mother and get a relaxer) Clearly, I chose the latter. I've washed and styled my own hair before, but I try to avoid doing it because it's such a time consuming process. Thankfully, I did a lot of googling and youtube research to find the best way to get through this head.

Things actually went well, especially since I'm madly in love with my shampoo. I washed, I twisted, I oiled, I blowdryed, I cornrowed. Boy, it took some time! But I managed to get this head in one big ole braid and got nothing but compliments the next day. Hooray!

But I truly need my Hairdresser to return to locking form, with a quickness.


Photo from http://www.naani.com/contents/media/6fd42c7c0.jpg

Ask Naté

These days, I have a new BFF and her name is Naté. We enjoy similar music, gossip blogs and she supports my stalkerization of both Robin Thicke and Method Man. We’ve bonded with issues over being the only black person in the workplace, folks misspelling and mispronouncing our name and how our accent marks have become the bane of our existence.

The only thing is, Naté and I have never met.

See, Naté is the girlfriend of my coworker Matthew. He’s a quiet, ordinary white fella who sits near me. I didn’t think one way or the other of him when he started working with me, but my eyebrows went straight to the ceiling when I saw the picture of the beautiful sistah on his desk. I tried to keep my surprise on the inside as countless numbers of our colleagues went up to him, ogled his girlfriend’s picture and told him that he was way out of his league. Yeah, I don’t work with the most sensitive people.

Anyway, it’s no secret that I check ybf on a frequent basis for my gossip fix. But one day Matthew told me that his gf told him to tell me that the site had a mention of Robin Thicke that I needed to check out. And sure enough, there was a link to a story on my man, in all his glory. From then on, Naté has been golden with me.

Since then, Naté, via Matthew, has become my go-to person in the office. It’s not unusual for me to say something like, ‘Hey Matthew, I hate that new song by (insert famous R&B artist here), what does she think? (She agreed)’ ‘Hey Matthew, is Naté wearing her black to support the Jena 6? (She was and so did he)’ And he’ll say, ‘Hey Strength, Naté wants to know if you think Paula Patton is pregnant (I have noticed a belly bump).’

Maybe one day I’ll meet Naté. I do get a kick out of her, via Matthew. We keep telling him to bring her around, but they live too far away for socializing outside of the office. Or so he says. Truthfully, I wonder if there even is a Naté. Maybe Matthew is embracing that inner black woman that dwells in us all.

(Photo from http://www.empowerme.org/images/he2016.jpg)

I Have a Dream

Let me say first that I love the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Without him, I don't know where our people would be today. I've read about his life more times than I care to remember, wrote school reports about him and had to memorize some of his famous speeches.

So please forgive me when I say: I HATE MLK DAY.

I'm glad I got that off my chest. Every time January rolls around, my stomach fills with dread. In my community, they do up the MLK holiday in style. On Friday, there's an MLK dinner where the local NAACP branch gives out some awards. The day of the actual holiday, that Monday, the community college has a breakfast and gives out even more awards.

My company is pretty active in the community, particularly with these organizations that do the dinner and the breakfast. Each year it's always the same. All the top supervisors get in a huddle and talk about who should represent the company at these events. They look around the room and since my face is the only brown one they see, they choose me. Sigh.

This year, my task was to go to the Friday dinner, which was yesterday. It was no big deal, since I also attended last year. I was excited this time because I actually had work to do, instead of sitting around and just be black, like I had to do last time. Yay!

When I get there, I have to join these two other women at their table. Our seat in the catering hall is near two tables filled with Little Bastards, but that was my only seating option. Naturally, once the program got started, we couldn't hear the speaker. All we heard was: "Stop!" "Give it back," "It's mine!" "Bitch, I'll kick your ass." Yeah, it was that kind of night. When the emcee held a moment of silence for the good Rev. King, a woman at my table turned to the Little Bastards and screamed "I WANT ALL YA'LL TO SHUT UP. DON'T MAKE ME COME BACK THERE!"

The highlight of the evening came when the woman sitting next to me started talking about her new diet. Apparently, it had been working for her and she lost 65 pounds. All she did was eat five small meals a day, walked a lot and drank nothing but water. Everyone congratulated her, until another woman (the one who shouted at the kids) said she had a better dieting option. "Ya'll remember when you saw me that time years ago and I was all skinny? Everybody was asking, 'what's your secret?' 'how'd you lose that weight?' You know what I said?"

We all looked at her. "What?"

"Crack." She started laughing. "But that was back when I was out there. Thank God I ain't like that no more."

Oy vey. The things I do for my job. I'm so overdue for a raise.

(Photo courtesy of http://www.newsroom.ucr.edu/images/releases/942_0.jpg)