#43 My Hair Rant (Again)

As you may or may not know, I have an on going struggle with my hair. A struggle that has plagued me since I was old enough to know what the word "nappy" meant. Don't get me wrong, I accept my hair for what it is, but I won't lie and say that very often in grade school I never looked longingly at the straight, waist length, blonde hair of the girl who sat in front of me in literature.

I always feel like there's another person telling me that femininity is shiny, and smooth, and bouncy. It's never kinky or curly and that irritates the he'll out of me.

God, I hate hair product commercials. Garnier Fructis will be happy to show me a million different pictures of how silky smooth, wavy, straight, or curly they can make your hair. It's like "Come dance in my sexy, sexy hair."

I think I'm just waiting for the day that people decide afros can be sexy, too.

You see, I have a problem with people calling my Afro cute. Like it's some sort of novelty item, or a joke. Like they don't understand that "this is my hair." "This is an actual hairstyle."

Quotes from people about my hair:

"It's so coarse!"

"It's so cute!"

"It's so funny!"

"It's so thick!"

"It's so weird!"

"It's so unkempt!"

"It's so thick!"

"It's so mysterious!"

"I would never want an Afro, but it looks cool on you!"

Do you know what it feels like when someone tells you that they never want their hair to look like yours? It's fucking hurtful. It's so fucking hurtful.

Also, don't look at my hair when you're speaking to me. You know who you are. You glance up, look extremely disturbed for a second, then look back at my face.

So by now, you may or may not be wondering, "If I hate hair so fucking much, why are you growing it out again?"

Because maybe, by the time I'm finished, people won't see me as a petting zoo anymore.

RANT OVER

#42 Feeling Everything and Nothing

I was going to right about how I was feeling, but hey- why not a poem?

How are you feeling today?

Well, there are good feels
And bad feels
And really, really strange feels

Big feels
small feels
And hardly ever noticed feels

There's confusion
And delusion
And far too much intrusion

There is happy
There is sad
There is burning raging mad

Feels like nervous
Feels intense
Feels like edge of seat suspense

I could be quiet
I could be cozy
I could be obnoxious and nosy

Feeling wanted
Feeling used
Feeling tried and abused

I have felt angry
I have felt old
I have felt bought, sold, controlled

I have felt electric
I have felt gay
I have felt like a new flower of May

Soon, I will be smooth
I will be ice
If I say once, I don't twice

Please melt me
Make me warm
Make these cold feels take form

Try again
With little time
To make me convivial and sublime

I want to love
I want to hate
I want my feels
To recreate my own idea of wellbeing.

One that is not "I don't feel like I'm drowning today."

Not "I can keep myself from falling apart one more day."

Not "I really want to see if tomorrow will be better."

I want it be happy
I want it to be whole
I want it to feel something like... A soul.


Context: I have been feeling really tired and confused lately. And I'm feeling so much, so often, that it feels like I'm feeling nothing at all. I feel a little soulless.

Happy Saturday, everybody!

#41 Self-Project Letters

"Niara has been an independent child since she was very young. I remember when she was around two or three years old. She was sitting in the hallway and I asked if she was OK and she said that she just wanted to be alone. What toddler states that they just want to be alone? But alone she sat and it seems that life has just fast forwarded since then."

- My mother

#40 Two-Thirds Finished Poem

Part 1:

The sky is falling

One long lingering gaze turned into an action
An explosion, a spray of star dust
The sun had been stationary
For what seemed like eons to the solar system
But the sun was making it's move
Launched forward by light years of longing
The sun has fallen in love with the earth


Part 3:

The ocean, she
Evaporated, rose, boiled, heated
Lit up in a fantastic array of light and fire and steam
bottomless sea mingling with endless star
She is moving, he is closing in
She is finally breathing
He is finally close
And they are dying
But it's the only time they feel alive

Consumed by a cosmic kiss
The earth is gone
But she is fire
And he is fire
And they are happy

#39 Cloudy

The breeze's soft hand brushes my hair back
As the green fingers tickle the side of my face
Tranquility is today's middle name, time is its last
And I have more than enough of both.
I am soft and silent and serene
And in love with this cloudy day.
There is no sun to warm me
And no sun shine dancing on my eyelids
And yet I am afloat
And so high I can reach out and touch them.

#38 Nonsense

Happy, smiling, frowny faces
Pushing, kicking, screaming, scared
I am in an ice hot prison
You are hiding under stairs
Keep me in the poppy field
I can always learn to bake
Sky's tumble, air crumbles
Head, throat, stomachache
Don't! Please! Let me fall
I already question cat
Fight pie learn gut
Love me with a baseball bat
My mind is full notebook doodles.

#37 Emptying the Side Pocket of My Book Bag

- my cellphone
- my iPad charger
- my history homework about constitutional compromises
- my pocket constitution
- a Blueberry Bliss Luna Bar
- two green pencils, one orange pencil, one pink pencil, one blue pencil, one black pencil, and one red pencil
- berry flavored lip balm
- my student ID
- Collassal Volume! mascara
- a sweet tart candy wrapper
- cherry Carmex
- one Bobby pin
- ten cents
- spice jar full of sugar
- TI 84 Plus calculator

#36 Twerking

Ah, the art of the twerk. A long held tradition between the Afro-American peoples that eventually spread through that famous cultural diffusion, the Internet. Hailed by some as bizarre, hailed by others as sexy. The twerk is truly neither.

The twerk is an art and shall be treated as such. But what is the twerk? Is it a booty pop? A jiggle of the gluteus? A wave of the - dare I say it - ass? In truth, the twerk is all and none.

There is, however, a definition, in that most renowned lexicon, the Urban dictionary, that I find to be quite accurate:

Hip-hop dance move for females, shaking, Jerking, and twitching her buttocks in a provocative manner. A conjunction of twitch and jerk, or twerk.

SWB definition: a generally fast and/or involved booty dance.

You might now be asking yourself, "How exactly does one twerk? Can I twerk too?" And I say yes to that! Twerking is not only for the big of ass, but the big of heart!

Now, if you do decide to learn the art of the twerk, there are few things you need to know.

There is a long held misconception about twerking held by the small butt community. This misconception is that you need a large buttocks to be able to twerk. Well, I say nay to that! Everyone has the ability to twerk properly, even if your butt isn't Sir Mix-A-Lot approved.

Secondly, just waving your butt back and forth is not twerking. And yelling, "Look guys, I'm doing it!" to your friends does not make it twerking. And if all your friends join in and have a good time, I am still sad to say that that is not twerking.

Besides using your butt, there many other factors that go into successful twerking. Even though the butt is a muscle, you need to use other body parts to move it around.

Your feet: Twisting your right foot inward suddenly will make your whole leg shift to the right, and by extension, your butt. The same goes for your left foot.

Your hips: By shaking your hips back and forth very quickly you can achieve a twitching motion. Also, rolling your hips is an acceptable twerk move if done properly. If you do not know how to roll your hips, WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING WITH YOUR LIFE, and I will personally teach you how.

Proper twerk etiquette:

1. Do not twerk for your boyfriend and/or his friends because he says it will be "totally hot" and "you'll be the coolest" girl he's ever dated. It will be awkward, he will eventually break up with you, and that shit will be on YouTube by tomorrow.

2. Do not twerk just for the hell of it or wherever and whenever it strikes your fancy. There is an appropriate and inappropriate time to twerk. Twerking is not to be done in a church, in a daycare, at the dinner table, at brunch with grandma, in a classroom, in a cafeteria, with small children, or with your mother. Because that last one would just be weird.

3. Do twerk at dances. Do teach friends how to twerk. Do feel comfortable twerking at various speed and in various styles. Do twerk with friends. Do twerk in the Jarches. Do have fun with your new found talent.

Now that you know what you need to know about twerking, grab a friend, find a tutorial and start twerking!

#35 Test Post

If you see a line after this phrase,

it means we're back in business.

Fuck yeah!

Paragraphs!

Subdivisions of a written composition!

#34 Forgive Me If The Formatting Is Not Up To Par

Good morning. Or evening. Whenever you happen to read this. I won't beat around the bush, Blogger sucks on the iPad. All I can post are big blocks of text. I am considering switching to a hosting site before I continue my blog. Whether or not I am able to move my blog will be a big deciding factor in whether or not I continue it. So keep your eye out for the Great Blog Migration of 2012.

#33Those Gosh Darn Internet Machines!

It seems as though in the few months I was gone, Blogger has changed their format in such a way that I can't create more than one paragraph. I will be reposting this in the future, but by all means, if you feel like reading a large block of text, go ahead. Hello. Funny, isn't it? That seems like the most shocking thing someone can say if they haven't spoken in months. Three months with speaking a word and all it seems like all you had on your mind was exchanging pleasantries. All I really feel like saying is, these past few months have been the most and least enjoyable of my life. The most because I've been surrounded by people that I love and cherish, and the least because I've met people I that I don't even like to bother with. Or more really, they've shown themselves to be people that I shouldn't bother with at all. The kind of people to whom you say, "I've got your number," but the number is the number days you'll be counting until you never have to see them again. Besides all that other unpleasantness, I suppose I do have much to apologize for. First of all, I'd like to apologize to everyone who has been badgering me for a blog post. Secondly, I'd like to apologize to the Internet, because by missing these past couple months, the second semester of my sophomore year is gone forever to the Internet. I'd also like to apologize to PersonalWellness(Swanson), for replacing mealtimes with sleep, and sleep with procrastination, and enthusiasm with apathy. Moving on to other news, my brother has narrowed down his college choices to Caltech or MIT. People outside of my family are always awkward when they realize how casual we are about it. "Congratulations!" "...for what?" "Your son/brother got into MIT, Caltech, Columbia..." "Er...cool. Thanks." "Oh, um, okay then. Congrats. Bye." I applied and interviewed for a spot at the Kent Bellows studio. I have no idea how it went. I mean I was there, but I don't know whether or not I did okay. I had an excellent character reference with me, though. My mother. To be honest, I am mentally already finished with my sophomore year. Everything I've been doing after March has just felt like extra credit work that I'm being forced to do against my will. Well folks, this has concluded my first blog post after a three month long hiatus. I hope you enjoy the new background.

#32 So You Forgot You Had an Essay Due Today (Aglepta)

Advice column form my alter-ego: Sir Charles Mintleaf
Lessons in Hypotheticals: #1- Aglepta


As the morning dawns upon another shining day of procrastination or plain old ineptitude, you realize that you have not done something, but can't quite figure out what it is.

Why do I feel so uneasy? What's wrong?

Well, you may have forgotten to brush your teeth.

No, it's something bigger, I can feel it.

Have you showered yet?

Yeah, but it's still something bigger...

It might have something to do with it being 7:30 on a Tuesday, an essay that's due at 10:30, but that's purely guesswork.

Oh crap. Elephant crap.

That sums it up about perfectly. Large, unavoidable, stinky. Unless you take another, larger, crap to hide that crap under.

That's both disgusting and a horrible comparison.

But accurate, no?

.........No, it is not. Is this late assignment going to be a problem for me?

It would seem that you can't really afford anymore mishaps in this class. The teacher already hates you.

That's impossible. What did I even do?

For starters, you threw rotting fruit at her children, pushed her down the stairs, and were actually able to insult every race on Earth during a class discussion.

Even the Swedish Troll folk?

Especially the Swedish Troll folk.

So, I'm essentially screwed....?

No, no, not at all.

Then, how do I get out of this?

Out of it? Who do you think I am, a functional Wizard of Oz? No, no, no. I'm going to tell you exactly what you need to do in order to be able to hand this essay in on time.

What's first?

First you need to sneak into school. Do you have any inconspicuous clothing? Maybe a hoodie, or a ski mask?

Actually, I have both.

Good. Sketchy. A little concerning. But good. Wear both. Your intimidation factor will make the others avoid you, allowing you more room to navigate the halls.

Alright, I'm in the school. What's next?

Next you are going to shimmy up into the ventilation syste-

What?

You are going to shimmy-

No.

What did you just say?

No, I am not going to shimmy into anything. That's weird and-

Excuse me, but who is the advice columnist?

You.

And who has injured his teacher, insulted the Swedish Trolls, is currently lurking around their school in a suspicious ski mask because a strange disembodied voice told them to, and is then going to try and act all cool about it?

Me.

Thank you! Now that we have reaffirmed our roles, I'd you to shimmy your ungrateful butt into that vent.

I'll do it, but what's wrong with the stairs? It's less dusty, a wider space to fit through, and generally faster.

Because in the stairwell, you wouldn't be able to shoe-horn yourself into a small enough hole.

Wait a minute, you mean I'm stuck in this vent?!

Yep. With your body stuck in there from the waist up, I'm pretty sure no one will know that you're writing your essay right now. You have approximately 2 1/2 hours until anyone will be able to attempt to drag you out of the vent. You can thank me later.

..... WHAT THE HELL.....

What are you talking about? You've got your time, you've got paper and a pencil. Have at it, boy. I can't give you divine inspiration as well.

YOU STUCK ME IN A VENT WITHOUT ANY FRIGGING PAPER, WITHOUT A FRIGGING PENCIL-

Are you kidding me? Reach under your hoodie. You find a packet of college ruled paper and a pack of sharp number two pencils.

Oh my lord, it's there. How did you put that inside of my clothing?

I think you're losing sight of the goal here.

Have you been stalking me? Did you put this in my clothing before I woke up today? Are you really a wizard? Is this really a vent? Are you going to kill me?

One of the above. How about you write that essay?

..........I'm going to die here aren't I?

Don't be so melodramatic. Just write your essay.




In the end that kid never did finish their essay, but that child learned a valuable lesson that day. When you mess with the Swedish Trolls, you get the Aglepta.

Fun game - Try to guess which of these questions are answered with a yes:

Have you been stalking me? Did you put this in my clothing before I woke up today? Are you really a wizard? Is this really a vent? Are you going to kill me?

# 31 Emptying My Pockets

While emptying my pockets, I found:

- a periodic table (color coded)
- a sandwich bag full of Bobby pins
- a silver marble
- a bookmark with a prayer by St. Ignatius on it
- a flash drive
- a handful of safety pins

#30 To Whom It May Concern

As you know, I have not updateD the blog in sometime now. This is not because I am abandoning it, or forgot about it. I simply needed a break and I took one. And you know what? Skip the next line of text, Mongolian Sweetheart.




I want a motherfucking churro.




You can read again Mongo. I want a churro. I don't know why. It's probably just a base human instinct for your mind to consider some sort of Mexican food at some point during hunger. Like how every once in while you entertain the thought of your own sitcom or frying something that should never, ever be fried.

As a person who has traveled much between two states, I know a thing or two about travel. The luxury of a good hotel is priceless. Well, actually no, it does have a price and can usually be found on a website or the inside of a well made pamphlet. But in all that luxury you can never find the things you love to eat, usually because they're too common to be served at such a "fine" establishment or because of legal reasons it cannot be fed to the general public. Fried twinkies, mentos followed up with a cocktail of five different types of Coke, and street churros that are, for some inexplicable reason, smothered in hot sauce.

Perhaps it's just the cheapskate in me, but I thoroughly enjoy cheap foods. There's just something about a delicious bag of something known to cause heart disease that makes you feel all warm inside. Or maybe that's just my arteries clogging. Hm.

In any case, I can't deny my current, probably short-lived love of fried Mexican pastries. Maybe one day I'll find that street vendor again. I am sure that that is the only time in my life I have eaten a tasty churro covered in hot sauce.

Ah, churro. You flighty temptress.