Category: never too grown

This is a really random question but when was the last time anyone tried to find a pair of pantyhose? No, I’m not talking tights- lord knows I wear a pair of those damn near every single day during the winter.

When I say pantyhose, I mean honest-to-goodness nude, taupe, sandy beige colored stockings. As in, last seen on a rerun of The Golden Girls… Yeah, I didn’t think it was going to be that many.

Well anyhoo, I’m on the hunt for a pair. And I have absolutely no idea what brand makes realistic colors for women of color. Last time I can remember actually wearing a pair that sorta kinda matched was when I spent a summer interning at an investment bank. Mmm-hmm, you can feel free to add that to the list of 25 Random Things You Didn’t KNow About Me.

So will someone please point me in the right direction? Brand and retail store specifics… I do not want to waste hours of my life shoving my hand in and out of all those half-hose testers, spend $15 I could use to buy Drama some dog food, only to get home and realize that the sheer sun-kiss almond makes my legs look like those of dead people.

Today is World AIDS Day. When was the last time you got tested?

Nobody aspires to be the senseless tragedy. Be safe.

And even more importantly, be informed.

You know what? Folks do not play about their hair.

Whether it’s long, short, weaved, permed or even natural, 68% weren’t willingly to change up the ‘do for anybody besides your damn self. And I am not mad atcha. Lord only knows what I go through to get my hair looking halfway decent and here you go. Talking about what YOU like. Uh-uh, no sir. Until you start ponying up the $250 a week for Edris to work her magic on this nappy head of mine… and even then. I have one thing to say: Mind. Ya. Business.

But, I commend the 31% of you who admit that you are open to the idea of changing up your hairstyle. Compromise is an important tool in relationship building. And there’s no point in denying that most men have very distinct taste in hair and often decide who they will (or won’t) date based on them. I see the vision. I just can’t sip the Kool-Aid.

All tomfoolery aside, for most of us it’s a bigger issue than how we choose to style our hair. I am not anti-change or compromise if it’s gonna make my significant other happy. After all, it is just hair. It will grow back (we hope). I just think asking me to cut/grow/weave/perm my hair feels like a sly way of saying, ‘Actually, I don’t like the way you look.’ And if that’s how you really feel, then we probably need to re-evaluate our situation.

So this past Friday night, after the debate (because I sure wasn’t about to miss Obama tearing McCain up for nothing), I headed down to Room Service for this Puma party for Usain Bolt my boy Ed told me about.

SIDEBAR: You know you’re not socializing enough when the party promoter that you used to see every other day including the weekend’s jaw straight hits the floor when you show up at the velvet rope. And the only thing he can think to say is, “DAYUM Mitzi! What are YOU doin’ out???”

But I digress… So, once inside the club I promise you, not even 5 minutes passes before some random peroxide Goldilocks pushes past and slaps me in the face with her dried out tresses. And I’m instantly reminded why I stopped coming out to these industry events in the first place. Luckily, Ed was there to keep me from making a beeline for the nearest exit. God bless his heart. “Let it go, she don’t don’t have no home training,” he advised. And I tried. I even found an an old hanging partner of mine, Sandy that was out on the prowl with her crew and tried to relax. And can I tell you, God truly protects babies and fools in 4 inch stiletos. Just as the ache in my arch was gonna force me to throw in the towel, Chuck materialized and asked whether I wanted to sit down. Amen, Hallelujah! Before you could say free champagne, Sandy, her nameless Latina girlfriend, nameless Asian girlfriend and I all made a beeline for the VIP section.
So now I’m sitting on the couch, talking smack to Sandy and wondering how much longer my old bones are gonna last when out of NOWHERE, this perky looking girl walks over to the table and is like, “Hey ladies, do you wanna meet Usain Bolt? Just follow me!” Excuse you? I wasn’t sure what homegirl was talking about but it couldn’t hurt to go look right? I mean I was wearing the extra fitted purple sweater dress. Might as well make the most of it.
Next thing I know all four of us were ushered into the super tiny VIP-VIP section and people were shoving drinks in our hands, taking pictures and trying to get us to make nice with the world’s fastest man (who by the way looked super overwhelmed with his entire immediate family surrounding him like the secret service and throwing mad shade at all the ‘fast’ American women). It was very much like back in college when you joined the hostess committee to welcome all the new promising athletes… wink, wink.
To be honest, I don’t think I lasted ten minutes beyond the hello. My nerves were too bad. I kept thinking about all the places those photos will go in cyberspace (for perfect example, see above). I know I read The YBF, how bout you? So. Not. Cute.
In retrospect, I’m not quite sure how I should feel about what happened. On one hand, it’s a lot to be on the ho train at 32. But then on the other hand, it’s kind dope to be young enough looking to be on the ho train at 32. No? You tell me…

My homie Charlise celebrated her 24th birthday last night by inviting a bunch of folks out to learn how to salsa. I’m not going to tell you how ironic it is that both my parents are Panamanian and I don’t know how to speak Spanish OR salsa. Needless to say, I was very excited to go.

Unfortunately, the group of us got so caught up talking about nothing, fake salsa dancing with one another and eating slices of the delicious strawberry shortcake bday cake her boyfriend bought, that we missed our lesson. SIGH. So now I’m on the only mission to figure out how to sals dance before the next family BBQ. If you know how and feel like teaching, holler at the kid.

While it may have felt like I spent my entire holiday weekend in front of a laptop working, in reality, I did take two days to drive upstate to Kingston, NY for my girl Joan’s 43rd birthday party. This year’s grand event was a bikini BBQ followed by cupcake & champagne sleepover. Excluding myself, there were six fantastic women and one yummy boy to help bring in Ms. Morgan’s new year. We all sat around, talked a whole bunch of nonsense, cracked terrible jokes, ate/drank until we were stuffed and then passed out. Um, can we say so much fun? If I didn’t enjoy all the perks of being a Scorpio so much, I swear I’d hate on everyone with a summertime birthday.

How did you kick off the summer of 2008?

Ummmm why am I so nervous about going to the dentist late rthis afternoon that I can’t sleep? It’s 3 o’clock in the morning and the thought of my impending cleaning/ getting a much needed crown has my stomach tied up in knots as if I was seven-years old all over again! Sigh.
And when I tell you that I’ve rescheduled this appointment no less than six times over the past YEAR cause I’m frightended to death of the dentist…. this is so crazy. Am I the only person over thirty that’s still has panic attacks when the enter a dentist office?



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