Mitzi Moments

Sigh, I’m having a really bad hair moment. My ‘fro is fighting me at every step and I’m really starting to think that that this whole natural hair thing is for the birds. Yeah, I siad it- it might be time to slap a good old fashioned perm up in this nappy head of mine.
I am sick and tired of losing an hour and a half of my life combing this hot ass mess out. Not to mention what it does to my carpal tunnel. I get out of the shower feeling like a cripple. It’s crazy.
And let’s not talk about all these new gray hairs are popping up. I really don’t want to dye my hair but if I see one more gray hair, I’m going to scream. My mom rationalized the newest patch that just sprouted up in the front of my head by saying that I’m 32 and that’s what happens when you get old. Geez, thanks Elsa.
Honestly, I think I need a good haircut but my lazy ass likes to pull my hair up in a ponytail. Can’t do the pony puff without the length. Besides, I’m afraid that if I go into the salon feeling funky and undecisive, I might come out with no hair at all.
Perhaps I need suggestions. What color do you think I should dye my hair? Should I perm it? Maybe I should just wear a dramatic Beyonce-esque weave for a little while until I decide what I want to do… holler at the kid.

Last night I mistakenly left one of the blinds in my bedroom partially open. So this morning I awoke to a beam of sunshine on my face. Under normal circumstances, this might have been slightly annoying. However, since we haven’t seen a warm sunny morning since last week, I was very okay with it.

Unfortunately, the next thing my senses registered- work with me, it’s was only 7 something in the morning at this point-was the sound of the running shower. Ok, not to sound all scary but I promise you, I damn near had a heart attack. In that moment, I was completely convinced that a serial killer had broken into my apartment and was taking a shower!!!!
So unlike the helpless pinktoe heroines in the scary movies, my black ass silently bolts out of bed and makes the mad dash to close the bedroom door before I become the next senseless tragedy on the cover of the NYPost. Then as I reach the door, I realize-DUH-that’s not the shower. That’s the extra loud ghetto radiator letting off steam. Okay, who so not allowed to stay up late watching slasher flicks anymore?
And all of this would be hysterical except for one tiny snag. In order for my cheapass landlords to allow the heat to come up past the month of April means only one thing, IT’S BRICK OUTSIDE. I’m talking, borderline snow. And sure enough, when I looked out the window people were scurring to and fro in down coats and Northface parkas! Um, hello… it’s the last day of APRIL!!! Spring is officially dead.
I was so disgusted I had to go back to bed to try and stage a do-over on my day cause this makes no kinda of sense. Is anybody else as tired as I am of wearing winter clothes?

The tragedy that was Sean Bell’s murder on the night before his wedding is eclipsed only the injustice of every single one of those police officers being aquited earlier today. You know, we all joke that there are days, moments, even weeks when its exhausting to be black in America; today it’s straight sad…. and frightening.

I think my boy Geoff put it best: “I am really blindsided and saddened by this. And really scared to be out without a camera crew filming me for my own protection and possible legal defense. Because obviously that’s what it takes to prove that you didn’t need to be riddled with bullets.”
Feel free to laugh until you cry.

Okay, so I actually made it to the gym yesterday (woo hoo, go me). And while running to my death on the treadmill, guess what played on the 80s mix channel? Janet Jackson’s video for ‘Nasty Boys’!! Can I tell you I almost fell off the machine in glee? Remember how DOPE Janet used to be when you could actually understand the words coming out of her mouth? “No, my first name ain’t Baby. it’s Janet. Mz. Jackson if you nasty!”-wet n’ wild weave, shoulder pads, hammer pants and all (bonus points for Paula Abdul sitting in the semi-dark movie theater working that little neck like a straight chicken)! LOVES IT!!!

Then I arrive home and there’s an email from my girl Nicole-which is normally never a bad thing. Inside the email is a link to the “latest underground urban hit.” according to Perez Hilton. Notice, I say that with quotes… It’s entitled, Smell Yo D*ck. I know, I know, the title alone should’ve been enough to keep me from clicking, but like any good train wreck, I had to check it out. Dear God.
Am I old? Or is it that I have too much home training? Okay, seriously? Is this even music? And then folks wonder why there are days that I have to disassociate from the ‘urban’ contingency completely. I abhor ignorance.
Question, will YOU be jammin’ on the ones to this the next time I see you in da club?

Why is it that the only time I EVER feel like working out is when I’m on deadline?

I’ve been trapped inside my apartment for the last three days working on this never ending feature that will remain nameless until it hits newsstands and the ONLY thing I wanted more than a shower (which I got thank you very much) was to go to the gym. I didn’t want to eat, I didn’t want to talk to my mom, I didn’t want to move my car from one side of the street to the other or even walk the dog. But I damn sure envisioned myself busting my ass to Britney Spears on a treadmill. What is that modern day cabin fever??

Of course, now that I can actually afford to spend 3 hours on the whole gum process (you know, getting dressed, going to the gym, working out and coming back home) with relative impunity, its’ the LAST thing I want to do…. I’d much rather get a hearty breakfast and order some more of my fave cellulite cream. Go figure.