Rub-a-dub-dub Big Folks and the Tub

I really didn't have anything that popped into my head to write about today.

That may be because I've been stuck in my apartment all day. Ok, not really stuck, but I chose not to go anywhere.

I was up fooling around on the computer last night because I couldn't sleep and was still up at 2, so when 6 and then 7 came around, I couldn't really function. My 13 year old didn't feel good, so I called in for him and called in for me and went back to sleep.

You know what popped in my head when I sat down just now? Ok, first and foremost, I'm a Big Chick, so this is nothing against them, but SOME Big Chicks were obviously not taught about hygeine.

Big Chicks (and Big Dudes) do not smell, as the stereotype would like you to think. In fact, the folks in my circle smell pretty damn good.

Random folks, not always the case.

I know the likelihood of them seeing this is pretty slim, but just in case...(speaking of Justin Case, that female Rerun commercial pisses me the fuck off).

When you take a shower, you must take care to reach, lift and open up spaces that may not see much sunlight. No shame in cleanliness whatsoever and the general public will appreciate it.

I have had lapband surgery and even 87 lbs. ago, funk was not a factor (and I can't wear perfume).

Anyway, don't be afraid to visit these places two or three times per shower. Once a week at least, it wouldn't hurt (if you can) to take a bath. Sitting in water is a good thing.

In the summer time we sweat more and the sweaty boob smell at the end of the day is nothing nice. When you put deoderant on in the morning or at night, swipe a little under your breasts, that will help.

Please note: The cakey boobs is not pretty. Leave the baby powder alone.

Be careful where you shave and check regularly for ingrown hairs (extra moisture plus ingrown hair or cuts can sometimes equal pimples or *gasp* boils.


Big Dudes, the suggestions also work for you. I'm sure that man boobs trap moisture and odor too. Another concern is that you take the time to reach down and around your nut sack. It's only fair, especially if you expect someone to be down there putting in work. Present yourselves beautifully, like a chef would at a restaurant.


I love being a Big Chick and am actually going through a few changes as my body changes with the weight loss, but trust me, these few extra steps are necessary and could possibly help someone.

If you know someone who should read this, feel free to send a link, but don't be mean spirited about it if you do.

Sometimes people just don't know...

It's A White Thing...Guess I don't Understand

I have two jobs. I'm pretty much a loner at my day job. My night one? There's no way possible.

I work in a nursery.

I work with one other chick, a white girl. She is always amazed when while we're talking or when she does something and I have a blank look, I tell her "That's a white thing".

I swear she thinks I'm racist on the DL. I'm not. I couldn't be. My kids are the only two out of the 8 grandchildren that have all black grandparents and I LOVE my nieces and nephews AND their grandparents. But dammit we do stuff differently!

How, you say? My co-worker's daughter goes to the bathroom at the nursery (public to just the nursery kids) and doesn't line up the toilet seat with toilet paper. That's a white thing. All the black mamas I know, made sure their daughters knew how to power squat in public restrooms. Hell, I've got no cartilage in one knee, I'll take a cup in the bathroom and say eff it!

My co-worker's daughter calls her grandmother by her first name. That's a white thing! Don't nobody black do that! What did Mama used to say? Put a handle on it! Auntie so and so; Mister so and so; even older cousins were Cousin so and so.
Call my grandmama by her first name? Only after her death and I still look over my shoulder!

Chick had to get get one of our kids from their swimming lesson and she let her walk alllll the way down the public hallway sans shoes! WHITE THING!!! She was floored when I told her black people don't do barefoot most times, except at home! I told her black people think parasites and germs n shit. *shiver*

A different co-worker was telling me this story *sink into your seat, it's kinda lengthy, I'll shorten as much as I can*

Her kids saw a dead possum. Their father had told them that usually when a possum gets hit and it's a mama, the babies are in her pouch and they end up suffocating to death. So what do they do? They go pick up the dead possum (a white thing) and slam it against a tree until the 8 babies pop out. The take them IN THE HOUSE (A FUCKING WHITE THING!) and make a "nest" of leaves and twigs in a less used bathtub and feed them condensed milk and mashed up worms until they can take care of themselves.

I ask you...who does that? *looks to the left* *looks to the right* WHITE PEOPLE DAMMIT!! LOL!
Ok, ok, there are some exceptions. Sometimes black folk have lost their way and they make the rest of us look bad.

Case in point...a different co-worker of mine, a black woman, is raising her granddaughter. When my vehicle was out of commission, she gave me rides. I was VERY appreciative, but chickie can't drive. I mean seriously, if you get nervous in traffic, you need a Toyota, not a Suburban! So the rule is, if I ride in your vehicle, it must be behind the wheel. Hey, she agreed! *whispering* not a black thing, LOL.

Anyway, we pick up the granddaughter from daycare. She's 3 mind you. I wait for her to buckle her in the car seat or the girl to buckle herself. Someone. Before I put the truck in reverse. They both just sit there. I say I'm not moving til the car seat is fixed. Do you know this grown ass (fake) black woman said "Oh, she doesn't like to wear it."

Ninja whaaaaaaat?!?!?! What do you mean SHE doesn't like to wear it? SHE doesn't have a choice. SHE doesn't even know how to spell her first and last name. 'Tha f*@k outta here!

I got out of the truck and got in the little girl's face and told her to sit back while I put her car seat together. She said she didn't want to. So I broke out the real deal. I said do you like being a pretty little girl? Yes. Do you know what will happen if we get in an accident and you don't have your seatbelt on? No. You will fly out of that sunroof and cut your face on the way out and you will be on the ground and bleeding and you will have a big scratch on your face IF you can get back up. Is that what you want? No. Then stop talking back and sit down and be quiet and still, while I put on your belt! I had no problems after that.

Negotiating with a 3 year old? Nah, that ain't a white thing. That's a stupid thing. I wish I would.

I could go on and on, but I'm going to stop here. There are clear differences between the way black mamas and white mamas raise their children. As long as they all teach with love and respect, I guess it doesn't really matter.

The fact remains though that some things only traditionally happen with white mamas and as a black mama, I just don't understand.

Random Thoughts

Not really sure what I'm going to talk about today, so I'm truly just freestyling it.

I thought it was funny that showing half my boob yesterday, yielded 77 views, my highest yet.

I choose not to keep up with current events that involve the molestation, death or abuse of a child. It hurts too much.

What happened to Jennifer Hudson's family hurt me to the core.

I still miss Gerald Levert and Tupac terribly.

I dig some of today's rap artists, but for the most part, I choose to live in the past as far as music.

I used to have a crush on Kwame Kilpatrick.

I love a man that I know doesn't and probably never will love me the way I'd like him to.

Right now, he still makes me happy, so it doesn't matter.

I'm learning to appreciate different ways a person can love you.

I haven't been to a regular church service at my church since probably May (or is that March?)

It's because church people can be assholes and drive you faster and further from the church then you can drive yourself.

I miss it.

I've gotten within a block of church on a Sunday morning and turned around and gone home.

I wish people who come by, would say hello, just to let me know I'm not talking to myself.

I thought it was interesting that someone from Israel came through "Shalom".

Before the year 2000, I found it very hard to mainting a girlfriend circle.

When I became active on the internet, I developed a very solid SiStar circle.

None of my SiStars live within 900 miles of me.

Sometimes I forget some of us have never met.

I can be faithful in a long distance relationship.

I'm done for now...Hey, feel free to post some random thoughts too. Holla!

Feel Ya Boobies

October is breast cancer awareness month and I was inspired to write this after reading Almond Joy's Sweetness post yesterday.

It was early one morning, in I believe, June 2003. I was in the shower. My breast started tingling. Anyone who's had a baby knows what it feels like when their milk "comes down". So I squeezed my breast and sure enough, I "got milk".

The problem? My baby was 6 years old, I was 33 and I was NOT pregnant! I thought to myself "What kinda hell?".

I promptly made an appointment to see my doctor and told no one.

The doctor immediately sent me down to get a mammogram and as I feared, they found something. I was scheduled for a biopsy the next week and still, I told no one.

I guess I felt like if I didn't say anything out loud, it would be alright. After all, I didn't want my family to worry for nothing, right?

Well, that weekend, I went to visit my boyfriend's (at the time) mother and ended up spilling the beans. She asked if I wanted her to go with me. I admitted that I did.

Well, 2 days before the biopsy, she called me and said she would be unable to make it (she lived about an hour away) and that I should call my mother, she would want to know.

I didn't want to tell my mother. Our relationship wasn't all that and I felt that whatever I said, she'd find something to judge me on, so I never told her anything. None of my family.

Well, I ended up calling her and she agreed to meet me there. As always, there was some breach in communication and the day of the biopsy, I ended up there alone. I called to see where she was and she was doing something else and had somehow gotten the wrong day. So when they called my name, it was just me and Jesus.

The thing about a biopsy? You don't get general anesthesia, you're wide awake and they give you a local. I don't know to this day who the nurse was. For all I know, she may not have really been there and just an angel, but she held my hand and talked to me the whole time.

I didn't know what to expect when I walked into the darkened room. There is a small table and basically there is a spotlight on you. There is a needle that they put into the area to be biopsied and like an alien, that needle opens up and a little clipper kind of thing comes out and they snip a sample of the tissue.

You are sore for DAYS.

It ended up being a benign blockage in my milk duct and it dissolved over time.

Up to that point, I'd been sporadic about doing self exams, but now I do them all the time. Early detection is key to recovery.

Here is the proper way to do a self breast exam.

Breast cancer is not limited to women. Men can get it too. Here is a list of celebrity breast cancer survivors.

Do yourself a favor and feel your boobies and live.

I Cannot Tell A Lie

Well, actually I can and have. That's a whole 'nother post though.

Today I want to confess one of my guilty pleasures to you.

I, Afrodeezha, am a fan of Real and Chance.

Go ahead and shake your head, get your "Aw Hell Naw!" out and even that prayer you want to say for me now.

I can't help it. They crack me up. Call it what you will...bad television, buffoonery, whatever. I enjoy them.

I couldn't stand Chance when they were on I Love NY (yeah, I watch quite a few VH1's horrible shows). He was an asshole. On Real Chance at Love, I saw how funny he can be.

I think Real is cute, with his little bitty self. He admitted he's only a little taller than Prince.

You have to admire the brothers because they're reeeeal eccentric. To the point that you (well I) question their true orientation at times.

The new show though, Real & Chance: The Legend Hunters, I'm really digging.




Why? They are tackling adventures that the average black man wouldn't touch and they're real with it. They show their vulnerability, but they press on and accomplish the task they came to do.

The funny shit though is working through their fears. Now some might say they're overacting just for ratings, with all the hooping and hollering they do.

BUT

I've seen black men and animals and that's some funny shit. Sure, you may get a few who are pretty brave, but I've seen some holler and run when ASKED to move a mousetrap with a dead mouse in it.

I've seen some damn near pass out when a garden snake slithered past.

I myself, will fuck you up if you push me toward a dead possum and I'm pretty sure my brothers would do the same, LOL.

So watching these brothers go noodling (catching catfish in the river by hand), swimming with sharks and catching and tagging a hogzilla in the Alabama woods? You gotta admire that.

And they manage to still look kinda pretty doing it.

I deal with a lot of heavy stuff from day to day, so don't mind me when I indulge in my guilty pleasure.

Have a good one. Go Skins! Go Bears!

You'll Live...

This morning I heard someone complain about their power being out and it reminded me of a week we had to go without power.

In March 2006, my city was hit with 2 F2 tornadoes in one night. The first one danced all around my apartment building. Terrified isn't a good enough description for what me and my sons were feeling.

After the first one tore through, there was word that another was heading our way, so after checking on my brother (who slept through the first and planned to sleep through the next) in his basement apartment, we hit the road across town to my Dad's. The house I grew up in and the house I always feel safe.

Well, little did I know that Dad's house was indirectly in the path of #2. Given the choice though, 2nd floor of a 3 floor building or a brick house with a basement? Yeah, I chose brick.

Anyway, in the days after the tornadoes, the city looked like a war zone and power was out to most of the residences but who I work for NEVER closes and life goes on. I wasn't wasting my vacation days on something everyone was experiencing. So I washed in cold water, dressed in wrinkled clothes and took my ass to work, where we had half power (we were housed in the same building as the police dept).

A block over from my Dad's


I didn't have much damage at home at all considering a bike trail separates my complex and the area that was worst hit. I just had no power. Oh, and the day after these tornadoes, it snowed.

Anyway, we pulled out all the sleeping bags, comforters and long underwear we could find and made it work. Guess what? We survived.

I found a Walgreen's with extra flashlights and candles and we lived on PBJ and canned fruit and whatever snacks we found for almost a week. Yeah, the stores were open and running on backup generators, but if you didn't have cash, you were shit outta luck. No ATM's, no cell phone service, no swiping your debit or credit for payment.

The other side of the bike trail



No hot water, no electricity period, but we made it work. We talk about how we'd never survive without the microwave, but here we were surviving without the microwave, without the stove, without tv, radio, heat or hot water.

This was only a temporary thing for us, but when I went to Jamaica this past June, I realized that electricity is a commodity that we are blessed to have.

So the next time you find yourself without power, just suck it up, keep it moving and thank God it's not a way of life for you.

My photos of the tornado damage of 2006 are here

Napturally Me

Welcome, if it's your first time here. A group of us have accepted the Blog Challenge to blog every day for the month of October, so there will probably be less poetry posts. We can choose a subject or freestyle. Since I believe I have adult ADD at times, freestyling it is...

It was August of last year that I decided, after noticing substantial (to me) hair loss, caused by the blood thinner Heparin, which is used to thin my blood for dialysis, to stop getting my hair relaxed.



At this point, my hair was nearly down to the middle of my back and though my stylist had a FIT, she agreed it was best.

My natural journey wasn't that hard since I was blessed by my ancestors. (Say what you want, I KNOW there's native american blood and hair on both sides of my family, LOL) I thank them all the time, because my hair doesn't "nap up" like some complain about.

About 5 weeks into my journey, I decided that the 2 inches wavy, then bone straight look wasn't working for me, no matter how I tried to disguise it, so I had my aunt cut all the relaxer out of my hair.

Yes, you read that right. I went from hair to mid-back, to 2 inches. It felt great! It was soooo liberating!

I really starting having fun with my hair. Wearing it different ways. I got it twisted, two-strand twisted, picked out, curled up. I dyed it a reddish brown and have been enjoying my natural-self. My hair had really gotten HUGE. Of course, every black woman with a fro, gets compared to Jill Scott. My smart-ass kids (yeah, they got it honestly) called me Florida Evans *eyeroll*. I was going more for Coffy.

And then I got to looking at old photos...

I MISSED MY STRAIGHT HAIR!!!

So I did the only thing I could do...I made an appointment. When I walked into the salon, my stylist looked at me in disbelief. My hair was huge and red and I'd lost about 80 lbs., since the last time she saw me.

She asked if I was ready to get my relaxer back and I said no. Truthfully, after watching Chris Rock's Good Hair, I'll probably never go back to relaxing my hair.

When she got done washing, conditioning, sitting me under the dryer, blow drying me completely dry, flat ironing and hair spraying my hair it was gorgeous. She'd trimmed my ends and my hair is so healthy. I told her I would be sending her a hospital bill because I would surely get whiplash when I got my Willow Smith on!

I got so many compliments on my hair. A couple of white men said right to my face "Oh, it looks so much better!" I said, it's only temporary. I LIKE my afro! Emphasis on I, cuz I really didn't give a fuck who didn't.

I got my hair done on Wednesday. An ex was trying to run his fingers through it on Thursday *extra hard eyeroll* and by the following Monday, I was telling myself that I had to at least leave it straight for a week to get my money's worth.

It lasted a week and a day. Yesterday afternoon I washed that flat iron right outta my hair. Do you know when my hair got wet, it actually smelled like the flat iron on my hair? *wrinkles nose*

When I ran the moisturizer through my natural curls, I knew I'd never relax again. Flat iron maybe, permanently relax, no...

Remember my claiming of my native american roots? Well, not all of my hair has curled up again. There are straight sections here and there that won't curl for anything. I'm hoping it just takes a little time, as my SiStar said.

From here on out, I'll be napturally me...