Hair/Beef (Go Oprah! Iss Ya Berf Dae!)

Yesterday was not only a gloomy Sunday, it was downright hair brutal.

Yeah, sure when it’s 79 degrees with a light breeze, The Beauty Shop—and thus the world-- is full of hardcore afrocentric Divas talking Angela Davis this and Erykah Badu that and how follicular chemical warfare is just another way the man is tryin to keep a good woman feelin bad about her divine nappy birthright... and to mention a wig is to invite a fight worthy of John Hope Franklin.

Until the clouds begin to gather, that is.

Honey, please. By the time a late Saturday storm forecast has scrawled halfway across Kim Parker’s classic hot orange open toed patent leather platform shoes, them Divas have jumped into their Lex-i (plural of Lexus) and gone.

“Did I just read something about rain?!? Girl, I got to go. I think I left my oxtails in the oven. Um…you know I don’t cook on Sunday, right?”

Even those Divas (such as yours truly), who are still doin the Bus Stop, begin to get their shampooer’s tip and their bus fare together at the first sight of a green tree turned white. It’s as if even Mother Nature herself is telling us to talk to the hand. Rough times, I tell ya, rough times!

And as much as DivaCardista truly loves her natural hair, there are times like yesterday that would make any Diva distraught: sittin up in the temple, trying to pray without the distraction of knowing my so called light and breezy tresses were damp yet straight on the bottom and infinitely curly at the root. Just too many variations on a theme to even discuss.

I thought I had it licked, y’all. I really did. Especially since I’d been using Organic Root Stimulator as recommended by my hairdresser and Fantasia IC, as recommended by a dermatologist who came and did a hair/skin workshop at church a few months back. And, oh my goodness, you should have seen me when I found a little neighborhood store where they sell the entire Fantasia IC line! You would have thought that little store was selling Jimmy Choos by the pound.

Anyhoo, like many of you, I had the drill down: Fertilizing Temple Balm each night because my temples were showing and not growing, and Fantasia IC hair polisher to make everything shiny and new. (They had me at “aloe”). And yet, as great as those products are, they are still no match for Ma Nature when she wants to show out. Child, all that intermittent mist and rain and steam and drizzle had me lookin like I was eight years old and momma could either get dressed herself or finish my hair and she chose to leave my hair like it was when I came into the world, because, after all, the cab to take us to church was already downstairs and we didn’t want to be late (again).

Speaking of family & flashbacks...

When my sister was in town a few weeks back, she mentioned the following to me, we all laughed then dismissed it as pure ridiculousness. And here it is back again today.

Can somebody please tell me:

1. Why fiddy n nem got beef with Oprah?
2. Why them nouveau riche bling blingin men need Oprah to sit them in her yellow chairs on her stage at this stage in the game to give them the blessing to go on and do what they’ve been doing already & with huge global success?
3. And why is this old info mingled in with today’s news as if it is
   a) fresh and
   b) hard news?

They got beef. Please. Who don’t know that beef don’t scare Oprah? Especially now that she’s rocking that fly little ponytail. You go, Mz. Oprah!

Besides, I would hardly call the soccer mom-looking, 401K-investing, Papagallo/St. John-wearing, bo-curious/melanin-lite, seven sister school alumnae of a certain age which appear to constitute her core audience anywhere near the demographic target fiddy n nem are clearly aimed at. Would you?

Let me calm down before I let this foolishness upset my follicular flow.

Blessings,
DivaCardista