just got home *coughearlycough* from school. i drove home in the fog. i love fog..
i love precipitation in general. i seem to be the only one in san diego who feels that way, which is fine. i love it enough for all of them.
sometimes i get caught up in my life and forget that i want to be a better person. i want to be someone that i look in the mirror at and love, respect, admire, and would do anything to protect. it's been a while since i've felt any of those things.
i'm my worst critic, WAAAY too hard on myself. i'm okay with that. i'm not perfect by any stretch, but i can change the things i can, and learn to love the ones i can't. i have found that it's always nice to see yourself through the eyes of a friend.
i got to do that tonight. it was nice. and seeing myself from their perspective left me feeling really good. i remind myself i'm not the only one with problems, struggles, failures. compared to some, i'm doing pretty fucking good.
so enough of the inner reflections or whatever.
i go to school in a ghetto of sorts. not a ghetto, really. not in the traditional sense. it's just a notoriously shitty part of town. it's the reason i chose the school, actually. very culturally diverse, and it's co-ed. most of the guys are gay, mind you. but they contribute a teesny bit of mannishness.
a few days ago, we were having a discussion about some of the clients who come in. it's no secret that, very often, black women are very VERY picky about their hair. they want it just so, and they are none too shy to tell you it sucks. a few of the women who come in request that their hair be done by a black student. the nice thing is that the instructors tell them to like who they get or go the hell down the street. but it's still hard when you (by you i mean ME) walk up to get a client, and you get that "look." like, "this crazy white girl with tattoos is gonna do MY hair? helllllll no." anyone of any race can fuck up hair. and my cornrows are getting pretty fucking good, so there's that..
at any rate, we were talking about people requesting certain races, and an instructor's comment was, "how bout if someone comes in and requests a white student do their hair? what are we gonna do then?" this, of course, because my school isn't exactly brimming with white girls. so, it was a rhetorical question, i think. what would we do? and everybody looks at me, and an instructor says, "give 'em to sharon."
once the laughter died down, and someone mentioned how i was the "whitest black girl in school" or the "blackest white girl," whatever suits you. i turned to the girls around me, and was like, "what the hell? why do i get singled out? what about the other white chicks?" they all looked at me like i was stupid, and said, "their ain't any other white girls. you're it."
i sat for a moment and tried to think. i knew there were some white girls, right? i looked around, and i realized that most of the girls i subconsciously thought were white were actually light skinned latino hotties. i have been there for 14 months, how did i not know that? i'm the only one? what the hell does that mean?
after further consideration, i decided that it doesn't mean anything. except maybe that i'm lucky that i have gotten to be friends with a hella cool group of people that are nothing at all like me, which i love (not to mention honing my street spanish and ebonics.) i mean, they harass me when i try to rap along with the radio. but they also ask me to sing, and that's the nicest compliment anyone could give me.
enjoy your weekend. i'm gonna..
a conversation i actually had:
me: "hey, do you remember that really awesome candy that we had as kids? the astro pop? it was a really long, skinny cone-shape sucker, all red and yellow and green?"
d.g.: "yeah, totally."
me: "well they're making them again, and they're all politically correct. the pointy end goes into the stick. it SUCKS! cause, you know how you used to suck on 'em for a long time and see how sharp you could get the end without it breaking off?"
d.g.: "hell yes! i was the king of that. shit, i used to stab other kids out on the playground. we called it the 'sugar shank.'"
i love precipitation in general. i seem to be the only one in san diego who feels that way, which is fine. i love it enough for all of them.
sometimes i get caught up in my life and forget that i want to be a better person. i want to be someone that i look in the mirror at and love, respect, admire, and would do anything to protect. it's been a while since i've felt any of those things.
i'm my worst critic, WAAAY too hard on myself. i'm okay with that. i'm not perfect by any stretch, but i can change the things i can, and learn to love the ones i can't. i have found that it's always nice to see yourself through the eyes of a friend.
i got to do that tonight. it was nice. and seeing myself from their perspective left me feeling really good. i remind myself i'm not the only one with problems, struggles, failures. compared to some, i'm doing pretty fucking good.
so enough of the inner reflections or whatever.
i go to school in a ghetto of sorts. not a ghetto, really. not in the traditional sense. it's just a notoriously shitty part of town. it's the reason i chose the school, actually. very culturally diverse, and it's co-ed. most of the guys are gay, mind you. but they contribute a teesny bit of mannishness.
a few days ago, we were having a discussion about some of the clients who come in. it's no secret that, very often, black women are very VERY picky about their hair. they want it just so, and they are none too shy to tell you it sucks. a few of the women who come in request that their hair be done by a black student. the nice thing is that the instructors tell them to like who they get or go the hell down the street. but it's still hard when you (by you i mean ME) walk up to get a client, and you get that "look." like, "this crazy white girl with tattoos is gonna do MY hair? helllllll no." anyone of any race can fuck up hair. and my cornrows are getting pretty fucking good, so there's that..
at any rate, we were talking about people requesting certain races, and an instructor's comment was, "how bout if someone comes in and requests a white student do their hair? what are we gonna do then?" this, of course, because my school isn't exactly brimming with white girls. so, it was a rhetorical question, i think. what would we do? and everybody looks at me, and an instructor says, "give 'em to sharon."
once the laughter died down, and someone mentioned how i was the "whitest black girl in school" or the "blackest white girl," whatever suits you. i turned to the girls around me, and was like, "what the hell? why do i get singled out? what about the other white chicks?" they all looked at me like i was stupid, and said, "their ain't any other white girls. you're it."
i sat for a moment and tried to think. i knew there were some white girls, right? i looked around, and i realized that most of the girls i subconsciously thought were white were actually light skinned latino hotties. i have been there for 14 months, how did i not know that? i'm the only one? what the hell does that mean?
after further consideration, i decided that it doesn't mean anything. except maybe that i'm lucky that i have gotten to be friends with a hella cool group of people that are nothing at all like me, which i love (not to mention honing my street spanish and ebonics.) i mean, they harass me when i try to rap along with the radio. but they also ask me to sing, and that's the nicest compliment anyone could give me.
enjoy your weekend. i'm gonna..
a conversation i actually had:
me: "hey, do you remember that really awesome candy that we had as kids? the astro pop? it was a really long, skinny cone-shape sucker, all red and yellow and green?"
d.g.: "yeah, totally."
me: "well they're making them again, and they're all politically correct. the pointy end goes into the stick. it SUCKS! cause, you know how you used to suck on 'em for a long time and see how sharp you could get the end without it breaking off?"
d.g.: "hell yes! i was the king of that. shit, i used to stab other kids out on the playground. we called it the 'sugar shank.'"
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