How to Feel White 101
Alright, yes, I haven't posted in a while. I truly am sorry, but this internet is up and down every five minutes, you try getting something worthy of reading done with that! I actually have this REALLY good post planned out, called "The Adventures of Afro Man" but unfortunately it involves alot of pictures, and well, they don't upload with crappy internets. Therefore, you must wait for the adventures of Afro man.
For now, I will share with you all, the infamous crazy wonderful adventures (sense sarcasm) of my life. A couple weeks ago, Lauren and I decided to go shopping. Now here, everything has a big bum, small waist, and big thighs. Gah! Yup, definately not my body type thanks. Anyway, we're walking past this salon/shop and I see a realllly nice shirt in the window. So we walk in, and ask to try on the shirt in the window. Expecting the lady to go into the back or something, I watch as she walks directly up to the manequin in the window and strips the poor thing of it's lovely shirt. Poor manequin. She hands me the shirt, and I turn to face a tiny room full of at least ten african women, sitting in randomly placed chairs, getting their weave done. Awesome. Wait, I think to myself, where is the change room? Poor white girl, she doesn't realize, they don't really have change rooms. I am guided to the back corner, where, there is one little wall about 3 feet long coming out of the side of the wall. On the other side of the mini wall is the "shower room" (hah! room?) where the chicks go and stick their head in the sink. I look back and the lady with me expecting her to put a towel or something up, but I was met with a blank stare. Alright then, here we go. I took my shirt off, right there in the shop, with every woman looking at me. EVERY. Along with that pretty shop window, a free look for passerbys. Great. As quickly as possible I begin trying on the white shirt, as the shop lady helps me on with it. Thankyou, shop lady, but I really can dress myself. After looking in the mirror and realizing that my chest was never made for the shirt, I decided it was most definately not worth giving the weave-women a laugh and half of the white teenage girl.
Friday night, Lauren, Alicia, and I all went to the disco (okay, it's a dance lets get that straight, but they call it a disco) at the local international high school here (preppy private). Walking into a room full of african teens, in my mini jean skirt and red haulter, I suddenly realized, this is freakin dancing alright. Not us white kids dances where it's lke hey let's dance being code word for grind and try and move to the beat. These boys and girls have got some KILLER dance moves!! My gosh. Then there's me, glowing, with no rythym. Fortunately I realized there may be soooome funky-ness in my when I began my crazy dancing. Yeah, I danced. I never dance. But I thought hey, can't beat em, join em. And, I danced with this one boy who was crazy good! I don't think I can ever dance with a white boy again. He could rap to all the songs too, which was pretty dang cool I have to admit. At one part in the evening though, I looked over to see this circle of African girls. OThey all have their arms out in front, and their booties goin, just like that whole beyonce/kelis thing. My jaw must've dropped at the SPEED of those booties! Who has that speed in their bum!? Definately not me.
Yesterday Lauren, Mom, and I went downtown shopping because we couldn't do school. Shame, I know. We were actually on a mission to find bobby pins (which PS, they don't have anywhere imagine the horror!!!!!!). The second I stepped out of the vehicle I hear this gasp, and then...
"Oh, madam, yes! Madam!" Street man (aprox. 30) aproaches me like he knows me
"Haha, Heeeey." I say as I continue walking, they're always trying to get white women
"I love you!" Street man shouts with great passion
"Yeeeees I'm sure you do..." A little afraid I quicken my pace.
"Come back, my love! Love! I love you!" Clearly, he doesn't have a loving mommy. There are some issues up for counselling here...
"Okay, that's nice. I don't think I love you." I seemed cold and heartless, but I didn't really feel like getting married yesterday. Wednesdays are never good for me.
"Yes, I love you!" Street man persists
"Please stop it" I said, sounding thoroughly pissed off, in need of my brothers, and glaring. I think he got the point because, he left. Yeah. That's right, you leave lover boy.
So we continue on our search for pins, find none. Alas, walking out of the upper stores though, who do I see? Bobby the street man! Yes, my love, of course! How could I forget! Luckily his back was turned to me, so I thought I could make a quick getaway. No such luck, street man turns and sees his love, there's no stopping him.
"Oh! You have come back!" street man is overjoyed with a wave of the hand, and a smile
"No, I don't like love. You know what I love? Men who work and lots of money." His msile kind of faded at that point, seeing my atraction to driven men who bother to get off their bums and try working.
Now yes you may say that was heartless, but street man is relentless! After saying that I made a quick jog through the alley and out to the car. Now, since we're all hoping for a happy ending, I can tell you later on I bought a hot black and blue spaghetti strap. Yay!
For now, I will share with you all, the infamous crazy wonderful adventures (sense sarcasm) of my life. A couple weeks ago, Lauren and I decided to go shopping. Now here, everything has a big bum, small waist, and big thighs. Gah! Yup, definately not my body type thanks. Anyway, we're walking past this salon/shop and I see a realllly nice shirt in the window. So we walk in, and ask to try on the shirt in the window. Expecting the lady to go into the back or something, I watch as she walks directly up to the manequin in the window and strips the poor thing of it's lovely shirt. Poor manequin. She hands me the shirt, and I turn to face a tiny room full of at least ten african women, sitting in randomly placed chairs, getting their weave done. Awesome. Wait, I think to myself, where is the change room? Poor white girl, she doesn't realize, they don't really have change rooms. I am guided to the back corner, where, there is one little wall about 3 feet long coming out of the side of the wall. On the other side of the mini wall is the "shower room" (hah! room?) where the chicks go and stick their head in the sink. I look back and the lady with me expecting her to put a towel or something up, but I was met with a blank stare. Alright then, here we go. I took my shirt off, right there in the shop, with every woman looking at me. EVERY. Along with that pretty shop window, a free look for passerbys. Great. As quickly as possible I begin trying on the white shirt, as the shop lady helps me on with it. Thankyou, shop lady, but I really can dress myself. After looking in the mirror and realizing that my chest was never made for the shirt, I decided it was most definately not worth giving the weave-women a laugh and half of the white teenage girl.
Friday night, Lauren, Alicia, and I all went to the disco (okay, it's a dance lets get that straight, but they call it a disco) at the local international high school here (preppy private). Walking into a room full of african teens, in my mini jean skirt and red haulter, I suddenly realized, this is freakin dancing alright. Not us white kids dances where it's lke hey let's dance being code word for grind and try and move to the beat. These boys and girls have got some KILLER dance moves!! My gosh. Then there's me, glowing, with no rythym. Fortunately I realized there may be soooome funky-ness in my when I began my crazy dancing. Yeah, I danced. I never dance. But I thought hey, can't beat em, join em. And, I danced with this one boy who was crazy good! I don't think I can ever dance with a white boy again. He could rap to all the songs too, which was pretty dang cool I have to admit. At one part in the evening though, I looked over to see this circle of African girls. OThey all have their arms out in front, and their booties goin, just like that whole beyonce/kelis thing. My jaw must've dropped at the SPEED of those booties! Who has that speed in their bum!? Definately not me.
Yesterday Lauren, Mom, and I went downtown shopping because we couldn't do school. Shame, I know. We were actually on a mission to find bobby pins (which PS, they don't have anywhere imagine the horror!!!!!!). The second I stepped out of the vehicle I hear this gasp, and then...
"Oh, madam, yes! Madam!" Street man (aprox. 30) aproaches me like he knows me
"Haha, Heeeey." I say as I continue walking, they're always trying to get white women
"I love you!" Street man shouts with great passion
"Yeeeees I'm sure you do..." A little afraid I quicken my pace.
"Come back, my love! Love! I love you!" Clearly, he doesn't have a loving mommy. There are some issues up for counselling here...
"Okay, that's nice. I don't think I love you." I seemed cold and heartless, but I didn't really feel like getting married yesterday. Wednesdays are never good for me.
"Yes, I love you!" Street man persists
"Please stop it" I said, sounding thoroughly pissed off, in need of my brothers, and glaring. I think he got the point because, he left. Yeah. That's right, you leave lover boy.
So we continue on our search for pins, find none. Alas, walking out of the upper stores though, who do I see? Bobby the street man! Yes, my love, of course! How could I forget! Luckily his back was turned to me, so I thought I could make a quick getaway. No such luck, street man turns and sees his love, there's no stopping him.
"Oh! You have come back!" street man is overjoyed with a wave of the hand, and a smile
"No, I don't like love. You know what I love? Men who work and lots of money." His msile kind of faded at that point, seeing my atraction to driven men who bother to get off their bums and try working.
Now yes you may say that was heartless, but street man is relentless! After saying that I made a quick jog through the alley and out to the car. Now, since we're all hoping for a happy ending, I can tell you later on I bought a hot black and blue spaghetti strap. Yay!
posted by Lauren at 11:43 AM
6 Comments:
The continuing adventures of Lauren! Do you need bobbypins?
Looking forward to your photo-story
Sounds like you're having quite the adventures over there. Got lovers and learning the crazy dances. No bobby pins? You know what, there are millions here in this fabulous land. I'm pretty sure you can ask most of us here for stuff you need but they don't got and we would send it over.... Good stories brotha
Lauren my lady.. Gosh, you have no idea how exciting it is to read about your adventures, and I TOTALLY know what you mean about the blackness and the dancing.. I went to Cuba last year.. and yes we went to le Disco as well and THEY CAN MOVE. you just wait you'll b e the first white beyonce there and people will be like "oh WHAT?! Who's that grooving chicky shaking her bootie?" haha youjust wait! Yes.. I definitely can supply the bobbypins if you need them as well.. haha just wait everyone will be sending you packages of the Bob's and then you'll have and excedingly large amount that you could open your own store and make a wicked profit. OK TOO MUCH THOUGHT into that one.. ANWAYS. you're awesome.. and don't get married to any random street men too soon, but if you must.. definitely include me in teh wedding party ;)
I love reading about your adventures. It sounds like you have so much fun everyday. I don't think I would have been able to change in front of all those ladies. It took all year before I was able to change in front of my roommate in college. haha. No joke really, I use to change IN my closet. haha. I'm glad you said no to the first man that came along. Hold out for the one that's right for you! haha.
You think we'll be satisfied with a hot black and blue spgaghetti strap!?! well... ok maybe. but i still wanna hear about mr afro dude. be good girl, what what your bootie is doin!
*watch
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