Shackles removed? Dancing begins!

Ok, so...I'm not quite on easy street yet. But as most of you readers know I've been trying desperately to find a place for my BC or Big Chop. Lorain is not necessarily the place to expect such an extravagant service as Natural African American Hair Care. But someone on Nappturality.com just reassured me that going to a regular beautician for the chop is fine. *phheeewww* (wipes forehead). I felt bound to finding a place that could chop me with natural hair care expertise. I'm becoming an expert myself. She made PERFECT sense that gal! If I get chopped and take my afroed-out self home, I can take it from there. I'll probably moisturize it and throw on a wide head band for the first week or two. Man, I'm getting so excited about this! I LOVE looking at online albums and I sincerely think I will create my own. I have a digi-cam (even though it siphons battery energy like it'll go out of style and behaves strangely ever couple days). My lil sis is coming in to town so, this weekend and next is pretty much shot to hell as far as doing hair stuff. But the weekend after, I am soooo on it!!!

So much for the afterglow. . .

About 3 weeks ago, Sonny & I purchased a car. It's a 1994 Ford Taurus with over 100k miles on it, but it ran strong and effortlessly charmed me on the test drive. It was smooth on the road, responsive to tight turns and a nice cushy ride. Plus the interior was pretty gosh darn nice. Ok. Fairly nice. Aside from a dollop of mysterious white crust on the back seat and a small pencil eraser-sized burn hole right beside the stain...oh, and this awkward gaping hole in the carpet up in front on the driver's side.... aside from those things this car is pretty nice. The body has some scratches and a little rust but I wasn't looking for a beauty queen of a vehicle. I just wanted something that would run well and wouldn't cost me 2 months' salary to repair or rebuild.

Almost a month into our relationship, she's beginning to show her colors. The novelty of being a new car owner has pretty much dried up and evaporated. All that's left is the bitter bile of stomach-clenching apprehension and anxiety towards every new little sound that erupts from the engine. To the untrained ear it sounds like ticking or knocking or just a simple metallic vibration. But to me it sounds like a cash register ringing with joy. All of a sudden, I'm a little more homebody-ish, when I don't need to be. I just don't want to have my car break down in the wrong place and the wrong time. And I don't want the expensive dysfunctions to blossom into anything worse. That doesn't make sense, I know. But it's my knee jerk reaction: if my ankle hurts, I use it as little as possible. This is the same thing. If my car is acting funny, I use it as little as possible.

My belly-aching about the car doesn't show it, but I'm actually pretty happy with my car. I can jet to the gym after work and I don't have to wait around for Sonny to get off from work. I can pursue a yummy take-out lunch and hurry to the library to avoid a fine...all in the same afternoon. There's a level of freedom I can't help but enjoy (especially as it starts to warm up out there). Of course, I won't be completely *free* until I know what those odd noises mean... and how much it will cost to rectify.

No one said it would be easy

I finally managed an over-the-phone consultation with one of the napptural (that is nappy and natural together) hair care specialist/stylists in my area this week. We had been playing phone tag for a good week and a half, and finally the gods allowed us to speak. The hair dresser was pleasant on the phone. I detected a slight accent in her voice and wondered where she was from throughout our entire conversation.

It started off with apologies in a circle: "I didn't get back to you last Friday, I'm sorry about that." "Oh no, I'm sorry I wasn't able to talk to you sooner."

And then we cut into the meat of the matter: my mop. I couldn't quite figure out where to begin in explaining my situation and my needs and wants, or even what I expected of her (in truth I was eager to show off my napptural knowledge from all the books I've been reading). She asked me flatly what it was she could do for me. I told her that I wanted to be natural and that I've been transitioning for a year inside of braids. Now I want the Big Chop or the BC (this is when they cut off the permed ends of my hair leaving the natural new growth) and some tips on making my hair look less like a black yarn bag stuffed with dyed-black hay. Simple enough, I thought. But for some reason she replied that she didn't know if she could style my hair because it would be "blunt". I paused, furrowed my brow and let the silence soak in between us. That made no sense to me. How could she not be able to style my hair in it's purest form? Isn't that the whole point? I could see if I was going in for weave or for braids or any other style...but we're getting to the bare bones here. What could she mean by that?

By that point my Spidey sense was two-stepping and back-flipping all over the place. Something was undoubtedly wrong here. I'm becoming more and more aware of my intuition and how important it is to listen to that voice. The voice is telling me that despite this woman's "30 years" in the business, she and I will not have a happy, enjoyable transaction. I'm not trying to discredit anyone, please believe that. She probably is a wonderful profressional at what she does....BUT, she's not the one for me. Just like the last braid shop I went to gave me heebie-jeebie vibes, I'm getting them from this place too. Only this time, I'm gonna listen!