It’s February! Black History Month & a month where love is celebrated. So I am doubly thankful for my heritage and being a person with a big heart.
It has become very important to me to love myself in new and meaningful ways. For me, it starts with self care; maintenance, upkeep and beautification that promotes relaxation.
As I learn to love myself and others in new ways, I feel more gratitude towards people who freely mete out kindness and acts of love without expecting anything in return either short term or long term.
So if its thanking others, exploring art or just smiling at myself, I am definitely feeling the positivity that self love promotes. Things I used to dread or view negatively ( wasting time in the gym, makeup, fruitless actions) I have changed my attitude about.
It also helps that I found the love of my life, aside from me. He is my world and I am so very thankful he entered my life.
Here’s to us ๐
So three cheers for all of you loving people. And Happy Valentine’s Day โค
Given that this is a personal hair blog, and today happens to be Thursday. I thought I’d share miniTBG from waaayy back in 4th grade.
Young TBG had very damaged hair. My mom gave me a “Super Perm” at the tender age of 8 years old, and most of my hair fell out. Three years later she would attempt again and it took the rest out.
This photo is also evidence of a burgeoning otaku, the early signs of a future cosplaying, track running, blog posting, culture-o-phile oddball.
If I happen to have some readers from outside of the States, I’ll breifly explain the African American system of relaxers/perms:
Texturizer – loosens the curl pattern of natural hair
Perm – in the Black community, this is a synonym for relaxer. I have come to learn that outside of the Black Community, this process actually curls your hair.
There’s tons more that goes into all of this, but I’ll save it for my future dissertation in grad school lol.
There’s this super cute dumpling shop near my job. They have a nice bao + specialty drink special for like $10.34 lol. The staff is really friendly and nice to look at lol.
They have the cutest Heimlich Maneuver poster:
I accidentally broke their floating magnet tree thing by mistake too >.< Cause I’m clumsy AF.
Overall its a great healthy bite at a decent price. This place is cashless so be forewarned.
It’s Tootin’ Tuesday! Ya know what that means! I reckon its time I told you folks about my not-so-secret office weapon: Poo-pourri.
It’s an office worker’s lifeline.
We spend most of our day at work. Heck, most of our lives. At some point we will need to use the bathroom. I suffer from a pretty gnarly case of anything-I-eat-comes-out-smelling-like-Armageddon-sulfur, or you know, lactose intolerance.
Don’t be this guy
No one wants the “Blew-Up-The-Bathroom” Award, least of all me. So when I am elegantly pinching a loaf, I make SUUURREEE I’ve got my spray with me. Trust me, you’d thank me if you worked at my office.
I recently adopted a sweet older girl from the Best Friend’s Animal Society. They are an AMAZING no kill animal shelter in SoHo NYC, and they have lots of other locations as well. They take exemplary care of every soul in their care with a suite of veterinary services. Dental care, micro-chipping ( so you an your fur baby are never separated forever) and check-ups are included. You can be sure that any lovely baby you adopt has been thoroughly examined (expecting moms and sensitive siblings need not worry). In fact, they do not clear the adoption unless the animal has a clean bill of health signed off on by the vet. They even provide you with a host of resources for post-adoption care. Check them out if you live in NYC.
Yang2020 lol
Her name is Yang, and she’s a terror. She sleeps on my head. Yowls at the top of her kitty lungs at 6am like she’s never been fed, and best of all, she has no teeth lol.
I got her some nail caps from Amazon. Personally I am against declawing, and I definitely do not want to return her to the shelter.
And here are more pics of my little terror
I am planning on moving this summer, so like I have done for my other pets I designed her Pet Resume. Some buildings insist on it along with your application for tenancy. Here’s hers:
pretty short and sweet, simple pet resume
I can’t wait to spoil her with a whole bunch of necoichi products, I’m a sucker for anything Eastern and artsy. I’m getting her a little sister in a few weeks. So stay tuned for the next kitty post!
I’m no Beyonce lol, and my Mister is definitely not a Carter. But somehow Arthur equals Carter in Starbucks. I used to work for Starbucks and that whole “Baristas-spell-everyone’s-names-wrong-for-fun” stuff is a lie. The music is freaking loud, and if you mumble even in the slightest, Kathy turns into Denisse lol. If you have an accent, speak to quickly, have a unique name to begin with, have a unique name that sounds really close to a common one (ie Janae vs Jenny), then yeah, your name might get spelled wrong.
Overall, I thought it was hilarious that Arthur ended up Carter lol.
So this mouse wandered onto our department floor somehow, his back was broken and he was struggling to move.
Cute little mousey
The whole office started freaking out, so I grabbed a drinking cup and scooped him up. They were calling for his blood now, “Kill it! Kill it!” but I felt so bad for him. I went outside to look for some grass or a safe place to set him free. But the little buddy appeared to be crippled:
So I scooped him up in a cup and went outside
Poor thing
Sadly, he died barely ten minutes later. We tried to feed him some sunflower seeds and water, but he was breathing heavily and couldn’t move his legs. It seemed he had some internal hemorrhaging and he died clutching a walnut so I hope that was some joy to him or something. Either way I was unreasonably sad and cried lol. And thaaat’s my mouse story that just happened yesterday lol.
Stay Trendy, Stay You ( and be nice to animals) —TBG
Came here with my kid sister for some ice cream and found so much more. I had to Google the place to make sure my eyes were deceiving me. If you look at the pics, the not-so-secret entrance is behind the random collection of empty ice cream pints.
Not-so-secret entrance to the club.
That door swings open, but only when the cashier — who is almost always stylishly clad in all black lets you in.
The ice-cream tastes great, and they’ve got free hugs. I’ve never been in the club but I hear there’s a strict dress code. I’ve seen people in jeans get turned away.
I don’t find too many things in my hometown that interest me. But this one stuck out to me.
But my Ursa held my hand, stayed overnight and visited as often as possible. All hell broke loose when my Paramedic older brother showed up, the tension in the room was palpable. When they came back with the results, I was glad I was already sitting…
The doctor informed me that I had an 5.8mm aneurysm on the left side of my brain. It hadn’t ruptured yet (this is what most people think an aneurysm is, the clutch-your-head-eyes-roll-up-and-bloody-then-collapse type of ordeal), and thankfully so. Only one-third of people with aneurysms survive a rupture. Anything 3mm – 7mm should be operated on immediately. More fun facts; one in thirty people have a benign aneurysm in their heads — one that is well under 3mm and just naturally comes with age; most people with aneurysms are aged 55 or older; headaches are not symptomatic of aneurysms, in fact quite the opposite. Lastly, aneurysms are not hereditary. That said– I should not have had one that large.
I was scared… But, Happy Birthday to me?
In my case, I was 26, had migraines all my life and had never been given an MRI for my passing out incidents. Thankfully that fateful night someone thought I was crazy and found this thing sitting in my brain ready to blow. The entire staff kept telling me how lucky I was to have caught it. By the time I was admitted for my surgery barely 30 days later, it had swelled to a startling 6.4 millimeters.
after I woke up
Post Surgery and blood thinners
I don’t remember much of my surgery. The operation took place a month after my birthday, and my throat was killing me. Apparently you need to breathe even while passed out. I thought they’d do the whole count backwards from ten, but I don’t even remember when I went out. My brother and boyfriend were in the room when I came to.
I was so excited to be alive.
I posted on Facebook that everything went well, even though I hadn’t exactly told anyone that anything went wrong in the first place. I’m the type of person that believes No news is good news and only like to deliver good news if at all. So I post and barely an hour later my estranged grandmother calls to yell at me about not telling her first.
BRRRIIINGGGG
“Hello?”
“My name. This is your grandmother.” ( Like I A. Don’t know her voice ( she didn’t know I was hospitalized so there’s no way she could think to say ‘Oh let me introduce myself in case she has amnesia’. B. I can’t read caller ID — see reason for A.) I swear Caribbean elders have a way of reminding you what your place is, chastising you and complaining, simultaneously, with a single sentence disguised as a formality. )
Ugghhhh
Here I am, post-surgery, hooked up to beeping and shrieking machines. A few things happened at once. My blood pressure shot up, my brother doubled over with laughter, my boyfriend’s eyes widened and I sat there glumly playing sad theme music in my head.
My brother making fun of my blood pressure lol
Overall, it was a happy ending — until I got the $68,000 bill + $3,000 monthly medication notices in the mail.
dem bills doe…
But that my friends is a tale for a different time. I am truly blessed to be alive and I hope you never have a loved one not make it, or almost rupture or worse.
I’ve been feeling sick a lot lately. Its not a typical sickness either. Its poisonous in nature — slowly breaking down inside of your cells. I don’t feel like a valuable part of my society or country. I find myself looking abroad to places like Japan where even the fast food employees are smiling and happy. Not just for advertising purposes, but because they actually value and enjoy their work.
I keep arguing with the why of it. Why do I feel a looming sense of helplessness as I clock in, pay bills and plan my work week. Why does it feel that I am readjusting my expectations to comfort myself? I find myself dreading Sundays nights. I get upset that I don’t feel like going to work the next day, which makes me feel weak and ungrateful, which in turn makes me defensive and angry, then I get tired from repressing my anger and helplessness seeps in, and it all starts over again in a cyclical fashion. I’m exhausted by 8:30pm and only interested in ruining my evening.
Arguably, therapy is a wonderful method of addressing and processing these types of thoughts and feelings. But I wanted to do it myself. I’m not sure if running to a therapist for every little thing is helpful in the long run. Anywho, back to Nihilism vs NYC, I am beginning to feel that my hometown is toxic. Thanks to my partner I have been viewing the city from a different lens. One that doesn’t shrug at the casual racism pervading the streets and office spaces; one that wouldn’t make fun of people who turn green at the sight a smelly hobo on the train; one that gets confused when people don’t exchange basic niceties that is labelled “small talk” and is dispensed with.
Photograph: reddit/DunieMunny
People are just plain rude in NYC. I once gave some girls from Tennessee directions and they also thought I was a tourist because I was “nice”. How bad is it here that an angry looking black chick gets labeled nice just for giving directions? I was born here, and love almost every bit of this city. I have lived in every borough that matters (sorry Staten Island readers) and am a product of a public school education.
But I have had to fight for myself every step of my development. Its a system that failed my parents, and one that I believe is just plain classiest. They build more condos than affordable housing for people who actually live here, and have borne the brunt of NYC rent for 30+ years. Public programs that do good are halted, underfunded or just plain overlooked. You can’t even feed the homeless without lining the city’s pockets with a permit. (It’s not just NYC https://www.cbsnews.com/news/90-year-old-man-2-pastors-charged-with-feeding-homeless-in-florida/, but all over the U.S.) If you were not already born with help, getting any marks you for life.
Life here makes me so jaded, that you begin to concoct stories about the various panhandlers on the train. Wondering if its another scam or someone who actually needs aide. So you grapple with whether to give or not, and in my case becoming so frustrated by the mental energy expended that you give nothing at — then resent the person for making me think so hard about it.
I can get pretty nihilistic, wondering What’s the point? Of working, struggling, even caring about my fellow human beings? I am sick of it, and literally become ill when I let these thoughts take up space in my head. So it is being nihilistic or just living in New York that’s making me crazy? I think its a bit of both.
trendyblackgirl 