People are obsessed with my hair. No, really. Obsessed! I rarely go a day without someone stopping me on the street to ask a question about my “funky” mane. Conversations typically go like this:
Obsessed Stranger: How long did it take to get your hair like that?
Disgruntled Tracee: About 13 years?
Obsessed Stranger: Ooh, your hair is so pretty. Can I touch your hair?
Disgruntled Tracee: Absolutely not.
Obsessed Stranger: Can you tell me how you get it like that?
And that’s where I go radio silent like Jack Bauer. If I explained my hair techniques to every Kim, Kate, and Mary that asked me I would be hoarse. So I decided to present you with a gift on this fine Thanksgiving. I’m going to show you in a few easy steps how to make your hair fun, wild, and free. Continue reading
TWO POINT FIVE YEARS AGO I lay on a not-so-comfy or friendly table in a cold, sterile room with a gaggle of men and women dressed in flimsy aquamarine-colored pajama-like gear hovering over me. They were preparing to surgically repair the torn meniscus in my left knee. The quirky anesthesiologist hurled inane questions at me in an attempt to quash my nerves (it didn’t work). She finally instructed me to count backwards from one hundred. I acquiesced. When I awoke from my forced slumber I was twenty pounds heavier.
Ok there’s a lot that happened in between the dashes, or rather, DIDN’T happen. But the point is my body was neither taut nor svelte. B.S. (before surgery) I was jumping rope like Floyd Mayweather and I did my fair share of push-ups, not the whiny baby girl kind. Times changed and P.S. (yes, post surgery) I could barely jump in the shower or push-up a bra. I became weak like Popeye without his spinach. Continue reading