The Price for Beauty

Beauty Has its Price Getting Implemented

Yesterday, I had my hair beutified. Now what does that mean? Well, as an African American woman, I define it as making an appointment at my favorite beautician, then waiting an extra 40 minutes even though I made the appointment last week. I sit and I wait to have my hair washed and then dried with an extra-hot flaming-heat blowtorch-dryer. I then sit and wait an extra 15 to 20 minutes and then am directed to another chair-as if the first one was not suitable for styling, but yet a warning. Nonetheless, I sit and watch the beautician apply gunk to my hair, grab additional combs and styling brushes, teasing devices, along with more styling-gunk and more flame to detonate the hairstyle. And then 1 hour and 45 minutes later, ta-da, I am beutified! Simple? Yes. It was worth my time and $125 as I walk out of the salon and watch old men gawk and stare. Although my scalp is still burning, my ego is pumped as the old men whistle at me as well as their dogs in the nearby park. But the dogs are anxious; jumping around and then chasing the fire engine. Too bad they missed the fire on top of my head. I thought, whoever said it is better to be pissed off than pissed on, was not walking around with a fire on their head and dogs running loosely to urine on fire hydrants in lieu of my hair.

I ignore the compounded-tingly-sensation yet open sores in my hot, painful scalp. Men need to understand that we women go through complete burning hell to look good.

After the blowtorch torture, I bypass the rinky-dink stores and drive to a retail franchise to purchase non-chip fingernail polish. Could you tell I was a glutton for punishment? While there, I purchase facial cleanser and other items that would only be used once and then saved until dehydrated in the bottom of the bottle. Next year, when I’m invited to the party of the year, I hope to consider going to the cheaper outlets to buy unnecessary products. If not, I would be sure to apply water in an attempt to revive what was meant to be preserved or placed in a time capsule.

With my fiery head and tortured wallet, I am at the end of the line in my grocery store buying pain reliever.

That night, I slept in a fashion that only sistas or women with class would understand: I recline on my left side with my left palm adjusting my swollen scalp. Throughout the night, I may have given my failing wrist a break, thereby switching to my right side. If my head should slip out of my palm, I would gently pat my head to make sure the style stayed in place. Of course, my eyes would remain closed, as I would do anything to alleviate swollen-eye-bags to match a swollen head. (Good thing I went to bed at 7:00PM.)

The next morning, I tried to focus on my chores before getting ready for the party of the year. With the pain ever present, but reduced swelling, I was able to clean part of the house but adhere to every need of my owner a.ka. my dog, D. Queen.

Hours passed when I had finished complying with my dog’s demands. It was now time for a need of my own. One must take into account that all I wanted to do was to make myself feel and smell better. There I was in my bathroom partially dressed, as I certainly was not expecting company. I was preparing myself for my shower routine. Now, I’m so sure that most people just get into the shower, bathe two or three times and hop out. But, no, not me. I have a routine to adhere to, it is extremely important, and a must-have that I do it or everything in my life will fail. Ok, now, that is extreme, just my day, or is it my psyche that goes haywire.

There I am shaping myself for what others can complete in a matter of minutes. One would think that with the increased prices of water and other public utilities that I would try to get this done in less than 5 minutes. No one would know ‘cept for me. Well, not only me, but also everyone else who stands within 5 feet of my person. Most people do not know this, and I would certainly hope that this isn’t shared with anyone. But, you see, over the years, I had developed a minor, sometimes severe chronic illness, which causes me to sweat like a rhino in 100-degree heat. Well, although I often looked in the mirror at my naked body, it would come into view that I had the frame of a large beast. Nonetheless, the grotesqueries had been with me for over 30-plus years, I had not intentions on attempting to change now.

I looked in the mirror and wondered how well my makeup would stick to my face because only inches above it was very irritated. I tossed the shower mat into the bottom of the tub and reached for my beauty bar. Who moved it? While searching, I accidentally broke a nail, thus chipping my non-chip very expensive fingernail polish. If only my husband would not move things that should not be of interest to him. Besides, wasn’t it he who thought it was a great idea for us to share the same bathroom? Hmmm, perhaps I should teach him a lesson by using his tools.

I went to his special tool drawer, removed his crazy glue, and thought about not putting it back where I found it. I unearthed the mucilage in a package that had been opened. I took the glue out and squeezed the tube just lightly. Hmmm, nothing came out. Drats. I opened the main opening and saw that the seal had not been broken. I reached for a pin and slightly pierced through the foil. Ah. I replaced the lid and unscrewed the tip of the tube, slightly applied pressure to the tube and waited for about one and ½ seconds, or less. The glue gushed out unto my fingers and the countertop. Immediately, I reached for a towel and wiped the porcelain along with some of my fingers.

When I thought the danger was over, I picked up the tube, applied the glue to the nail of my thumb, and attempted to replace the cap. With the glue still on my thumb and forefinger, I kept my coolness when holding on to the open glue machine thingy. Through all of the craziness of the crazy glue, I had glued two of my fingers together. I couldn’t get them apart! I began to panic, which brought back the pain to my skinless-scalp. Lawd! I thought about calling the man who promised to honor, obey, and do everything I say, but he was out picking up my dress from the cleaners. The next thought, was to call 911, but because I was partially dressed and peering as though my fingers were throwing gang signs, I feared that it was not the best thing; at least not at the moment.

I hurried into the bedroom, retrieved some fingernail polish remover, and poured it on my fingers. I tried to yank-stretch my fingers apart, but as the advertisement on the glue tube says, "Instantly bonds," that was not about to happen. With my burning scalp, I had no idea that I would even think or consider reading the package. However, it states, "this product should be kept out of the reach of children, avoid eye or mucous, contact" – along with some other useless small print. There were multiple warnings on this small wachamacallit. (There were other explicates I could assume to utter.) I peered at the crazy glue warnings. The words were small yet firm (no pun here). In such a panic-emergency, my eyes glanced over some of the words, but what I can gather, the tinny tiny warning of words, calmly stated the following:

• If you are over the age of 21, please do not consider yourself an adult.
• Consult a man who can read as well as follows instructions. (No, not just any instructions, but THESE instructions.)
• Consult a man who actually follows directions and actually knows what the consequences are for using this product - Even if he made the mistake of gluing his hands to his face or other body parts in the past.
• Once a man has made the mistake of misusing this product, it is considered trial and error, however, he is certainly certified, authorized and bonded (no pun intended), to make use of this product. However, MUST be done with supervision of the maker of this product, three doctors, and two lawyers.
• Before making use of this product, make sure you have your wife’s permission to use her fingernail polish remover. Or, better yet, purchase your own fingernail polish remover or some other strong smelling glue-removing device.
• Before making use of this product, make sure all pets that you wish to own after today, are removed from the immediate area. If not avoid the humane society legalities by making sure that any pet identification is removed from the deceased.
• Prior to using this product, make sure 911 is in speed dial.
• If you are just stupid enough to glue your body parts together, then have enough sense to pray to the good Lord. Asking Him to shine His ever-loving light on the idiot who just had to use this product improperly and without the certified supervision, and/or the help of a smart minor.
• Continue with prayer while soaking a q-tip in some fingernail polish remover and GENTLY pry the source apart.
• If you decide to skip some of these instructions, but read the very last one, yell to the top of your lungs in hopes that the EMT’s will hear you.

**** ****
Oh lawddddd, the paramedics just left my home. Oh my, for those of you who witnessed this near "fatal for my dog" who was staring at me event, I wonder how will I ever show my face in public again. Oh, and for those that missed it, I thank God that you did not miss much. The neighbors came out and were staring and pointing at my partially dressed body. Just a horrible time to kickoff the holiday season among other things.

Now, I am literally stuck with the embarrassment of my neighbors and glue residue. And to top it off, my scalp hurts!

©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist for Black Denver Speaks, an author, and social issues commentator KSmith023@yahoo.com

Delusions

From Keeba’s Korner: Keeba Kornered & Kaptured in Kaptivity

Delusions that are forced to appear real
It is unfortunate that so many, too many fail or refuse to watch news reports. Whether it is religious reasons, lack of time or loss of interest, one might find of interest what the new laws the government has forced upon the people.

While I am so sure that many are troubled with, unemployment being an all-time high since 1953 and increased oil prices since the days of slick Willie; some people may feel a need to find and adhere to other distractions. Many worried folks not knowing if they’ll have a place to lay their head or where their next meal is coming from, may have tried to do something with their time and make use of current resources. (Whatever they might be). Notwithstanding, some still deciding if food and other necessities are more important than having medication or a roof over their heads. As for desires, well, they are outdated and have hence become a thing of the past; forget about it here in one of the richest Countries on this planet. (At least for now.)

While I attempt to spread joyous news and be amiable, it is often difficult. I was so sure that this would be one of those times, however I am wrong.

When I first became eliminated from the workforce, I spent many hours watching FoxNews Network, CNN, MSNBC, and many other worldwide news stations. I read the newspaper from front to back as well as the small local free newspapers left outside the door of retailers. While I am so sure I was being informed about the world around me, I was becoming inundated with politics, crime, and the like. I had ceased paying attention to the things that I enjoyed most. Almost demented with the plethora of information flooding my surroundings, I had considered admitting myself to the nearest mental health institution. I tell ya, I was just so sick and affixed with it, that it became apparent to my family that I had become neglectful a.k.a. partially or totally insane. I began to imagine what the tight white jackets would feel like. Heck, you have to admit (both women and men), no matter what color of clothing you wear, white goes with everything.

Well, suddenly I assumed that I had good news. Wait, let me say that before hurricane Katrina, I finally realized my obsession to current events and slowly ceased my manic craze, but with Web Pointer MD saved in my favorites and Dr. Kevorkian’s number in speed dial. Yes, I continued to watch the local news two to three times a day and kept informed by daily news articles, however within reason and with www.biologicalunhappiness.com at my fingertips. Notwithstanding and with all earnestness, I could not tear myself away from the television while I watched with sadness, fear, and disbelief while the catastrophic event destroyed and took so (too) many lives.

At one moment, I began to watch sitcoms. Whew! That was more than I could take. I enjoyed re-runs of All in the Family, Sanford and Son and many others. While Everybody Hates Chris is still a must see, I had to put an end to all of the others-new and old.
One afternoon, I received a call from a friend of a relative, and wham! I became inspired again.

Here’s my story:
One evening, I was pecking at the keys on my keyboard and I felt it was time to hear the jams from my favorite musician’s strum. I finally unwrapped a box that I had received some time ago. I knew what was inside - my new office-stereo. I performed my ritual when I received new things that came with an Owners Manual; I tossed aside the wrapping and Owner Manuals and plugged it in. What about the Owners Manual, you ask. Well, it must remain in the factory shipped wrapper until removal is necessary. See the way I see it is that when I finally do read it, - a year or more from now – I will discover new things. And walla, it’s just as new as the first day I opened the box a year prior! With the reference book close to the wastebasket, I plugged in my new stereo. I played with the CD thingy (no wonder I needed a new one), touched all the unread buttons and then started turning the knobs. Finally, I tuned into one of my favorite radio stations and noticed something that has not occurred in such a long, long time. (Wow, just the little things amaze me.) THEY WERE NOT TALKING! Nope, no talking nor commercials but continuous jams. I was groovin and a movin. I was on to something. They called themselves, Jammin 92.5, whereas I think they should have considered something more fitting like, Continuos Jams or something ‘nother. (I’m so sure if I gave it more thought, I would have come up with a catchier moniker.) Now, I know, you might say, she is some over-weight broad who has nothing else to do but waste time watching television or listening to music 24/7. But, you’re wrong. When able and not stuffing my face, I hit the treadmill or ski machine and when I do, I would listen to the continuos jams from my Walkman. Now, listen, I’m not an advertiser for any musician or radio station, but just desired to spread good news; something I think would help ease some folks from the day to day drab.

Well, this release has changed.

As I said, I just wanted to spread some good news or share something that I had embarked upon and was delighted to pass on. For all I know, the good news I wanted to pass on may not have been new to many. However, like a used car or any used item passed on to me, it may be used, but I was not the previous owner, so hence, it would be new to me. Nevertheless, I will say that I have listened to this radio station for years – at work, in the car. However, I was always limited with time; I had a job with clients who did not share my taste in music and my manager wasn’t too kind when I walked the office with headphones attached to my head. Thinking back on those dark days, I suppose it may have had something to do with the time someone accidentally pulled the fire alarm and I failed to notice the panic of 100plus employees. And, as far as the car. Well, tell me this, how much time can one spend in a car? I can eat and drink (non-alcoholic beverages, of course) and even get a little freaky inside my car, but then again, I cannot sleep in it. I mean at least I’m not forced to do so as of yet.

While I wanted to relay good news, I have awful news. The radio station once known as Jammin 92.5 is gone; it is no more. This disappointment came at a surprise, as I had no idea that the change was coming.

This is how I become aware of the transition: Yesterday morning I was performing my morning ritual. You know, feed the dog, take the dog out. Feed the fish and see if any fish need to be taken out. Wash my hands, wipe the kitchen counter, go to the bathroom and check my look in the mirror. (Yep, its me.) Turn on the shower and the shower radio, grab my shower-mat, looffa bar, and wait… Uh huh, something is new here. Should I have saved that Owners Manual or, should I have not listened to my 17 therapists? The radio was doing some sort of count down. What the heck! I did as I was told when the announcer told me "not to stare at my radio." By the time I finished cleaning, the count down thingy had come to an end and the announcer proclaimed that 92.5 was the new radio station for Country "Willie 92.5." What?!?!? I quickly dried my not so corpulent not so J-Lo body, applied lotion, dressed in my drab, and went into my bedroom. I turned on the amp and searched and searched for my radio station but to my displeasure, it could not be found. Later that day, I made a call or two and sent emails to family and friends inquiring about my station but no one seemed to know. I believe they were spending time with their co-workers or not inside a vehicle.

Today, December 16th, I opened an email with the title, What Happened to 92.5FM? I read, and I read. (frown) The radio station is gone. After reading the article, hmmm, I didn’t perceive any obvious reasons, so I’m not so sure as to why I am being forced to tune into FoxNews, yet again. While considering a call to the good Dr., I thought about the changes the station had made when Gloria Neal was added to "The Morning Show." It was a comforting that an African American was attached to Old School music played by mostly African Americans. Now, don’t get me wrong, as certainly I enjoyed the former, popular DJ Neal replaced, but just that it made sense or was easy to grasp. (No irony there) It was a different twist to the range of listeners.

I suppose, this release has made a round trip. As stated in the beginning, people are stressed and stretched about the economy and their lack of means to know the definition of economy. While money certainly isn’t everything, it certainly helps. And at times like these, it seems so prevalent that there is a lack of it. Well now, the good news is this: Those who love country music well, they have a new station for b-boopin and line dancin. Don’t get me wrong as I’m considerably eclectic when it comes to music, however I have a preference of time as well as when and where. The good news for me, well, as for me, wellllll, look on the bright side: white goes with everything and reasonably poises well against my pale skin. In addition, due to my own struggling surplus, I may be forced to live in my car WITHOUT a radio but with "Fuzzy Math."

©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is a columnist for Black Denver Speaks, an author, and social issues commentator
Keeba23@netscape.net

Keeba Kornered & Kaptured in Kaptivity

Biography

Keeba Smith is the seventh hatched in Colorado. Her early interests included political science, science fiction movies and toying with her brother’s chemistry lab. At a young age, she won a prize for writing an essay about child safety, hence realized her passion for writing.

Keeba began writing in Junior High School that included her first novelette and compositions, Kool and Kalm. As a youngster, she would write plays and essays for her church, in addition, was asked to write compositions for family and friends. During and after High School, she worked continually in the administrative field while taking several college courses in business and creative writing.

While working, she never withdrew from her love of writing and later surrounded herself with writers’ elite and enrolled in writing classes, which included English, comprehension and grammar. Later, she would wed a longtime family friend and succeed while studying commercial insurance and political science. Her writing and other interests continued until May 1996; she became ill while working late one evening when she experienced severe head pains that were unlike any stressful headache or migraine. Later, she was informed of a growth on her brain.

Although anxious and confused, she woke one morning and informed her spouse she had total peace and was ready to face what may be the end of her life. Later that day, she stopped working on her then recent novel, Yellow Rose and immediately began writing her autobiography, A Spirit in the Dark.

Today, Keeba faces some intricacies, but her dreams are not dismantled. Currently, she is working on her compositions of poems, novels and screenplays, while undertaking the task of writing a friend’s biography as well as writing essays for others who enjoy her method of scrawl.

When not writing, she enjoys photography and building web sites as well as being involved in "Black Denver Speaks." She remains infatuated with the entire process of writing and aims for success on the big screen.

Most recently, during open-mic, Keeba soliloquized, Nothing Is What It Seems and was subsequently labeled an "unsettled writer" and was asked who she was in description, hence, she recited, This is Keeba. (From Keeba’s collection of poems, Keeba Kornered Kaptured in Kaptivity.)

Keeba has been published in 'Time After Time' and 'Poets Elite' (International Poetry Society). With a selective audience, she has shared her novels, Shades of Bright Pale, The Worker, Big Girl, Across the Lines and several others.

The author writes: "Before my illness takes the best of me, I aspire to have all of my compositions/patterned-thoughts published for select readers who have an open mind. After reciting at open mic, I remain reserved, yet overwhelmed to have received the extended standing ovation; it was most appreciated. Furthermore, I graciously accept being labeled a restless cynic and dark poet."



©Keeba Smith - Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
Keeba Smith is an author, and social issues commentator. Penning her latest novel, she resides in North East, Colorado. When not writing, she can be found behind the camera and attending to her garden.
KSmith023@yahoo.com