Thursday, July 24, 2008

Pork References & Revlon Red Nail Polish

It was one of those moments that beckon a "you had to be there" credit, but none the less a stand-out point in my life. I was drunk with a few friends. I was about 19 and we had gotten some Everett and Jones (a BBQ spot in Cali) and brought it back to my place. Waving a rib in her manicured hand, my friend Sharice exclaimed, "Everything rare in life is going to happen!!" as she tossed the half eaten rib bone across the scope my living room and into my empty kitchen sink. The obvious sentiment (for those who missed it) was "pigs flying". And for some reason, this week and especially this morning; this thought crosses my brain.

The recent occurrences themselves aren't necessarily the rarities. It's really the manner in which they happen. The sequence and the coincidence. How funny it was that the very day I throw my hands up in disgust and insist on moving out of my mad-house apartment in Bed Stuy that I meet (via Craig's list- who is this Craig person and how do I send him a Thank You note for being so damn fabulous?) Jazz, a girl near my age from Cali looking for a room mate. And that in that same day Jazz met Monica; a twenty-something artist living in a devastatingly adorable three bedroom apartment near the BK museum looking to fill the extra two rooms.

It was like sneezing and farting at the same time; relieving but still very strange.

To add to that, in the same week my current room mates (finally) make complete asses of themselves. I didn't have to do a thing. And even better, my sister was there to witness it. So now when I call my family to complain that my house mates are insane, my loved ones, being now informed by Brittany's first hand relation, can agree knowing I'm not just being a spoiled brat. Thank you KARMA.

I note the fact that I actually have a respectable amount of money in my bank account as we speak, and know I can move next month comfortably enough to splurge at IKEA and get some much needed organizational items. I'm indulging in the fact that I thought to stop by Duane Reade and buy red nail polish convinced that it would be the perfect color on me and was right (being that I'm of a red-brown hue, finding good colors for my complexion is actually quite this, of course, required a victory dance at the check out stand to which the cashier said, "I know how you feel, I just found out that yellow looks awesome on me this year.").

So these feats, being both dramatic and minor are all coming to this very specific head. My head. Which is presently covered by MILLIONS of tiny braids, carefully put in by straight faced Nigerian women on Flatbush ave. As I sat with my flat ass becoming increasingly numb, head tilted towards a tiny screen showing dvd after dvd of Nigerian movies (which are HIGHLY recommended, better then Lifetime ANY DAY), the ladies of my choice braiding salon bound my tresses in human hair so that all my madness was quaintly contained. Well, being as how I need chaos in small doses like a morphine drip, it's time to break free from "quaintly contained". So this weekend, I'm having the same ladies carefully unravel my coif-cuffs so I can shake out my nappy curls in true victoriousness (that's a word?). That's right....Ashley will be rockin THE FRO. A big, proud, thick mess of coiled, stretched out all American blackness.

Everything rare in life is happening....all of my happinesses have become one. And just when I'm afraid that something terrible is going to happen, it rains...hard. Rain I can handle.