One of the most popular questions I get as an Oreo is;
“You’ve never dated a black guy?”
And then when I ask them if they want to see my piccolo or otherwise try to change the conversation, the next question usually is:
“Piccolo? Is that a euphemism for something?”
And when I say no and smile inside because I think I’ve distracted them, they say:
“But wait. Really? Reallllly? You’ve…never…dated a black guy?”
That’s when I usually try to direct their attention to photos of me at a Renaissance Faire and ask them to help me pick out bodice patterns for next year.
“How is that possible…?”
First of all, I haven’t dated tons of guys who share individual traits with me. I’ve never dated someone from my hometown.
Maybe because I looked like this when I lived there.
I’ve never dated another Journalism Major from The University of Texas at Austin. I’ve never dated a guy who was 5’5” who wore a small in women’s blouses. I’ve never dated someone with a birthmark on his shoulder, a bellybutton ring or a hatred for the Oxford comma that rivals mine. I’ve never dated someone who’s the offspring of an engineer and an accountant and I’ve never been in a relationship with an only child.
Second, it’s not like there are all these hordes of black guys who I’m denying access from the top of my ivory tower.
Though if we do build an Ivory tower, can we use this pattern? (source)
Though if you know an ivory tower for sale, hook an Oreo up!
Honestly, apart from my own family members, I don’t even know that many black guys. And the ones I do wouldn’t be viable options even if they could sunburn.
If I were to try date a black guy (#spoileralert, never will, it’s against the rules) these are the only options I could choose from:
That quiet kid at work who sat down the hall from me last year – Much too young. I’m not opposed to dating someone my junior, but there’s maybe a 10-12 year age gap here, which—as you can tell by looking at me today—makes him like 12 years old.
That one guy at the office I see coming into the same entrance to my building – I think he’s gay.
That older guy at work who wears the fun t-shirts – Married
That guy who works one floor down from me – Moving to the northwest in a few months. I’m much too needy for that.
That guy with the round face and beard – I think he is also gay
That guy at swing dancing – We don’t even talk. He Balboas, I don’t Balboa. When we tried to dance once, he was so annoyed that I don’t Balboa that we nearly stopped dancing halfway through the song
My hairdresser’s son – He really is 12
That priest – He’s already pledged his life to someone else. Way to c-block, JC!
So unless I want to be a homewrecker, a Mrs. Robinson or an RBP, there’s no market for me.
Even when I was dating online, I was never approached by guys of color. All of my friends regularly got pinged by a Jamaal or a Kendrick or a Michael. But not me. It’s like they knew, nay, respected who I was.
…Could have also been the fact that I put that picture of tweenage me on my profile and that I talked a LOT about Renn Fests.
*********
Who are the black guys you know? Do you want to date them? Let us know in the comments!
Since Saturday, I’ve been trying to figure out what to say about the George Zimmerman non-verdict. Just like I tried to figure out what to say when all this started last year. Moments like this are what folks like me are here for. We’re supposed to say something hella pithy and clever and poignant and then drop the mic like BOOM.
The good news is, I have been saying a lot about the ol’ GZ sitch. The less good news is that the conversations have mostly been in my head. And they’ve sounded a little like this:
Saturday
TheOreoExperience: Holygoodness, I love me a singalong! And on such a lovely Los Angeles summer night! Ha! Summer days, drifting away to ah ah those suummmer niiiiiiights.
Inner Voice: Psst! Pssssst! Psssssssssssssssssssssssssst! Check your phone! Someone just got an AP Mobile update saying that the verdict has come in.
TOE: C’mon. I just got my goodie bag. There are bubbles in here. I guarantee you the verdict is not going to make me want to blow bubbles.
IV: Who’s Bubbles?
TOE: My bubbles, I just– hey! I see what you did there. Stop being a child. We are at a Grease singalong. This is serious business.
IV: Travolta’s tight pants are serious business.
TOE: Yes they are. So stop distracting me. I’ll deal with this tomorrow.
IV: Okay. Sure thing.
(beat)
IV: He was found not guilty of all charges.
TOE: WHAT?! WHAT THE EFFING HOLY MOTHER EFFING EFF?! HOW IS THAT–
IV: We have to write about this.
TOE: I know, I know. But seriously, tomorrow. It hurts my self to think about this and It’s hard to put coherent satire together when you’re singing Beauty School Dropout.
Remember, kids. The moral of this story is something along the lines of become a slut to get the man of your dreams. Not gonna say it worked for me…not gonna say it didn’t. (source)
Every Day Since Saturday
IV: Why aren’t we writing yet?
TOE: Because…I just… I mean, have you…
IV: Oh, come on. You live for this stuff!
TOE: What a horrible thing to say.
IV: But it plays perfectly into your whole narrative.
TOE: It’s just too dark. I mean, as much as I like making jokes about this stuff, I kinda wish i didn’t have to.
IV: Yeah and I wish I had a unicorn right now.
TOE: Okay, fine.
IV: Wish in one hand, poop in the other, see which one fills up first.
TOE: I get it.
IV: When you wish upon a star, you look like a crazy person talking to yourself like that.
TOE: Okay!! You are not nice today.
IV: We’ve got things to do. Let’s hear what you’ve got.
TOE: Okay, well I thought about doing a piece about how a little Oreo fashion instruction could solve a lot of issues. Instead of hoodies, black folks should don turtlenecks and wigs–they keep all the brown from being seen, but aren’t as gangy looking. The right wig can also totally throw someone off the scene. I’m thinking a Whig era wig, you know. Also, I look amazeballs in a turtleneck.
IV: Hmmm, yeah, now all I’m thinking about is that poor boy. Fucking sad.
TOE: That’s the problem!
IV: What else ya got? I think we can still make something work.
TOE: Hmmm, I could make a list of names that were more likely to encourage a guilty verdict. I mean, if George Zimmerman had shot young Albert Van Beveran or little Larson Latimer or if he had murdered Mackenzie Morris, things might have been different. I could talk about how Oreos know this and so we’ll even change our last names if it arranges an anglo-tastic alliteration. Maybe throw in a list of things you can change your name to?
IV: Yeah, it’s still really just bumming me out right now.
TOE: What about–
IV: You know what. Why don’t we just call it a day maybe go out on a cat picture.
TOE: Sounds good! Can we do some kitten mittens?
IV: Wouldn’t have it any other way.
TOE: You’re good to me.
IV: I really am.
TOE: Thanks Craig for the tip on the gif!
IV: Who’s Craig?
TOE: This guy I work with. He’s cool.
IV: Right on.
TOE: Hey, IWS?
IV: Yeah?
TOE: Is this maybe what’s wrong with, oh, everything by the way? The whole let’s just look at a cat gif instead of rising up and taking action as a society?
(beat)
IV: It’s a really good gif.
TOE: Has everyone in my office seen me talking out loud to myself?
It’s hard to get much more Oreo than Geordi LeForge (I believe if you check the scoreboard, however, I still have him beat. Sure he taught kids to read, but he was also in Roots), but even Mr. Burton feels the need to disarm police by proving well in advance though he is black, he is not a threat.
He here is describing the rites and rituals he goes through when dealing with law enforcement. LB’s best practices include removing protective eyewear and hanging his hands out the window.
Equally as shocking as his cop stop ritual is the fact that this dude has a 33-year-old son! Seriously, we do not crack.
Between following safety tips related to being black and safety tips related to being a woman, I have a lot to do every day. In case you want to play along at home, here’s my daily routine that’s kept me out of harm’s way thus far. Let me know if it works for you.
0600 – Wake up and ensure that all doors are in fact still locked and that no one uninvited is in bed.
0620 – Refill outdoor fountains emptied by raccoons during the night so home looks functional and free-flowing, not ghetto and broken
0630 – Begin vocal warm ups so I can convincingly practice arias during commute
0700 – Choose outfit for work. Check necklines, hemlines and overall tightness of said outfit.
0730 – Change outfit just in case.
0745 – Do makeup
0750 – Remove some makeup just in case.
0800 – Stare at (gluten-free) bagel and wish that lipstick application was saved for later to avoid gross red ring around bites of bagel.
0810 – Think about the time my boss made fun of me a couple of years ago for wearing red lipstick the day we had a meeting with a celebrity. The day in question, I had actually forgotten about said meeting and was just trying to look like a professional human. The celeb wasn’t my type anyway (read: black dude). Wonder how often I give off that particular wrong impression.
0817 – Check calendar and see that I have an evening event. Practice holding keys in a stabby way between index and middle finger.
0820 – Look up prices for pepper spray online. Wonder if I will be tracked by some authority for trying to buy weapons online.
0825 – Practice jogging through the house in today’s heels to make sure escape is possible.
0827 – Practice answers to “…did you do something to your hair? It looks—“
0828 – HolycrapI’mlate! (Leave for work.)
0842 – Roll down windows and turn up volume on NPR
0850 – Accidentally make eye contact with man in the next car over. Smile because it’s polite, then call boyfriend on speakerphone.
0900 – Notice that after three turns, guy in the next car over is now behind me. Sweat about this.
0903 – Make a 4th turn and lose my tail. Wonder if he knows too much, anyway.
0910 – Arrive at work. Avoid eye contact with strangers on the way in. Feel like a jerk, but then at least we won’t have a repeat of the great “But We Were Just Talking” incident of 2012 or the “We’ll Just Find Another Department For You” incident of 2009.
0915 – Accept compliment on blouse and wonder if I chose poorly.
1200 –Run errand. Roll down windows and sing È amore un ladroncello to distract from the fact that skin is extra brown from 4th of July beach time.
1245 – Check email to see that there is a flurry of new video comments. Sort between the ones that say they like the video, so they’d like to do me and the ones that say they hate the video so they want to rape me. Put phone down for a while.
1835 – Leave office. Sing Ach, Ich fühl’s on the way to Ralph’s.
1837 – Feel guilty because yes, stranger in your snazzy polo shirt, I do have a minute for marriage equality, I’m just too hungry to take that minute right now.
1850 – Check messages. Stop at stoplight. See cop.
1851 – Reach into interior jacket pocket to get chapstick. Realize what this might looks like. Freeze with hand there like I’m Napoleon or checking for heart murmurs.
1852 – Crack windows and turn up Next to Normal soundtrack.
1853 – Smile at cop.
1925 – Arrive at venue.
1926 – Find parking spot near a light.
1927 – Exit car, check locks twice.
1928 – Call boyfriend and give him ETA while speaking loudly enough to be heard by passersby.
1929 – Memorize cars immediately next to mine.
1930 – Text girlfriends and mention my whereabouts.
1931 – Whistle and sing to myself while walking quickly, but with a casual air to appear unafraid.
1935 – Pay entrance fee with exact change
1940 – Start swing dancing like it’s 1939.
2035 – Take a break outside. Stand near entrance and several paces over from the man with the weird eyes.
2045 – Use monosyllabic answers to try to deter the man with the weird eyes.
2046 – Position body facing away from Weird Eyes
2047 – Loudly excuse myself and squeeze past WE to go back inside
2050 – Dance like it’s 1949
2230 – Collect belongings and position key in stabby position.
2231 – Try to shake instructor’s hand. Apologize.
2232 – Reach into purse to get cell phone. See cop up ahead.
2232 – Empty contents of purse on ground to prove their lack of threat.
2235 –Smile too big at cop. Unclench fist. Drop protective keys. Do an adorable, clumsy curtsey to pick up said keys and all purse contents. Hope that this near seizure of poise looks less suspicious than actual skin color. Ask cop what he thought about Britain’s historic Wimbledon win.
2240 – Finish explaining what I mean by Britain’s historic Wimbledon win.
2245 – Arrive at char. Check underneath.
2246 – Check behind
2247 – Check backseat
2248 – Check glove compartment
2249 – Dash inside and immediately lock doors
2315 – Pull up at house
2316 – Scan area for potential threats
2317 – Remove keys from ignition and position them in stabby position
2318 – Grab purse close, ensure that it’s zipped
2319 – Answer phone and explain to boyfriend why I’ve been sitting in the car for 5 minutes.
2320 – Exit car and speak loudly and clearly to thwart attackers
2321 – Enter house, say hi to boyfrizzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZzzzzzz
2322 – Dream of a day when practicing proper precautions is less exhausting than 3 hours of swing dancing.
What do you do to keep yourself from being besieged upon by strangers. Let us know in the comments!
I just caught up with the Paula Deen story this weekend. Seems like the n-word is just the tip of that buttery iceberg.
Deen not only wanted an all black staff at her brother’s wedding, she didn’t let them use the same bathroom or entrances or exits, she kinda wanted them to “tap dance around,” and a bunch of other racist whatnots including recently apologizing and saying she’s not racist by using the punchline from a racist joke as said apology.
But, the woman should be given some credit. The wedding could have been a lot worse. Turns out, the plantation-style, all-black-servants shindig was maybe the best of the other ideas on the table. Here are a few more themes Deen had on the back burner that she hasn’t been able to do…yet
“Beads and Blankets Bonanza” – Guests will have the chance to purchase jewelry and couch throws at great prices! Hors d’oeuvres passed by the Chickasaw Nation.
Turquoise and tears. A perfect part pair!
“Model Train Mayhem” – Guests will sip turn of the century cocktails while watching interns an elaborate miniature locomotive track around the seating area. Special thanks to interns Deng Shu Chan and Zhang Wei Huang.
Bonus! The interns double as footrests!
“Rosie the Riveter Rocks!!” – Guests will don 1940s costumes and build their own metal works…including windows bars and a new lock for front doors that will be fitted on the graciously donated home of Mr. and Mrs. Nakamura. Don’t worry that they’re still inside and the guests have the key. That’s all part of the fun!
You CAN do it…for about 10 years before your staff finally wises up and reports you to the proper authorities.
They all sound like good ol’ fashioned grand times to me!
Last week, the House of Representatives voted down a new farm bill that, among other things, would have denied SNAP benefits to poor people if they had a car. This week, Paul Ryan is making the news rounds lamenting the failure of this bill to pass. Ryan supported an amendment to the bill that would have shrunk the food benefits roster.
Beyond the $20 billion in cuts that will throw an estimated two million children, elderly, and disabled Americans off food stamps, millionaire Rep. Paul Ryan is pushing an amendment that would close the door to assistance for the vast majority of Americans. Ryan and Rep. Frank Lucas are proposing that categorical eligibility be eliminated and replaced with an asset limit. If an individual has $2,000 in savings, or a car worth more than $5,000, they will not be eligible for food stamps. – politicsusa.com
Many were upset by this amendment and its inclusion likely played a part in its failure in the House. But c’mon, lazies, Ryan makes a point! If a person has a car, then clearly they can afford to do whatever else they want to do like paying their rent, gas bill, and eating all the time.
The GOP often uses this logic to explain why poor people don’t need benefits. If people are buying things like gas for their car, or a birthday cake once a year, or shoes, then obviously they’re flush and don’t need any help from the social safety net. This logic works perfectly because are some things that are true about poor people that aren’t true for the rest of us.
Poor people do not have friends or relatives who sometimes give them gifts. I have a pair of $300 boots. I cannot afford a pair $300 boots. But a roommate gave them to me because she had owned them for years and never actually wore them.
Now, while something like this happens to middle class me, it never happens to poor people. If poor people have something nice, it’s because they’re siphoning the dozens of dollars they get from the government into their luxe, lavish lifestyle.
Surprise! You don’t get help when shiz hits the fan!
Poor people never keep things. If I lost my job tomorrow, I’d have a bunch of decent things thanks to the fact that I’d been employed steadily for a number of years. I’d have some dishes that I got at Target. I’d have those boots I just mentioned, I’d have my car, my cats and some jeans and sundresses. I’d probably want to keep as many of these things as possible so that I didn’t lose absolutely everything all at once and want to kill myself.
This isn’t the case with poor people. Poor people never hold on to belongings to allow for some semblance of stability. If you see a poor person with a car or something other than a piece of trash, then it’s definitely because they threw away all of their previous belongings and wanted for that fat welfare check to come in so that they could buy everything a new. Last year’s house—gross! Time to upgrade!
Umm. You lost your job. Why haven’t you sold absolutely everything you own? Things can’t be that bad if you still have that 12year-old car…and your 12-year-old.
Poor people don’t need to look for jobs or run errands or go to the doctor. If I lost my job, I would like to keep my car as long as possible so that I can go to job interviews and visit temp agencies and take meetings and generally continue to look for work. I’d also like to be able to visit the grocery every now and then or maybe to Office Depot to get some paper to print my resume on and then maybe to the pharmacy when the flu comes around. Selling my car the moment tragedy hits would only lead to more tragedy since I’d be stuck at home and/or relying on LA’s craptastic public transportation system.
Not the case with the poors. If the poors have a car, they 100% aren’t using it to look for work. They’re probably just using it for decoration or maybe pooping in it for kicks. They definitely aren’t using it for anything necessary to staying alive. And remember, if they have a car in the first place, it’s most probs not because they’ve had that car for years and see no need to ditch it now. Poors only have cars because of all that cash they’re taking from the rich.
Oh this? It’s just decoration. We’re just waiting for that check so we can pick up the Maz.
Hopefully Poor Paul (read: rich as balls Paul) will be able to take his message on the road and get the support his party needs to pass legislation like this. We definitely need to do something about the bloated budget, so why not do it on the backs of people who can’t drive to Washington to protest!
What was the last awesome thing you bought with your welfare check? Let us know in the comments!
We all have super power (so say the Marketing kids down at Virgin Atlantic). Some of us will use those powers to have high-level jobs. Some of us will use our powers to serve the cool. Guess who gets to do what. (Also thanks to Sociological Images for their write-up on this commercial.)
You’d think they’d at least employ the girl with psychic powers to at least work in the control tower to prevent crashes or some such. Or maybe make the precog with outstanding reflexes at least an Air Marshall. But no, much better to keep those two serving drinks and handing out tissues (which you don’t need to have Dr. Xavier style powers to do).
Once upon a couple of weeks ago, Cheerios released an adorable commercial where an adorable little girl uses adorable kid logic and adorably pours Cheerios all over her sleeping father to help him stay healthy.
Cute, right? Haha! Wrong! At least to a good chunk of the online community, anyway.
Cheerios had to close the comments section under this video due to racism. And this week, the little girl at the center of the blended family controversy spoke out…ish.
While young Grace is not an Oreo Oreo (she’s mixed race, not in denial), she’s made of enough cutes to get an honorary mention. Plus, during her interview with NBC, she shows us some great ways to handle the awkwardness that comes when people see that you’re the one thing that’s not like the others.
So the next time you find yourself at the wrong end of an inquiry, remember what Grace would do and try the following:
Wear a jaunty cardigan. No one wants to trouble someone in a delicate sweater. So not only do the long sleeves hide the evidence of your melanin, you get bonus points because the warm fuzzy fabric makes everyone around feel warmer and fuzzier themselves.
Smile and stare in lieu of answering. Making someone ask the same question more than 2 times in a row usually draws attention to the how weird/unnecessary/obvious/rude the question in the first place. So instead of answering, allow yourself a little time delay. You’ll find you won’t have to say very much and maybe not even answer the question at all. If
Look as cute as possible. Delivering a blank stare instead of a canned answer might come across as rude in some circles. But not if you’re super adorbs about it! So rose up those cheeks (yes, guys, you can do this, too), dig in those dimples, shine up that twinkle in your eye and get ready to deflect.
Bring back up. When possible, surround yourself with at least two other people with more patience than you have. It helps if they’re taller and if maybe one of them is white. (What am I saying, Oreos? Haha ‘maybe one of them.’ Obvi, both will be!) You can always use a head-tossing giggle to throw the question to them, ask them to translate or just stand a bit behind them and blend into the background.
Start talking to yourself. When all else fails, just start having a conversation with yourself instead of whoever bugging you. They’ll leave you alone.
Watch the interview here and see these tips in action!
You guys don’t know Julia, but trust me… it was ridiculous how rich she was. Her gated community was so gated that there was like a gate around each house. It was ridiculous how many horses. It was ridiculous how robust her household staff was. She could have reenacted the entire film The Help before the maid cleared the breakfast dishes.
And it was incredibly ridiculous that I even cared about these things because she was a 15-year-old girl and I was a 31-year-old woman who really should have had my life together.
I did not have my life together and that was why I met Julia in the first place. You see, thanks to a divorce and the recession, I had been demoted from being a normal, respectable human being and was instead living life as a drivers ed instructor.
I do not recommend living life as a drivers ed instructor.
First, you have to wear a uniform. And not a cool uniform like doctors or astronauts get to wear. This uniform is khaki. All khaki. It’s stiff and it’s hot and manages to make every person who wears it, regardless of their gender, size or body type, look like they have man boobs and lady hips.
The second worst thing about being a drivers’ ed instructor is that you’re BEING A DRIVERS’ ED INSTRUCTOR.
Sometimes even us experienced drivers take a wrong turn.
Considering how much was going wrong in my life at the time, I really shouldn’t have cared about Julia’s life. She was just some kid. But she was the kind of kid I had wanted to be was young. And she was living the kind of life I wanted to live now that i was less young.
She was a ballet dancer. And when I was her age, I loved ballet. But when young me told my mom I was interested in ballet, my mother told me in no uncertain terms that I was too fat to be a dancer but that was okay because “black people don’t get skinny anyway” and that maybe I should consider engineering. So not only was Julia a skinny dancer, her mom also liked her.
Julia had a nice new car…several, in fact, the driveway was lousy with cars. At the time, my car had been stolen. Rent controlled apartment – great! Being the only person on said block who wasn’t in the Canoga Park Alabama gang, not great.
Apart from not living in gang terror, Julia was popular. She had a busy social life. She had enough money for groceries. Her house had heat and at the time, I was huddling around my stove at night because that was the utility I could afford to turn on.
And just when I thought I couldn’t dislike her anymore, I made the mistake of asking her what she was going to do for the holidays. I had just made peace with the fact that I would be having Christmas dinner with the wait staff at Jerry’s instead of with family or friends, so I thought I could handle her answer.
“Ugh,” she said with an impressive Valley accent considering her family was from Manhattan. “We’re going to Hawaii. Again.” She said with so more disdain than I thought could possibly fit in her 80-pound body.
“Awww, you know, I’d love to be able to go to Vons without freaking out, much less Hawaii, so why don’t you just shut your ungrateful little face until you at least learn how to drive stick!!!” was what I wanted to say. But you can’t say something like that to kids, so instead, I said:
“Hawaii. That sounds nice. What do you like to do there?”
“Ugh. I’ve been so many times. I don’t even do anything anymore. I hate it”
What I wanted to say was: “Awww, you’re a horrible human being and I wish that I could drive this stupid car right into your community’s stupid gate and run over your stupid face!!!”
Hell on Earth
But you can’t say that to a kid. So instead, I said. “Ugh, sorry about that. What about the new year? Any resolutions?”
“Ugh. I just hope this year is better than last year.”
Now, I knew the girl had broken up with her boyfriend and that she was bummed out about that. But I was going through a divorce. I didn’t care about her stupid breakup that she was going to forget about by next semester. But you can’t say that to a kid, so instead, I said:
“Oh, you mean because of your boyfriend?”
“That,” she said. “And hopefully my back will get better.”
“What’s wrong with your back?”
And then she told me about that one time when she was almost paralyzed. About how her one dream, the one thing she’s wanted to do more than anything else in the world might be taken away from her before her sixteenth birthday.
Julia had been dancing at an elite level since she was in elementary school. She told me about the hours and hours and hours of rehearsal every day, of top-tier competition and of show after show after show.
She told me about how earlier that year, she started feeling like her arms and legs were on fire. About how there were days when she just couldn’t feel her thighs. About how she danced anyway. About how she started downing ibuprofen like candy and strapped ice packs to herself all day long. And about how this one time after this one show, she laid down to relax and couldn’t get back up again.
It was a stress fracture in two of her vertebrae. And the doctors said that it was only because of chance and luck that she was still walking.
One more show, one more fall, a stumble on some stairs, a jerk from her dogs on the leash during a morning walk, a badly timed sneeze and the break could have been permanent.
“It’s all I want to do,” she whispered. “I don’t know what else to be.”
And I got that. At that time, I didn’t know what I was going to be either.
When we got home that day, I looked at Julia’s mansion. As gorgeous as it was, as many lovely, brand name, top shelf things as she had in there, as expensive as they were, they were worthless if they couldn’t give her what she really wanted.
But you shouldn’t say that to a kid. So instead, I told her, honestly, that I hoped she had an amazing vacation.
When I left work on Friday, my hair was about shoulder-length. It was reddish brown and cut into a nice little bob with bangs.
When I got to work this week, my hair stretched to the middle of my back and was jet black. Still have the bangs, though.
Some things are rocket science. This is not one of those things. (source)
Basically, after straightening my hair since I was 8 (so you know, only like 13 years ago), I got tired of the chemical burns, I got tired of the dollops of hot grease dipping from the hot comb and I did what any self-respecting, professional woman would do. I learned to be content with who I was and love me for me. I decided that even though I can’t grow long hair, I can still buy it.
Beautiful silky waves of someone else’s hair have been affixed to my own. No heat. No chemical burns. Just an afternoon in the chair watching Miss Congeniality and The Proposal. I love me some Sandy B. (well, mostly)
It’s understandable that people would be surprised when they saw me. I look quite a bit different. I’m super excited about my hair, so I’m tossing it around like a child and I’m sure everyone in the morning meeting was wondering why I was grinning like I just won my first ballet recital.
Because of the change, there are plenty of perfectly reasonable questions to ask. This, however, is not one of them:
“Did you get extensions?”
That is a dumb question. Because by asking it, you’re assuming one of two things: that you just didn’t ever notice this extra foot of hair on me in the year to 10 years we’ve known each other; or that you live in a world where hair grows 12-13 inches over night all while changing color so the extra hair is just a biological possibility and not clearly the work of a scalp-centric intervention,.
If you didn’t notice me before, you don’t have to start now. And if you live in a world where hair grows that fast, please let me in!! I’ve been trying to get long hair since I was about 8. It’s never happened until now. And if there was a way to do it without also having to watch Think Like a Man (it was her salon, I could only ask for so much Sandy before she pulled rank) please let me know! I’ll move if it means I end up in a hairadise where long locks come easy.
Just in case someone else changes their hair and you want to ask something stupid about it, here are some alternatives to ask instead:
I was thinking of cutting my hair into a French New Wave blunt boxy thing, too. Can you give me your stylist’s number?
What does your boyfriend/girlfriend/pet sitter/mistress think of your new look?
Do you smell that?
Have you forgiven Sandy for The Blind Side yet? (spoiler alert: only kind of)
Holy s*it! Did you see GoT last night? (spoiler alert: I’ve never watched GoT)
Has anyone told you you’re like this office’s Joan Holloway-Harris?
I know you like your new do, but can you stop twirling around and give us the dates on your production report?
No really, do you smell that? It smells like burning.
I was thinking of a more efficient way of running these meetings, can I run it by you?
What are you reading these days?
Is After Earth really that bad?
Guys, I think this isn’t a fire drill, should we go outside?
Do you know where we turn in time cards?
How long after the wedding is it still cool for me to get a gift to the happy couple?
Do you mind not biting your nails so loudly?
Why wouldn’t I want to see another picture of your cat?
Seriously? You watched an episode of Splash…not Smash…but Splash?!
Fine you guys, I’m not taking my chances. Sure it might just be a bagel left in the toaster oven, but this meeting has been totally derailed anyway, am I right?
See, look how many options there are. We’re all adults and can make intelligent conversation without doing some Meisner exercise of stating the obvious.
The only reason you’d need to double check if long hair is extensions is if you’ve all been the survivors of a Lost-style plane crash and you need all the hair you can gather to make a rope to get in and out of the hatch more effectively or a sail so you can take your chances on the open sea. Outside of that situation, just use your best judgment and ask pretty much anything else instead.
What’s the dumbest thing someone has asked you lately? Or have you let a question slip that should have stayed inside your brain? And what was the big deal about GoT this weekend? Let us know in the comments!
The Oreo Experience 