Posts tagged Dreadlocks

• Medusa
• An Octopus
• Bob Marley
• A Hippie
• Cousin It with dreadlocks

• Accept my Hello Kitty obsession for what it is: kitschy and adorable. Buy me things to feed the beast that is said obsession.


• Call me “Auntie Kel” when I’m holding your baby who I’m in no way related to. Not just anybody can be an honorary Aunt, you know. Oh… they can?


• Compliment my outline-of-the-state-of-Minnesota tattoo. Say I was definitely the first one to get it and, thus, started the fad.


• Make me cookies and then tell me I’m skinny and pretty while I eat them.


• Refer to my blog/twitter/musical taste as awesome and underrated.


• Make fun of other people with dreadlocks. Tell me that you realize I’m one-of-a-kind and a special exception to the dreadlock stereotype.


• Mention how you bet I could do more push ups than you. I’m up to like 12 in a row, FYI *kisses bicep*.


• Invite me to your wedding and give me a +1. This is a two-fer: You not only want me at your special day, but you also assume I might have a boy to bring. I probably won’t, but I appreciate the thought.

• Make sure there aren’t any homeless squatters in the basement wearing the Hello Kitty pajamas you put in the storage bin down there.


• Count your dreadlocks. Again. Maybe you have more now?


• Sit on your bed and think about what your friends are probably looking at on the internet right now.


• Play mancala or solitaire or whatever other stupid-ass game your computer doesn’t need internet for.


• Make up funny tweets in your head and then write them down for later.


• Call your mom and ask her to Google image search “LOLCAT” and give you the highlights.


• Read a book or some shit.

The Hickey
Whoopsie, you got a hickey. You’re probably a little proud. More importantly, you’re probably a lot embarrassed. You’re gonna have to hide that since your dreadlocks pretty much rule out the “I burned myself with a curling iron” excuse. Just wear that cowl neck sweater to your office job, goooooood idea. It’s the middle of August, BTW, you idiot. At least people know you generated some interest from a boy. Actually, they don’t know it was a boy. You have dreadlocks, after all, so they probably assume you’re a lesbian. 

The Facial Bruise
When’s the last time you had a bruise on your face? Oh… never? Yeah, because that doesn’t happen. Well, whatever you do, don’t tell them the real story of how you got it. Punching yourself in the chin because you just had to get that sticky glue stick cap off doesn’t sound very sexy. And believe me, you’re gonna need to hold on to every sexy point you can ‘cuz that facial bruise isn’t helping. 

The Uncontrollable Blemish
So you’ve been moving to a new apartment, which always stresses you out to the max. Apparently you were so stressed that you actually went through puberty again. It’s a scientific anomaly, but it happened, so how do you deal with the biggest zit in the time/space continuum that has taken up residency in the middle of your forehead? Well, you can’t comb your bangs over it because you don’t have bangs. You chose dreadlocks. You’ll just have to ride it out. Roll with the punches. Laugh with your coworkers when one of them names the zit “Patrick” and starts talking to it like you’re not even in the room. Try not to blush when someone tries to feed Patrick a sundae and gets whipped cream in your hair.

*NOTE: I’m talking about you. Not me, even though I also have dreadlocks. YOU.

1. My dreadlocks
   Grandma: “Those corn rows. What’s up with those corn rows? You look like Jimi Hendrix.” 
   
   Me: “Grandma, Jimi Hendrix had a huge afro. Besides, I have dreadlocks, not corn rows. You know, like Bob Marley, if we must put it in terms of African American musical legends.”
   
   Grandma: “Yeah, Obama, Michael Jordan, and Malcom X. Whatever. The point is, do boys like girls with dreadlocks, Kels? Well, DO THEY?” 
   
   Me: “Oh, you made a list of black men. Good job, Grandma.”
    
2. My complete lack of domestic skills
   Apparently having the ability to cross stitch knee slappers like “Home Sweet Mess” and “Once I quit golf. It was the hardest day of my life.” on to couch pillows and frame-able doilies will never go out of style.
   
   
3. My foul mouth
   Grandma: “I remember when I could get a quarter from you for saying ‘stupid’ or ‘shoot.’ I’d be a rich B-word if I started charging $5 every time you complain about your coworker who was being a slutty  ‘See You Next Wednesday’ as you say.”
   
   Me: “Close enough.”
   
   
4. I’m too techy
   Grandma: ”You’re on the computer too much. You talk about the Twitter all the time. You spend too much time learning ‘technology’ (does the quotation mark action with fingers) stuff. You’re like a female bodybuilder, but for ‘technology.’ (does it again) And nobody likes female bodybuilders.”
   
   Me: “First of all, Grandma, that analogy was ridiculous. In other news, you don’t have to put ‘quotation marks’ (does the quotation mark action with fingers) around the word ‘technology.’ (does it again) It’s not theoretical. It exists.” 
   
   
5. My big feet
   She’s awfully worried they don’t even make wedding shoes in size 11. “But you’ll probably want to get married barefoot at an outdoor music festival anyway, right Kels?”

Dear other white people with dreadlocks,

Stop looking at me.

Yes, we appear to have one obviously similar stylistic trait. However, you don’t know me. We have no spiritual connection, so please, when we cross each other on the street or spot one another at a concert, don’t give me that “we understand each other” glance. We don’t.

Understand this: We have little to nothing in common. You are enabling the White Person With Dreadlocks Stereotype by calling them your “locks,” wearing hemp pajama pants, and getting tattoos of Trey Anastasio and Buddah on each calf. I, on the other hand, am intent on being a functional part of society, hence the shaving of my armpits and the having of a job.

Please, if you insist on talking to me when we get stuck sitting next to each other on the Mega Bus from Milwaukee to Minneapolis, let me talk first. I will tell you how much I spend on high heels annually, how I participate in Nugget-Offs (the ultimate carnivorous competition) at Wendy’s on the regular, and that I seriously can’t even name one Greatful Dead song. Not. Even. One. This will make you think that I don’t “deserve” my “locks,” nor your attention and you’ll then leave me alone so I can read Harry Potter 7 for the fifth time.

Now run along to whatever drum circle you’re en route to and I’ll hurry home to catch the new episode of Bridalplasty. We don’t have to understand each other, see? We’re free to be you and me. That’s why America is so great. Oh fuck, no, no, NO! I do not want to hear your brilliant idea of how all Americans should move to Uganda to make room for all the people who really deserve freedom. Shhh.

TTYL,

Kelsey