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Going Natural at Big Daddy’s 1

Posted on December 16, 2018 by Marna

When I entered my fuck-it 50’s, I began to evaluate everything thing I did based on the time it took to do and if it was truly a benefit to me. If it didn’t get me a job, get me laid, or get me more sleep, it was on the review list. Coloring my hair has always been at the top of the list.

My mother supported my hair color curiosity at a young age. She had to since she’d been coloring her hair jet black since the middle ages. At the age of 13, she suggested I get my hair “frosted.” This was the ‘look’ in the 1970s. I sat in the chair as a hairdresser put a rubber cap on my head and pulled pieces of my hair through with a knitting needle device and then highlighted those hairs. 

I got my first gray hair(s) at 16 and began coloring regularly. In my lifetime, my hair has been nearly every color of the spectrum; however, during the last ten years, maintaining my auburn had been a chore. I colored my roots every 17 days. The more gray I got, the less the color would hold and I’d end up with lighter, “hot” roots and darker hair below. 

Last night I got the same result and said FUCK THIS. 

At brunch, I announced my decision. “Yeah, I think I’m going to a black barber shop in my neighborhood and shave this shit off. I’m tired.” After a pitcher of mimosas, I drove over to Big Daddy’s barbershop on 25th. If I was going to do this, only a bald black man could do it right. 

I tried to open the door that had a bullet hole in the glass, but the door was locked. One of the black guys waiting yelled. “Hey, Norm, there’s a white woman that wants in.”

Norm put his electric razor down, turned and cracked the door open. “You up for the challenge of shaving all this off?” I asked. He smiled, pointed to a chair and said “Sure. You wait there. You’ve got four in front of you.”

I’ve seen enough Spike Lee movies to know barbershops are a social hub for black communities. Big Daddy’s did not disappoint. There was a hyper active, talkative guy sitting there, taking swigs off a pint-sized liquor bottle. He wasn’t there for a cut, but merely to warm up. Everyone seemed to know him. They’d roll their eyes each time he’d make one of his tall-tale statements and exclaim, “yeah, right man.” I’d smile at them, shrug my shoulders and try not to giggle. In the corner near the bathroom, there was a very old gentleman in a camel-colored wool coat with a very old fur collar. He was also warming up, but nodding off. Two of the four waiting were a father-son duo. The son was curious about me. I told him I wanted to keep things easy and shave it off. “Cool. Cool.” About that time, one of the young gals from the beauty shop next door knocked to get in with her fried chicken platter. She knew all the men but liked talking back to the drinker and looking at me and rolling her eyes.

Probably the most interesting thing I noticed while the men got haircuts was there was no exchange of money. No tip. No cost of service mentioned. Maybe there was a hair club. Maybe this was a monthly social club. Norm was good. I was watching. He deserved tips. 

Nearly an hour later, I was in the chair. “What you want me to do,” Norm asked. “I guess a #2. Shave it all off except the orange fire roots,” I replied. I was informed that was probably a #3. He turned me away from the mirror and I watched piles and seemingly pounds of hair drop to the floor. The beauty shop girl gave me a nod and said it looked good. My head was dusted and I was flipped around and looked in the mirror. I felt free. I told Norm it was totally worth the wait.

“How much?” I asked. 

“Fifteen dollars,” Norm replied. 

I handed Norm $30.00 and went out to my car. Several of the guys who were leaning up against the building outside told me it looked good. 

A half hour later I met a girlfriend at a museum for a holiday tour. I walked in, took my knit cap off. Her eyes got big and she exclaimed, “Holy shit. You look like Annie Lennox!”

Sweet dreams are made of this. 

King Tut, the ladies love his style Comments Off on King Tut, the ladies love his style

Posted on July 24, 2016 by Marna

Steve Martin/King Tut

Steve Martin/King Tut

“Girl, look at that red hair and that gray stripe. Wow. And those toes. Yeah. I’d like to suck on those. You taken? Cause I’d like to take you?” said the black guy in front of me at 7-11. Hard to believe just 20 minutes prior, I was playing Super Mario Cart with a 7-year-old who just wanted to beat me… and did.

I was 11 years old when I found out I was black man catnip. My mother, brother, and I were in a very, very long line to see the King Tut exhibit at the National Gallery. Waiting was boring, so I asked my mother if I could duck into the wing next to us and look around. She let me go by myself. As I walked around, I noticed the black security guard following me. When I dead ended and turned back around to rejoin my family, he was in front of me. He looked at me up and down. I didn’t understand why since I wasn’t in People’s Drug trying to steal candy. He then told me he liked my “chest.” I was 5’6” and a C-cup at the time, but I was still 11 fucking years old. I got the yucky, this-doesn’t-feel-right feeling and ran out of the wing.

Since that time I have dated several intelligent and handsome black guys. Their game was more evolved than commenting on my hair, boobs, or feet. Today’s guy gave me the creeps, and not because he was buying a 12-pack of Miller High Life at 10 a.m. His tone and delivery made me flashback to an experience I had forgotten about and never told anyone about.

If you want to take me on a Sunday, quote Steve Martin and buy champagne.

This says single 1

Posted on February 24, 2016 by Marna

Ice bucket, wine chiller, pint  glasses, and bourbon ice forms.

Ice bucket, wine chiller, pint glasses, and bourbon ice forms.

A married-with friend was recently visiting the MaxiPad for the first time. He took me up on my beer offer and I opened my freezer to pull out a chilled pint glass. He took a picture and sent it to his wife. When I asked him why, he said, “You can tell you don’t have kids. No Eggos. No pizza. All you have are booze-related needs. That is so refreshing.”

Well, I do have bone broth, frozen blueberries, and marrow bones (for Dixie). Otherwise, I eat fresh and drink cold.

Two days later my friend texted me “Don’t quote me, but kids are cunts.” My childless girlfriend and I laughed, cheers-ed, and took another sip. Being single has its perks.

  • About Marna

    Marna’s writing career started as a Pentagon intern. Early exposure to $500 toilet seat press releases made her appreciate creative nonfiction. Now she has more than 25 years of senior-level marketing and communications success working with Fortune 100 companies, government, nonprofits, small businesses, startups, and agencies.

    Stats: 377 Posts, 132 Comments

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