What the hell am I doing?!
So, I had a massive existential moment on Saturday night. I was out with my homie Soraya, and we were club-hoppin’ like it was no one’s business, and four clubs in, we hit Monkey Bar. It’s RnB night. It’s awesome. Peeps are grinding, bitches are wearing too much make-up, dudes are playing it coy. We a-line to the dancefloor and get jiggy with it, and it’s great. Fifteen minutes in, after working up a dance sweat, I hit the bathroom to make sure I’m still looking respectable out there. I look in the mirror, and want to scream.
When did that happen?
What am I doing, grinding on an RnB dancefloor, blonde?! Who do I think I am, Cameron Diaz?
We left MB pretty soon after that. My shame was intense, and my ego just couldn’t take it. I don’t know when I turned blonde (I mean, it happened on the 4th of January, or thereabouts, but I mean blonde in the sense of a white bitch, in the sense that rappers would use the term). I used to be halfway respectable, kickin’ it to a bit of hip-hop. But now? Try as I might, I just can’t do that as a blonde. I stick out like a sore thumb. I stuck out like a sore thumb on Saturday night and for the first time in a long time, I felt isolated, estranged, just wrong amongst my boyz-n-da-hood. Anyone who knew me before January 4th would attest (I’m sure of it) to my being the most ballin’ bitch out there; half Afro American by nature and character; spittin’ beats wherever I go. Today, I don’t know what they’d say about me. In fact, I tremble at the thought of it.
It’s decided (by the homeboy powers that be). I’ve bought hair dye, and this weekend, I’m going back to the dark side. Literally. Back to black yo (or, in my case, brown). I hope it helps me find myself. I hope it makes me more legit on the dancefloor. But most of all, I hope Weezy, Jeezy, Yeezy and Drizzy will accept me again after so shameful a transformation. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.