Amazing insight into being a naturalista with weave!

Thank God I'm Natural

We’re excited to introduce our first guest-blogger ever, Lora , a natural, who from time to time wears extensions as a protective style. Lora, is a self-declared project junkie who takes great pride in keeping both her natural hair and her extensions in tip top condition. Lora is pictured here wearing Bohyme Brazilian Wave.

Okay, so you may have done the big chop and now you suddenly miss having the styling options that longer hair provides.  Or, you may have been natural for a while, and you’re just looking to give your hair a much needed vacation from  all the combing, twisting and touching that comes when we wear our curls out.  Maybe you want to experiment with color but don’t want to risk chemical damage to your fragile tresses.  What’s a natural to do?

Believe it or not, many naturals are turning to weaves and extensionsas a reliable protective style…

View original post 1,291 more words

Jasmine Anderson, Reporter Resume Reel

2012 Reporter Resume Reel

Making It Through the Storm

As we navigate through the stormy seas of life, we realize that life sometimes can be a “beach”. 🙂

Sometimes we shipwreck and are stymied. Whatever the case, don’t give up.

Hardships are the way of the world, common points to our existence that render us strong or defeated. Be strong. Be undefeatable.

One thing I’ve learned is that it is never too late to pick up and start over. So even if your course is rocky and rough, be steadfast in your journey, and true to yourself.

See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil

Yesterday I underwent tympanoplasty surgery. It’s an outpatient procedure done to patch a perforated eardrum. Basically, I had a hole in my ear until yesterday. I was so afraid to have surgery, especially after seeing that I’d have to be carted off on a bed/stretcher and put under anesthesia for one to two hours. I was holding back tears and gasping for air as a nurse put a plastic mask over my face and told me to take deep breaths.

I remember waking up, cold and with a sore throat. I tossed about a bit like a fish out of water trying to get comfortable on the twin sized bed/gurney. I heard the familiar music of the Wendy Williams show and finally woke up, praying that things were over. Yes, the nurse said, the procedure was a success. I woke up talking, then I asked nurse Rema if I was talking gibberish.

No, she said, I wasn’t talking crazy, but she figured that I’m talkative. That, I am. Somehow I had the balls to ask if nurse Rema was actually a nurse, then inquired where she graduated from. As it turned out, she and my mother both graduated from my new alma mater, the University of South Alabama. How she put up with my banter I’ll never know.

After a few trips to the restroom, some sips of Sprite and some kind of liquid/oily pain medicine, I was suddenly sleepy again. I remember telling my mom that “the pain has subsided” and she just chuckled at my diction. What’s wrong with the word “subsided”?! Anyhow, I wasn’t prepared for my scratchy sore throat and a busted lip, which I assumed happened during surgery. My mom told me its because the anesthesiologist stuck a tube down my throat…so that’s how they put me to sleep… Interesting.

Somehow after being escorted out, I scored a hug with nurse Ashley. How sweet. I must have really looked pitiful. And I must have really been delusional, because halfway through the parking lot I informed my mother that I’d greatly appreciate a victory dinner. A steak to be exact.

Instead, mother drove to Walmart to get my prescription (Loritabs!) and left the windows down, refusing to leave the car cranked up and flowing with sweet A/C because I “don’t need to operate heavy machinery”. What?! How? I was in the passenger seat and it was 80 degrees out. Her feelings were spared on THAT day only because I was impaired. It was the longest wait EVER.

Lucky for her, she acquiesced to my request for a milk shake. Later on that day, after a half bowl of chicken noodle soup, I realized why I didn’t need that steak (and was very thankful indeed). And after a failed attempt to eat mandarin oranges (acid and sore throats do not mix) somehow I survived on sips of ginger ale and apple sauce. Later on my mom went to work (What? You couldn’t call in after your daughter just defeated near death?). I found it cute that my grandma came back to my tomb/room to check on me and later my cousin Phyllis came over to spend the night.

So, today was day one of recuperation and I’m less nauseous than yesterday. Hopefully that’s a great thing because my appetite is calling out for fried Churches chicken. I know that’s pretty random and quite unnecessary considering I’m supposed to stay on light food, but hey, it’s 99 cent Tuesday! However, once again I could barely eat a half cup of applesauce and I’d probably get sick if I pushed the issue by eating more. Maybe I’ll lose a few pounds.

Ear surgery is no joke. I’ve endured earaches since January I’m hoping that this is the last time I’ll be having major medical problems. This year has been a joke from entities above. First I broke my glasses (see no evil), then my ear started giving me problems (hear no evil), and last but certainly not least, I may need a root canal for my front tooth (speak no evil). Since these problems arose, I gave up things I was doing that I suspected God was unhappy with.

Now that I’ve gone through these trials, I feel that life’s problems are enough to go through without pissing God off in tandem. Yes, these issues suck, but I’m thankful that it’s not worse. If God is trying to tell me something, I’m all ears. I can hear Him loud and clear–even with a crusty, blood stained cotton ball stuck in one ear. It’s a long road to recovery, with a lot of uncomfortable moments, but as long as I follow God’s commands for my life, I know everything’s going to be alright.

Second Chances

Eight years ago when I was a college freshman, credit card companies would do anything to push a high interest card off on naive freshmen. CitiBank reps would post in front of our student center, our dorms, and our sandwich shops, enticing the new kids with a free shirt or a free sandwich simply for applying for a credit card. For me, the idea of something free was just as appealing as someone dangling a carrot in front of a really hungry rabbit, irresistible.

I’m older, wiser and more reflective. As much as I regret useless shopping sprees with borrowed money, I am proud to say that I’ve paid one of my two cards off, and have been working towards paying off debts that I owe. I’m still paying, though. My credit dictates a lot of things to people, like what type of home I qualify for, how credit lenders perceive me and even what kind of job I can get. It’s my virtual representative. When people are looking at a stranger’s credentials, those three numbers speak loudly for their owner. They talk about responsibility, dependability, and accountability.

I’m not new to working hard and taking care of my responsibilities. I recently quit a job I held for five years (I was offered a position in my degree field), paid off my car note and have taken care of myself for a while. With or without good credit, I’ve lived. But now that I’m looking for an apartment, I hear a little nagging voice that asks if I should fill that costly application fee–because of there’s a credit check there’s a 50/50 chance I’ll be approved.

Guess I should have read the fine print on that tee shirt, because I’m a walking red flag to potential lenders. And as for how I feel ? It’s like I’m wearing my credit score on my forehead like the Scarlet Letter. Look, all I have is my name. In this case, all I have is my credit. But I’ll keep my fingers crossed and continue to work towards a better life.