Compare it to my hair back in October (click to make bigger, then weep with me):

The timing of my disgruntled “Woe is me my hair is ugly” Facebook post was not the best: days before I had made the following image my profile picture, so at least one commenter found my hair whine a bit hypocritical.

I believe the above but I really needed to feel sorry for myself for one Facebook status post. I find myself unable to speak up when I’m unhappy with my haircut. Because I’m always asked to take my glasses off during my cuts, I tend to close my eyes through most of the process. My eyesight is so bad that I can’t actually see what my hair looks like in the mirror in front of me anyway; all I see are blurred shapes. I opened my eyes momentarily last Saturday and saw a long piece of hair on my chest. I immediately told the hairdresser that the piece on my chest was “kind of long” and she told me not to worry, that she was keeping the length. She then turned to her two assistants and said, over my head, that it’s important to “reassure the client”. I should have spoken up and said I wasn’t reassured but I didn’t. I then put my glasses on and my hairstylist said “Uh oh, the glasses are on” yet she continued to hack at my hair.

I’ve had almost a week with my cut and it’s not that bad; I’m more disgruntled that I asked for a trim and didn’t get what I asked for. I was already dealing with shorter hair after removing the braids I had done in Nigeria, so I was in “grow mode”. The process is just delayed a bit. I will need to get a good flat iron because I cannot put the hair in a bun on a bad hair day, which is a regular occurrence for me. That scares me because I’m very low maintenance.

The other thing that annoyed me was my mental anguish over not leaving a tip. I was panicking internally at the thought, wondering “what will she think of me?”, even though I believe a tip is a reward for good work. This particular hairstylist charges higher rates than my previous stylists so clearly she isn’t low-balling her fees and relying on her tips to get a good salary. So why did I feel so bad? Why did I feel a twinge of guilt when I left the tip at $0.00? Why did I have a hard time meeting her eyes as I waited for the transaction to go through, when some people actually refuse to pay for a haircut they hate, or make such a scene that the hairstylist tells them the cut is “on the house”? The whole tipping thing annoys me: I’d rather just pay a fair price and not feel obligated to tip, even if the service I get is mediocre. This stylist has never blown me away (though I believe she has hair cutting skills) yet I tip her every time (except this last time).

I’m going to try another salon next time (in 8-10 weeks), one that’s a little closer to me. The stylist’s rates are $10 lower too…I just hope the experience is good. I intend to start my appointment with this tale of woe: I’ll let her know what happened during my last hair appointment and hopefully that’ll cause her to proceed with caution. Hope all goes well!

What was your worst hair mishap?

I don’t talk much about my faith with colleagues or even friends because I don’t want to deal with their skepticism or questions like “If God is so wonderful, why do bad things happen?” I’m not saying this isn’t a valid question and my answer to such is that the world isn’t full of humans who run on autopilot: all humans have free will and can make their own decisions and it’s humanity’s imperfection that has resulted in the world being crappy. Could God have created a perfect world full of robots who always did the right thing? I belive so. I don’t have trouble sleeping at night because I can’t answer people’s questions because to me I don’t expect to be able to understand how God works because I believe he’s more than a really powerful human…he’s God. To me the fact that he’s God means that I won’t ever understand the way things work and I am comfortable with that.

Anyway, I’m not a good person or a better person because of my belief in God. I try to follow my parents’ excellent example, and I think I am a helpful person, a kind person, and a caring person as a result. Do I gossip about other people, even friends, behind their back? Yes. Is this a really bad habit that I need to stop? Yes. Do I think bad thoughts about other people? Definitely. Do I swear, lie and steal (music over the internet)? Yes.

I think you get my point: I am a Christian, and by definition that means I am not perfect. I may be even worse than some atheists you know. I know that like all people, I am a living example to others, and by my own declaration that I am a Christian, my life is supposed to be an example to others on how Christians live and behave. I regularly recommit to stopping all the gossiping I engage in, but it’s a tough battle for me. With God’s help which I seek through prayers, I believe I’ll eventually get to the bottom of it.

This may seem like a harsh segue but over the past five or so years, I’ve wanted a nose ring, on and off. This desire was reignited last week. A few nights ago, while talking to a friend’s fiancée, asking her how she had liked her nose ring (which she no longer has), I decided I was going to get one. But then I did something that I can assure you I’ve never done: when I got home I googled something like “Can Christians get body piercings”. Mind you, my ears were pierced when I was a few weeks old, so it’s not like I don’t have any piercings, but piercing my nose would be a conscious decision that I would be making as an adult.

It was interesting to read what this blog entry had to say on the topic. Here’s an excerpt. I understand that if you don’t believe in God (at least the Christian idea of God) a lot of it may seem weird to you:

But Piper mentioned two additional factors to take into consideration, to which I would like to add a third. First, he asked the all-important question that every Christian contemplating getting a tattoo or body piercing should ask: “Will this exalt the Lord Jesus Christ? Is this going to draw attention to him or to me? Will his beauty and splendor and all-sufficiency be highlighted in this action? Will the gospel itself be adorned or obscured in what I’m doing?”

Second, John also said that we should carefully monitor our motives for getting a tattoo or body piercing. In particular, he suggested that often times (not always!) people get tattoos in an effort to establish for themselves an identity that they have failed to find in Christ alone. In other words, each person needs to ask: “To what extent does this tattoo or body piercing reflect my failure to find full satisfaction in Christ alone? To what extent is this an attempt to ‘be’ or ‘become’ something that until know I’ve failed to find in who I am in Christ and because of what he has accomplished in grace on my behalf?”

And later on:

Needless to say (or perhaps it does need to be said), this text in 1 Corinthians 6 would apply to a number of issues other than tattoos and body piercing. I suspect that many reading this article are guilty of gluttony and have become excessively obese. This is only one example of what undoubtedly are any number of activities in which we may fail to glorify God in our bodies. We must be careful, therefore, lest we single out tattoos and body piercing and ignore the many ways in which we might potentially fail to glorify the Lord in how we treat our physical frame.

Christians are supposed to live a life that isn’t all about them and what they want, but one that is about reflecting God to others. That’s why the What Would Jesus Do? movement was so big some years back. Anyway, whether I get that nose ring or not, I can say right now that it’s something I want to do to beautify my face. I love the thought of a teeny tiny stud sparkling on my face, but I’m also imagining that it’ll cuteify my nose so maybe that goes against the second part of the first quote I shared. We’ll see!

I love writing to express myself. The older I get the more apparent it is that I am a terrible oral communicator. My thoughts are all over the place; writing allows me to throw said words on a page, then rearrange them until they reflect what I mean to communicate. In my work environment, I’m a flubbler and while some may find it charming, she who flubs the words does not a promotion get. Worse than the flubblering though is accidentally spitting at those I’m talking to.

It is not 100% my fault: I have the world’s largest GAP between my two front teeth and when I speak, especially excitedly, I give those listening to me a light shower. I need to switch my iron pills to a brand with the side effect of causing dry mouth. I could also take a deep breath and think before speaking, which would cause my speech to come out in a modulated tone and result in less flubblering and probably less spitting.

Another thing I’ve been reflecting on lately is how little I care about my appearance. My hair is uninspiring but I have completely given up on it: rarely do I give it a good combing or brushing: I just throw it up in a bun and get on with my life. Even more rarely do I apply a flat iron to it. I don’t make time to find bobby pins to pin up the shorter bits so that it looks at least a bit professional. I have worn mascara once this year. My only nod to my appearance is wearing lipbalm. My skin looks awful: I’m currently experiencing the worst pimples I’ve had in a long while and I’ve been dealing with cold sores since I got back from Nigeria. I am a sight and I dread the day someone will mistaken me for a homeless person (at least from the neck up) and offer me a sandwich (hard to know if I dread the sandwich or being thought of as homeless more!).

I don’t make time for my appearance because I don’t expect to be noticed or liked based on my looks. Sadly, for all my self-help book reading, I haven’t mastered the art of looking good for me and only me. You’ll like the fact that I’m a nice person who isn’t mean-spirited (though I am not immune to having malicious thoughts). You’ll admit I’ve made you laugh once or twice. You may find me helpful. But if someone were to ask you to discuss my attractiveness, you’d hem and haw and change the subject. I get that. I just need to not feel bad about it, especially since I’m doing nothing to show myself in the best possible light physically. True to my habit of taking baby steps, I have started buying smaller sizes of clothes at my favourite clothing store instead of reaching for the largest size (don’t worry, the larger size was never huuuuuge on me, it was just a bit loose). Now I’m buying a size smaller and even I can see that it looks better.

This isn’t meant to be a sad, “poor me” entry, but one where I acknowledge that I look really awful lately and I need to make time to look better, even though I’m exhausted at the thought and even if I won’t be seeing another living being that day. How do I learn to care about my appearance?

My food consumption has been mindless, and I’ve been craving sugar more than ever. I’m not sure why that is: habit, perhaps, and laziness. It’s easier to eat fast food without thinking than to be mindful; it’s easier to ignore what my body needs and eat what my nose likes the smell of, and I’ve been feeling lazy when it comes to food preparation. I ate chicken wings for dinner tonight, but I ordered a side of carrots and celery because I was craving them. It felt good to eat what my body wanted and stop when I was full, meaning that I have leftover chicken wings for tomorrow. I had coffee after dinner, and ordered a slice of lemon poppyseed loaf to eat with it, but after drinking the coffee I realized I didn’t need the cake, so I’m saving it for tomorrow too. Baby steps.

I’ve been working on loving myself as I mentioned, telling myself that I’m beautiful and awesome, just as I am, and it’s working, meaning that I’m believing it…most of the time. Even today with my air-dried and unstyled hair, I was able to look at myself in the elevator mirror at my workplace and send myself a loving and positive message. When I saw an impossibly slim yet quite curvy woman on my way to the restaurant for dinner, I tried not to wish I had her body, but instead admire her body as being perfect for her, and accept that my body, while not yet perfect for me, would be one day. And in the meantime I was going to love it as if it was the body of my dreams. It feels good to flood my body with love (though no one is surprised to hear this!).

In other confessions, my house still looks like I moved in mere months ago: the windows are uncovered, the walls remain bare (I haven’t even hung these up), my craft nook is cluttered, a spare television that a friend gave me is being used as a makeshift end table, I haven’t painted, my spare bedroom looks like a storage room and my thermostat and furnace need to be examined. I received my property tax bills for April to December 2009 and January to December 2010 and all I can say is ouch. Thank God that I didn’t buy a car or I’d be begging my sister for a loan to pay these atrocious bills. I’m not pleased but this is one of the privileges of home ownership, I’m told.

So there you have it, Jummy is still excelling at being her imperfect self.

Today’s outfit would be the perfect picture to accompany this entry but I can’t do that to myself (talk less, to you). Suffice to say, I’m wearing navy pants that are a smidgen short with a red turtleneck that is at least six inches too short everywhere, including the sleeves. It covers my stomach but a sharp gasp or reaching to scratch my ear exposes a lovely expanse of brown jiggly belly. It’s going into the wash and onto my shelf of clothing for giveaway ASAP. The good news is a not-too-stylish, plus-sized petite person will get a lot of use out of it.

I also think this particular style of bra that has served me well for the past five plus years is no longer doing it for me, though to be fair I think gravity is also playing a large role in why I’m displeased. I am seriously seeking a permanent, non-surgical breast lift so if you have any leads in that direction, please let me know. The thought that I may lose some weight in the chest area should be reason enough to have me hopping on the treadmill but well, I have a reputation around these parts where exercise is concerned.

But enough of that: all these things I envy in others — body, hair, makeup, skin, wardrobe — come with hard work. Sure, some are blessed and come by their clear skin naturally, or they may have wash and go hair, but they usually do their part by eating food that is good for their skin, or spending extra money to get a cut that will fall just so. And crafting the perfect wardrobe is time consuming and often requires stops at many stores over many months or even years to find all the pieces required for a stellar wardrobe. And then there’s the whole eating healthy and exercising consistently to get a body that looks good in said clothing.

I have to stop hoping for a magic (and quick) pill to fix it all. Nothing I want to improve in my life has a quick fix attached to it. Annoying, sure, but that’s what real life is like.

I’ve also eaten out a lot in the past week. In the past six months I’ve been eating out less, and I was actually enjoying the routine of coming home and using the meagre contents of my kitchen to whip up something and experiment a bit. Because I’ve been getting home later, and I still haven’t gotten used to taking the meat that I want to use for a meal out the night or morning before I need to cook it, I turned to mini egg rolls, potstickers and breaded chicken for dinner instead of rice with a healthy side of broccoli, or my new veggie, steamed spinach. The good news is that I’m nearly out of unhealthy frozen food so I’ll be keeping it out of the house, just like I need to do with candy.

I’m not pleased with the sharp increase in the cost of veggies but this is a case where I’ll have to “suck it up” and pay premium prices for food that will be good for my insides, even if it means paying $2 for a head of broccoli that I paid 79 cents for a month and a half ago.

Of the unhealthy decisions I have made regarding what I put into my mouth, sugar is probably the one having the greatest negative effect on my body (and if I’m not careful, eventually my health). I feel like I’m ruining my skin, especially my face. Subconsciously I’ve let that knowledge be balanced by the “fact” that darker skin seems to hold up better than fairer complexions against aging elements, and I sort of used that as an excuse to eat whatever crap I wanted. Now that I’m nearly 30.5, I can see my face losing its youthful look. I’m a dermatologist’s dream due to all the wonderful eruptions going on on my face: whiteheads, blackheads, random stray hairs, oiliness, pain pimples, enlarged pores, often going on at the same time. I pick the aforementioned, which results in scarring. I touch my face too much which only encourages new breakouts. And I haven’t used the products my dermatologist recommended to me with any regularity so it’s no surprise my face is upsetting me.

But the best thing about life is that you can almost always have a do-over. I know that I am addicted to sugar and until I can find a way to release myself from that dependency, I will face this struggle regularly. Nothing wrong with a little struggling; I just have to make sure I don’t let sugar win.

I tried, I really did. I went to the two stores in the area that sell clothing catering to stylish plus-sized women and after trying on at least a dozen tops between the two places, I did not find a single one that received my sister’s approval or my own (and yes, we were both on board with the idea of me showing cleavage…maybe not as much as you would have shown without batting an eyelash, but we knew that I had to show more than I currently show — none). The tops were either too casual (think ‘tshirt’ in both material and cut) or too clingy (which is the kiss of death if you possess those dreaded back fat rolls). I should have taken pictures because I was so proud of myself for really trying (and also: so you’d have proof of my efforts).

I ended up wearing a (black) top that I already had at home. It had a seam (and a tie) right under the chest and was low cut so I showed a sliver of cleavage (you better back me up, Oya!). At the event, I kept pointing to people who in my opinion were showing far too much, and asking Oya to agree with me. She never did, which is highly vexing.

One thing that I did learn is that I need bras more suited to revealing cleavage. All my bras are the same style and I buy them to minimize and support, nothing more. I know! It’s a true travesty to those of you who have beautiful lingerie drawers. I agree, and envy you said pretty underthings, but my number one priority for as long as I’ve had this chest has been to not call attention to them and I think I’ve done well. However this means that I would not recognize a bra that “lifts and separates” if it smacked me in the face. In fact, I don’t even know if they make such things for plus size women…because the bra industry probably believes (like me) that plus size breasts should be kept under wraps too.

There is one specialty bra shop in the city that probably has what I seek, and I have been there twice now (once, when I thought I wanted a strapless bra, and again with a friend to get her a sexy bustier). The one thing that stuck with me was the ka-ching factor of the store. I have a house to furnish so I’ll have to put off seeking bras there for another five years. I will, however, keep my eyes open for affordable bras that will do what I need them to do. Perhaps I’ll get to the states this summer and see what the USA has to offer (on the cheap, naturally).

• I did not buy winter boots this season: I am wearing my dad’s boots. My father does not wear feminine boots. The boots are about 3/4 of a size to a full size too big for me. You may call me JummyMan
• I have been wearing my hair pulled off my face for the past while. It’s not even combed most days. Very straggly.
• My clothing hugs my lumps. I am very lumpy.
• I have not worn a lick of makeup, save lipgloss, since December 31, 2008. I have not even worn mascara, eyeliner or eye shadow.
• My blue sweater that I love so is pilled (fuzzy) and looks dirty, even fresh from the laundry.
• My black pants that are such a lovely weight are an inch too short. I wore them to work a couple of days ago. I swear my ankles felt the draft.
• My indoor shoes look mannish (they’re for women, I swear).

(Don’t forget to please check out Emma’s site and buy something from the site if you feel led to do so (please feel led!). The money (every last penny!) will be going to a very good cause.)

I’m going to blame society for tying certain accomplishments to a certain age. You’re expected, especially as a woman, to have settled down by age 30 and have a life partner (or be in a steady relationship), and certainly to have started having children if that is part of your life plan. If you think that’s a lie, see what sort of conversations you have (or, if you are neither single nor a thirtysomething), what conversations you overhear, especially when people are being introduced to one another for the first time. General topics like whether or not you are married (or have a significant other) and whether or not you have children often come up, along with where you live and what you do for a living. My coworker, who has been dealing with infertility, finds it just as uncomfortable to field questions about children, just like I do with questions about having a significant other.

(It’s funny: when someone asks the dreaded question, I always say “Unfortunately no (I don’t have a boyfriend OR I don’t have a significant other).” and it’s silly because it’s like I’m apologizing! Why do I feel bad because I’m giving them a negative answer? My coworker says she finds herself responding similarly to the “Got kids?” question so at least someone gets where I’m coming from with that.)

Back to the topic at hand: I now know that there is no such thing as a life plan, at least a rigid one. Life doesn’t often seem to work out the way you hope and pray it will. There is a lot of truth to the quotation Life is what happens when you’re busy making plans. Sometimes things work out better than you could have ever imagined or planned for, but the road to this “better than I hoped!” may be longer than the road you thought you’d be on, which can be very frustrating. I think I’m speaking from experience, but I’ll let you know when I’m celebrating my 35th wedding anniversary, husband and child(ren) in tow, and my parents looking on with misty eyes (and no, I am not asking for too much).

On the lighter side (of getting old), how do you think you compare to your age-mates? I was discussing this with my friends recently, and I think we, fine looking bunch that we are, look our age or possibly younger when compared to others our age. We haven’t done anything special (other than not developing an addiction to tanning beds and not smoking or drinking heavily) but I think we managed to be blessed with good genes. Well let me speak particularly for myself: I have been BLESSED with amazing genes! Both of my parents do not look their age, but my mom gets more disbelieving reactions when her true age is discovered. My mom has only started developing fine lines now (they can’t even be called wrinkles yet), and to be honest her skin (dark and smooth as it is, and not riddled with acne scars like my own), looks two or three facelifts better than my own. It’s truly amazing.

(Granted, neither parent eats as much sugar as I do, and I did read somewhere that sugar is horrid for the skin…and possibly even the waistline, not that I have seen the effects of sugar on my body at all — hah!)

I will confess to two points of vanity. First, I make a conscious effort to not raise my eyebrows overmuch, in an attempt to stave off forehead wrinkles. In fact when I was told to raise my eyebrows by my friends, I refused to. I am also determined to avoid developing deep crow’s feet. My #1 way of doing this is by refusing to squint when confronted with sunlight: I just look down at the ground instead when walking outside, or put on sunglasses. I should probably start looking into cream specially formulated to prevent the onset of wrinkles.

Your turn: do you think you look younger than people your age? If it’s a remote concern of yours, what (if anything) do you do to keep yourself looking as youthful as possible?

Some pre-Nigeria jitters (all centered around the conviction that I would arrive there and be instantly declared hopelessly unstylish and uncool) prompted me to do some things to improve my look. This included a last minute jaunt to the stylish city two hours away with Sheri to buy some clothing, the excision of the chalazion/stye that had plagued me for over a year and a rushed appointment to whiten my teeth (I tried to make a liposuction appointment but couldn’t get a suitable date).

The teeth whitening is something I planned to do anyway, so I felt quite justified spending the money at the time. However, I found the results just weren’t worth it.

Prior to the start of the process, your tooth colour is matched to one or two of a set of little model teeth, stained various shades of white and not white. I learned that the bottom teeth tend to be less white than the top (according to the owner of this whitening place, it’s because they get less oxygen than the top teeth), so people usually have a few shades different between the two. After the “teeth” they think best match your own “before” teeth are chosen, you get to confirm the choice. They then pick whiter shades of ‘teeth’ that they think you can expect your teeth to whiten to match.

Next, a mouth guard is filled with the magic solution, stuck in your mouth and a magic light is set up approximately a millimetre away from your mouth and you recline with this light shining at your teeth for a specified amount of time. I was surprised at how claustrophobic the setup made me. My gag reflex was activated pretty quickly too.

There was a point approximately halfway through the process where the professional came to check on me. The woman attending to me (who also happened to be the owner) was so excited by the progress my teeth were making that I was patting myself on the back and generally congratulating myself on accomplishing this goal. I was really excited to see the final results.

They were disappointing! I couldn’t see an appreciable difference in my teeth colour, though she claimed she could and that it was miles better. It also turned out that my teeth were not able to get as white as she had forecasted. I was very disappointed, so disappointed that when she asked if I was satisfied I told her flatly that I wasn’t. I felt like the whole setup was a gimmick somehow, then felt silly for buying it. She assured me that when people saw me and when I got home I’d notice the difference and be pleased. I told her I didn’t think that would be the case, but paid the bill and left.

My sister claims she saw a difference, but I think she was just trying to make me feel better. I forgot my camera too, so I have no before and after pictures, which would have been so helpful. The question is, should I bother crossing this item off my list when I’m likely going to see if someone else can do it better?