Hardcore Weave Flippin' and Fake Lash Battin'

Rich Harrison created songs we DO adore-Crazy In Love by Beyonce, 1 Thing by Amerie, Get Right from J-lo...Now the producer has created a 4 woman group who is the hottest package since En Vogue. (yup, I said it) They are classy, beautiful in their own right, and EVERY ONE OF THEM can sing lead...ok...that HASN'T happened since En Vogue. I haven't been this excited for a LONG time....watch this video and you'll be going, "Elektric who?" These chickens work out for FOUR HOURS A DAY....

Here's the link to their video!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QLcQFqEKlRw

He Gotta Big Ego (Wait...is that an Express logo?)

You know the type: Nerdy glasses, skinny jeans, bright tennis shoes, with a serious case of Scarfitis. This fake "swag" de la nuevo metros, es NO BUENO! Where have all the beefy men gone?! (Kate Winslet in Titanic floatin on the piece of wood- Come back! whistle whistle Come back!) I pronounce this the Death of the Urban Hipster.

The most hilarious point about these ladymen are their claims of being into fashion...how they're unique...have their own style...when really they've been following every MOVE, LYRIC, THROAT CLEARANCE (ahe ahem), and STYLEPOINT from Jay-Z as quickly as they can. The throwbacks, to the buttonups. Now, the wannabe Hustla, has turned into the wannabe Businessman. For instance, if you are a man whose eyebrows are more precise than mine, claim to be "Kind of a big deal", and have an Express Men logo on your chest...you are what we called in middle school, a fuckin' poser. You never drank cognac til Jay-Z told you to! There's nothing wrong with Express, just don't front like you wanna go to Milan with Yeezy for Fashion Week.

I can't afford Thierry Mugler like Beyonce....but I don't stunt in my Target Go! International as if I'm better than you. I ADMIT my haircolor was inspired by the Beyonce Experience Tour DVD. I DROPPED the eyeliner and went for a nude lip when she did. I WISH I could do the Check on It dance, and I TRY!! I ADMIT that I'm on her jock! The concepts of "Bourgeious" and "Pretentious" do NOT hold correlation with one another. So guys, if you're in the shower chanting, "Ho-VA, Ho-VA!", stand around at Seven talkin about how you're "Doin' Big Things", and still attend college parties: I C U like Abbot Northwestern Hospital (shout out to Mummy)!!!!! For God's sake, find yourself.....
Cuz the Roc is CERTAINLY not in the building.

The Peanut Butter Brickhouse

Ah, hello! Wanting to keep things fresh, Erica America asked me to share my perspective. My name's Anu, and I'm the new co-contributer to JustBelieveMe! We've been BFF's for five years, and talk about high snobiety, relationships, politics, and false eyelashes on the regular. Neither of us will ever turn down a cheeseburger. We care about others, a lot...we're Chatty Cathy's, both brown, and would say that the other woman is stronger (lemme tell ya, that's a lot of muscle).

The differences? E has a BF. I. Do. Not. She sips wine. I chug beer. She's a dreamer...I'm logical. E loves Mary J. Blige, I think she's totally overrated. I love babies, Erica IS a baby =) you get the idea.

I have much to say, am really dramatic, and heart adjectives...I hope my reality allows you to laugh til ya pee, drop your jaw in horror, and offer to be that new thing you learned today.

Oh! And why the name? Well...my skin's the color of Skippy. I always associate the jelly counterpart with stickin' to your ribs and the roof of your mouth (Holding you down, and kinda making you uncomfortable). The old jam, "Brickhouse" by The Commodores is about me....Put your hands together aaaaaaand:

"Shake it down, shake it down nooooow!"

Erica Still Got It.

So, I went to Cali this past weekend-- landed in Sac-town, made my way to Berkeley and eventually San Fran. I ate my $.79/pound cherries (I know right), went to Alcatraz, walked up hills that seemed to last forever, discovered where "hella" originated and ate food like I was a poster-child for America's obesity epidemic. But there was one thing that stood out above all, that you can't get on a tour (well maybe you could, but that's not the point)-- I got hit on by an ASIAN boy.

STOP THE MOTHER F'IN PRESSES!

"An Asian you say Erica?" Yes, my foaming with anticipation friends, an ASIAN. Let me back this up, I was not just hit on by ONE Asian, but there were A FEW looking my way.

My first reaction was to check and see if my dress was tucked into my panties or maybe I had a "kick me" sign on my back. Nope, nothing. They were just looking at me. Erica with the "birthin-hips" and the hair that can't get big enough. Erica with the bright orange fingernails and turquoise rings. Erica with the ridiculous amount of bangles. They were looking at me! Erica, never-gets-hit-on-by-Asians, Erica!

Not interested, but noteworthy just the same.

Point is, Erica still got it.

The Top 10 of My 1st Blind Date

10) It lasted 50 minutes bc he wanted to watch Game 1 of the finals.
9) He asked me to go out 'drinking and dancing' within five minutes of sitting down.
8) He glanced down at my chest throughout the expressdate like an 8th grader.
7) When the waitress asked if we wanted Apps, I said, "Ooh do you like egg rolls or chicken wings?" He shook his head briskly. (Clearly he wanted to save a few bucks.)
6) He checked his watch and texted between bites.
5) After pressuring me to say, "How are you" in my language, he said, "Ah (lick of lips), Sexy."
4) The food sucked.
3) "Indians are so smart, why do you just do hair?"
2) When the check came, I offered to pay. His response? "No...it isn't too much. I can do it."
1) He laughed like the Candleabra in Beauty and the Beast (throaty French HO HO HOOOO).

Signing Off,
Anu

A Bourgeious Brazilian Attempt

In the hopes of putting a lil "spring in my step", I waxed my chocha. There is no new man in my life. No bikini clad vacation in my calendar. Hell, not even an introductory price. After endless episodes of Sex and the City, articles in Marie Claire, and Gisele (my BFF), I heard that a Brazilian wax makes you feel fresh, liberated, FIERCE! It was time for my world to be a little more bourgeious. I had hit a dry spell of working 40 hours a week, no guy to call, and wanted to do something for ME. I DESERVED THIS.

I popped two Tylenol and headed to Dinkytown to feel like the Independant Woman Neyo remixed with Jamie Foxx...Next thing dontchaknow, I was laying on what felt like a doctor's table, dress around my waist, and being told to breathe in...It was when I saw the popsicle stick, gooey with a NATURAL soy-based substance, that I realized this was so UNnatural. First came the heat, then came the yank, and finally, the stars. The esthiologist tried to distract me with conversations of Hawaii. My stammers turned into yelps, "I heard in Oahu a gallon of milk costs ten BUCKS-FUCKERS, OH GOD!" Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. I was paying for excruciating pain. I was twitching because I DESERVED THIS?! Fresh? More like Big Baby Jesus RAW. I felt the opposite of liberated, I was under the command of Angelica, the slave driver. (these people must really dig S&M, the way they bark out). There was nothing fierce about bending my knees into acute angles. Ugh, I have fallen a victim to Vogue standards AGAIN. Twenty minutes later, I was left with a washcloth and azulene oil to pat myself down. As I counted my bill out in ones, I paused to wipe the sweat off my upper lip (whichIwouldwaxmyselfathomethanksbye), and shook my head at the next victim. Her eyes widened, and glazed over my counting, "Even strippers feel the pain? Oh. Em. Gee." (Actually, I have the ones because I'm a hairdresser, I was just trying to tell you to RUN BITCH-RUN!)

In my car, I fumbled for my parking validation, downed a bottle of water, and let the AC upskirt me. In the mirror, I saw my eyeliner had smeared, my baby hairs had formed a halo around my face, and I was still panting...I tilted the mirror down and looked at what I DESERVED. I kinda liked it. It WAS kind of adorable...desirable...definitely red....but maybe, worth it. Two days later, I'm fuzz free...Slick...And absolutely bourgeious. Will I wax again? Probably. Was the experience what I thought it would be? Hell to the NO. Way more painful....times 72. Lesson learned-feeling like Samantha Jones has very little to do with what her hooha looks like, but how she uses its POWER. Now. Either I need to get some action, or I'm walking around in a leotard like Lady Gaga.

Signing Off,

Anu

The Peanut Butter Brickhouse