December | 2009 | The Importance of Being Oreo

I tend to call Christmas time ‘Holidays’, like those Americans because I am not very fond of the so-called merry period.

The songs have already been playing since the 15th of November and the decorations went up about a week after.

I lost count of how many times I have been called Scrooge in the past month, but it really does not bother me.

I love shopping but hate spending my money on other people, I hate buying cards (and that is not restricted to just Christmas) and I specifically do not enjoy writing out 100 times over ‘Merry Xmas and a Happy New Year love Me’.

There is no love or merry or happy.

I am glad the festivities are over, and when the slush came I was ecstatic.

To make this joyful time worse, the boiler at home broke. It is classic wintertime.

No hot water for 3 days and then the heating packed in on Christmas Eve, there was no way in hell I was leaving the house without a shower.

I had only bought one present (out of 3) and so those poor souls did not receive anything nice.

The boiler was fixed just in time for The Day, but then just when things couldn’t get any worse the internet packs in.

Usually it would not bother me but I had US television to catch upon. I was not amused.

Three excruciating days later it is fixed, I admit I was a bit slow ringing Orange but I have a fear of help lines.

And lo and behold after spending 45 minutes on the phone with an Indian accented man fixing my Internet connection he tells me he cannot complete the final stage, as he needs to speak to the account holder.

That would be my mother then, who is out. The thing that grates me most is the time already spent guiding me through the process and then refusing to give me a ridiculous username and password as it was “secure information”.

I had to ring them back, but I may as well have pretended to be my mother, as he did not ask for any information that I didn’t already know, but at least it’s fixed.

I must say it felt like I was living in the dark ages, no heat, no hot water and no Internet. How would we cope if this really happened in real life?

Well we could go and test this by living in the third world, but I’m sure I would rather spend 45 minutes on the phone to a help line thank you.

To begin, I must explain my blog title.

It explains very much who I am. No person wants to hear a sad childhood story, I don’t have one anyway, but I grew up mixed race.

A white mother and an absent Jamaican father, is nothing new, I realise, but to grow up without any black association proves difficult when dealing with unruly afro-Caribbean hair.

I lived in a very white town with not one afro-Caribbean hairdresser for miles and miles around.

I went to many a hairdresser, each claiming they could sort my hair out. Not until I was 11 did I find someone who knew how to apply a relaxing balm so that it would straighten.

See I wanted my hair straight, as straight as it could go. Any person out there that knows what type of hair I have will understand how difficult it is to keep afro hair straight.

But I tried, boy did I try.

I blame this want partially upon my friends who had beautifully straight, blonde hair, those who could have a swishy ponytail and curl their hair with tongs to produce ringlets. Not frizz.

However, as much as it may seem I do not want to be white, there are few good things like having a permanent tan and being able to dance to stay black.

But it is only in recent years that black or mixed race women have been recognised, growing up with white women being in the media spotlight you can’t help a young girl want to be like them.

Well Disney felt it was time to have a black princess (yes she spends a large portion of the new movie as a frog, but still) so that means I should rejoice in my race.

I am learning but it is difficult when people assume that you enjoy crunking, R&B music, and speaking like you from da hood.

An Oreo cookie has a chocolate-y appearance but with a very white centre, a portrayal I think fits well.