This is a rerun. I’m back to writing my novel so this is my effort to keep jalishouse moving while I do my thang.
Very upset woman here. Some truths are just too difficult to face voluntarily and when the truths sink in (as they eventually do) upset is usually the result. I’m not crying anymore, but the feeling of terrible loss has stayed with me since I realized what I’m missing.
I thought I still had it. I thought it would be with me forever but I somehow lost it. I lost it. Me…sigh.
When did I lose my “hip”?
There was a time when my hipness wasn’t in question. You could just look at me and see the hipness radiating from me. I spoke the language and sang the songs. I knew all the right moves and hung out at the hippest spots. I was one of the “cool kids” and I became a cool adult.
My wardrobe reflected my cool. My hair and nails, my walk and talk. All hip to the nth degree. I decided to stop smoking weed in college and my girls followed suit. I’d wear my hair a certain way and others would rock my style. I was hip.
I thought about the four most important people in my life and wondered if their appearance had anything to do with the loss of my hipness. Nope.
I was a hip mom – the Kool Ade mom of the block – the one the kids could talk too. Having children didn’t negate my hipness – if anything my little ones became fashion and social accessories to add to the Jali mystique.
I began to question my hipness recently while driving. A song came on the radio and I didn’t understand what the hell the song was about although I thought I did. I wondered, ‘why would the guy snap rubberbands at a chick at a strip club’. I happened to have wondered out loud (big mistake) and “A” started laughing at me (first sign of loss of hip – folks laughing at you). He explained that ‘popping a rubber band’ had to do with spending a lot of cash at the club – not literally popping a rubberband on some woman’s butt.
The hip Jali would have known that. This new somewhat hip neutral person is confused by certain phrases. I don’t like this.