As the threads of the grown-out tracks were being snipped, I broke out my laptop and began my ritualistic daily web search. I go from news of the day to articles/blogs about the news of the day, ending up on entertainment/gossip/fashion stuff. But that day, something caught my attention and trumped all of the glowing reviews of President Obama’s health care speech: It was Tyra’s hair. National Real Hair Day? I missed that one...In fact, on National Real Hair Day, I was calling Extensions Plus in L.A. to make sure they had enough of the 20” "relaxed roots" texture hair that I love oh so much (and that keeps selling out like crazy!), and making an appointment to get my hair, I mean, my weave, hooked up. So Tyra, while I didn’t take part in your observance, I just want to say: "WOW!" You are such a brave woman for breaking the chains that bound you since your teenage years! What courage that took, for you to expose yourself to millions of people! Such fearlessness! Oh, how I wish I had the guts to do that. I guess I’m much too much of an insecure, self-loathing Negro for all that self-acceptance foolishness. I’m glad we got down to solving the mystery of what’s under your lace-front, though. I mean seriously, it was "THE" question that has perplexed the world over. And now we see that there’s a beautiful head of hair underneath it all, hair that was surprisingly relaxed and ready for the world. Whodathunkit?! If I had the same length and fullness of hair that you have, I might take my weave out too. Ha!!!! I’m just playing! Even if I DID have your "real" hair, I’d still be wearing a few tracks or clip-ons up in there. Why? Because I’m straight weave fo life, kid!!! Ima ride ride wit this weave, die die with this weave!! Let me break it down for you: See, I loooooove taking new hair out of the bag, combing through it with my fingers, holding it up with my two hands, and burying my face in it. Mmmm, mmmm, mmm! Nothing like a new batch of zig-zag curly to get your self esteem out of the dumps! The feeling of getting my hair, I mean, my weave done over. I feel human again. I feel sexy. I feel powerful. It makes me feel...it makes me feel...it makes feel like a natural woman!!! I can be whatever, whoever I want to be with the stroke of a sewing needle... With long brown tresses and a tan, I’m Pocahontas, 'cause I got Indian in my family. With easy waves, I AM bohemian rhapsody goddess personified. And now that I got blond highlights! What!? I know I look like Beyonce! You can’t tell me nothing! Uh oh, uh oh... And then I looked up from my computer, and caught a glimpse in the mirror of my head minus the long weavy locks. I looked crazy! Awww hell naw! I looked over at the new batch of hair sitting off to the side waiting to join forces with me. Damnit, I’m trapped, I thought to myself. I can’t let it go. I am powerless over it. Just when I think I’m done, it pulls me back in! Now I guess I can get help for my self-loathing addiction. I can learn to accept myself in my entirety. I can emancipate myself from that which keeps me locked-up. I can embrace the natural state of things. Yup, I can do all of that… But don’t hold your breath! Hi, my name is Joy, and I’m a weave-a-holic.