Short Hair Don’t Care

Let’s start this off with a big ole eff you to having hair, courtesy of Lady GaGa.


Recently I came across this little gem of an opinion blog.  Normally, I would not feed traffic to such a waste of internet space, but in order to understand this post, one needs to see what it is in response to.   In a nutshell, the writer has decided that women are ugly with short hair.  I found the post quite laughable.

Let’s just go through and address these obviously uneducated claims this writer makes.

1. If Celebs can’t pull it off…

Obviously, this dude has never seen this chick..


Now. Tell me she is the ugliest woman on earth and can’t pull off this look.

Or how about this lady?


Yep, you’re right, Mr. Fratboy writer…She’s hideous and no man alive would EVER EVER EVER want her, or any woman on this list for that matter.

Celebrities go to incredibly talented stylists (usually…that’s not to say there isn’t a mess up sometimes, but hey, any publicity is good publicity, right?)  In most circumstances, the short haircut is tailored specifically to that celebrity and done to gain promotional value. To imply that these celebs are heinous because of the new look is absurd.  A good hairstylist can guide a girl in the right direction as to what sort of short look she can pull off.


2. You will stand out.

EXACTLY. Generally, women define themselves by their body image. Most of us want to be noticed, awed over, flocked around, all that good stuff.  Short haircuts on women scream confidence when done properly. They say “Hey, I know I’m hot. I can be hot without fitting into your ridiculous rule-filled societal box.”

Jennifer Lawrence fully embodies this exact quality.


She is so full of confidence and self worth that it oozes out her pores. So much so, that she was ballsy enough to photobomb Taylor Swift.  She photobombs so much that I’m just going to give out the google search link.

I particularly love how Mr. Fratboy states that if a girl’s hair is outside of the normal “blonde, brunette and easy” then that girl is instantly looked over.  Ladies, if you don’t want to appear “easy” (that’s a nice way of saying “hey girl, you look like a hooker.”) then you all better race out to Sally’s Beauty Supply or call your stylist because this year’s Pantone color is Radiant Orchid.  Get on that lavendar/purple bandwagon already. I will agree with his “dressing like a moron” comment, though. Stop wearing Crocs and Mom jeans that are cut off into shorts and get some Crayola inspired hair color done so you stop looking like such a nasty whore.

3. Amplifies your flaws

Hardly. Go back to that first photo. Show me where Ms. Berry has flaws.  Short hair does a lot of things for a woman. It makes us look younger, gives us confidence and makes us feel playful and sexy. I am often told by other women how much they love my hair and wish they could pull it off. My response is always ” You can, you just need to find the right short style for you.”  Guys, you WANT us to feel playful and sexy, trust me.

Oddly enough, if a girl has wonky teeth or is a little overweight or (insert “flaw” here) short hair can pull attention away from imperfections and draw it to more positive areas.  Basically, people will be way too busy gawking over a girl’s incredibly sexy short haircut to worry about her crooked teeth.

Can you spot the wonky thing here?


I can, but it took some looking. (and I won’t tell you what is off, either.)

I think that my FAVORITE part of that moronic, chauvinistic article is the fact that the writer uses a Mad Men alias which is pretty unoriginal and cowardly. It was probably the only tactic he could think of to cause his rubbish to go viral. A real man would brave the world and sign off on his opinion with the balls he grew.  It is easy to troll when one can hide in the anonymity  of the internet. I would bet the purple in my non-ho colored hair that the writer had the hots for some girl with a pixie and she told him where he could stick it. (or rather, where he WOULDN’T be.)   Also, the author completely discounts any medical issues that women face.  Instead of judging a woman because of her hair, ask her why she has her hair like that. Maybe she cut it off to support a friend or family member dying of cancer. Maybe she donated it to a program that makes wigs for children. Maybe she needed a confidence boost after an abusive relationship or disastrous divorce. Or maybe, she just wanted to be the local, all around badass chick with the even doper hair.

To that, I say do what you want, ladies. Rock your identity for you, not for anyone else. The genuine people in your life will love you no matter what your hair looks like or how long it is. Those who don’t; well, they shouldn’t be in your life then, should they?

Hugs and Sunny Surf,

Jessica (and a photo of me looking awesomely confident in my non-hooker colored mohawk and yes, that is a Ron Burgundy Tattoo on the inside of my arm. It is epic. I know. )



Where ya been?

I’ve received a handful of emails, asking where I am. So, I thought that, maybe in this brief moment, I would check in with the world.

Let’s see.  Last time I spoke, a dear friend of mine had passed.  I still struggle with this almost every day but I know that he would want me to drive on.  So I am and I have. Not just for him, but for me.  See, I haven’t been around here because I won. Really, it’s a good thing that I’m not around as much. I just stay so busy, living.

Here’s just some of the few things I’ve been living through and loving…

Doing hair


Met the Penguin


Started swinging metal sticks at the ground


(I’m pretty decent at it, too. I mean, relatively speaking, for a beginner..)

Climbed a mountain..


Alright, alright. I took the ski lift.  Big deal.

Had some Elvis sightings; in Las Vegas..


Double whammy on that luck, there because I won three small jackpots.

Took silly photos with friends


Hung out with two of my favorite people in this world


Fell in love


Got my first Mother’s Day card


Got better at playing this game


Won a skateboard


Met Harold and Kumar in Las Vegas


Shut up. In my world, they are Harold and Kumar

Stayed strong because the weekend was coming


Slept in his bed


Got new boobs, ate cheesecake, you know..the usual.

So I leave you with this. No one is going to give you permission to live, so go do it already. Get off your facebook, close all your browsers and get off your cell phone.  Go do something. Live already.

Hugs and Sunny surf,



Dear Xavier


You always made fun of me for liking country music, but you liked listening to me sing. You remember that million year old man who was hittin on me that one night in JR’s? I promise not to tell anyone that you went ghetto on his ass and flipped your weave.

Danny emailed me today. Warmed my heart and soul that I was able to give you some comfort that others couldn’t provide just based on a membership in a fraternity that neither of us ever wanted to join. The hazing rituals of this frat were just too much for you to handle and there is nothing wrong with that. I often wonder how I handled it and here you were, laughing, smiling and joking all along the way. You told me that you admired my strength but in reality, I’m not strong. I’m weak, fragile and scared all the time. You were none of those things.

I have to admit that when I see or hear someone say they live life to the fullest, I often roll my eyes because they really have no clue what that actually means. Maybe that is a subjective and cliche saying but if anyone knew what it truly meant, it was you.  I never saw you with one single frownie-faced wrinkle and I admire that about you.

You showed all of us in the crew how to live, laugh and love each other, despite our differences. You accepted all of us, no matter what that meant. In your eyes, we were perfect and in ours, you were.

I’m pretty sure that if you could see me right now, you would tell me to put on my big girl panties and git on with it. However, just like the song says, I’m not crying because I’m sorry for you. I know you are in a better place as I know the pain you went through. I’m crying for me. It’s selfish but it’s all I can do right now to let you know that you are greatly missed.

To the rest of my friends, family, readers and especially the crew in H-Town…make sure your loved ones know you love them.  Take that time to text them, visit them and hug them.    Sometimes, the extended family you create outside of your bloodline becomes closer than the ones you grew up around and share a namesake with. Nothing can replace that feeling of acceptance and friendship.  Xavier taught us all that. He lived for that.

Rest peacefully, Xavier. We all love you and miss you.  Keep it fabulous on the other side and when I get there, we gon’ need a kiki.

Remember 911



Eleven years ago on this day, I was working for Delta airlines as a customer service agent.  It was about 8 am central standard time, and we always had CNN or some sort of news station on in the back room. My co-worker, Tim, ran out and grabbed me from my computer and a line of people; dragging me to the back office.

“Look!” he exclaimed.

“This is no accident, ” he added.

I was in shock as I watched the first tower burning and listened to the reporter tell the harrowing story of how an airplane full of people just burned through it.  Several minutes passed as we stood there, ignoring passengers yells to be helped at the counter.  We couldn’t help them anyway, as everything was about to be shut down.  Tim and I were in a trance, mouths dropped open, staring. That’s when it happened.  We watched that second airliner plow right into the second tower.   I can not even begin to imagine what went through the mind of a New Yorker who saw this, as I only saw it on live television.  I know that, for myself, panic set in.  Panic, anger, disbelief, sadness, frustration, torment.  I remember telling a frustrated passenger that it wasn’t about him missing his stupid business meeting anymore.

“Go back here. Sit there for two minutes and get a clue,” I told him as I sat him in front of our little office television. I watched his face go through all the same motions mine did.  He just stood up, looked at me with sadness in his eyes, and stumbled out of the office. He plopped down on an airport bench in utter disbelief at the situation, just like the rest of America.













Less than a year later, I enlisted.   How were you affected?

Please at least watch one video. If any, listen to one of the calls. Feel the terror in their voices. Feel empathy. Realize how truly blessed we all are today.

I always tell my friends and family that I love them. Sometimes they look at me crazy, but at least if something should ever happen to me, they know someone in this life cared about them.

Never Forget, America.

No hugs and sunny surf on this day.

Jessica & Gertrude

911 Tribute By Joe Castillo


Will I be Pretty?

Boobs Tatas gazongas knockers funbags mammaries the girls bosom bust bazookas milk money lady lumps jugs melons teats titties rack cans twins hooters


Whatever one wishes to call them, they are beautiful.

I haven’t discussed mine much in my little corner of the interweb, but I think now is a great time to do so.  I have the BRCA 1 gene mutation. I’ve made a choice. It has been by far, thee most difficult decision I’ve had to make but I like to view it as my final Eff You to canSer.

Women with the BRCA genetic mutation are at a much higher risk of developing breast canSer.  In my situation, my risk is a lovely, whopping 87%.  So, off with their heads, I say.

See, here’s the deal. Even as I write this, I’m fighting with that nasty, choking knot that builds in the back of one’s throat.  I run a tough game but as I’ve always said, we are human. We are entitled to our breakdowns.  Maybe I need one right now.

Anyway, going to these appointments in preparation for a bilateral mastectomy got me thinking.  Pretty is what changes. Not the girl.   Sure, I’m losing my breasts. My natural breasts. The girls that bought me drinks in college, make my favorite dress pop in just the right places, fill out a bikini and balance out that honkytonk badonkadonk that we all know I have.  I can’t even begin to describe all the emotions that filled my soul when the doctor was sizing me up for tissue expanders and discussing taking tissue of my beautiful back to reconstruct the girls.  Somehow, I managed to keep it together and tell him that he wasn’t touching my back, as I already have enough scarring. (Just like many other women who have gone through this before me.) Fighting with my inner self, I struggle between “yaaayyyy I’m getting stripper boobies!!” and “holy crap I’m losing the last part of me that makes me a woman.”  It’s like a little demon in there fussing with my head.  I find it ridiculous, as we are talking about a girl who keeps her own head shaved simply to disprove societal standards about the definition of “Pretty.”  (so far, I think I’m doing a damn good job at it, too. hee hee.  Besides…it’s a badge of courage. Rock that baldness out!)

I think what gets me through these appointments is thinking about the invisible footprints of all the women who have been forced to walk down the same dark, twisted, scary path that I’m currently on.  They made it. They’re still beautiful. They’re still accepted.  They’re still wanted. They’re still loved. Just like I will be and just like the ones who will follow my invisible footsteps.

I’m coming to terms with all this slowly.  I’m one of less than 30% already. BAM baby. BAM.  I’ll still be beautiful. Why?

Because “Pretty” is what changes, homies. ;)

Hugs and Sunny Surf,

Jessica & Gertrude

To Susan

I don’t even know how to start this blog. A reader of mine passed away recently. I’ve waited a bit to write about it because, well, I was upset. I knew it was bound to happen at some point, but didn’t think it would hit so close to home.

Often, I would receive emails or facebook messages from her, describing how something I said or wrote resonated with her and motivated her to keep going. When I learned of her death, I felt the anger in my body knot up in the back of my throat. That’s just how this circle works. One day you are chatting it up, sharing recipes and scarf tying techniques. The next day, that same person is just gone. No one asks why and no one asks what happened. We all just know. Time to go on with the day, knowing that person is no longer suffering under the blackness that is disguised in the form of dis-ease.

I went home from school that day and had my little breakdown. A good dose of reality is sometimes needed for someone to realize how lucky they truly are. I often sit at school and listen to the nonsense other girls complain about and smirk to myself. Mostly because I’m jealous.  Jealous that my worst problem isn’t how I’m going to pay for a bus ride to class on a Saturday. Jealous that Susan’s biggest discomfort wasn’t her weave coming loose in the front of her hairline. Amused  at how they think their eyebrow piercing was sooooooo painful.  Mad that they think pregnancy is a burden and sucks.  Maybe this blog sounds somewhat bitter but hey, I’m human. I’m mad. That’s it.

Despite all my little messy thoughts, Susan never complained to me about anything once. Ever. Matter of fact, when i tried to visit her, she didn’t want me to come until she could make ME lunch.  She insisted. Unfortunately, time wasn’t on our side and I was not able to visit her before she passed.

Her passing hit me rather hard and made me think about so many things. I remember she once wrote a post wishing she could travel and wondering why there wasn’t something like a “Make A Wish” for adults. This comment made my soul smile in a huge way but cry at the same time.  Someday, Susan, I’ll get to Santorini and I’ll make sure I take that photo for you. Someday.

Hugs and Sunny Surf,

Jessica & Gertrude

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