No, my Dreadlocks literally drive women crazy..

It seems like a year doesn't go by without me chronicling people's unrepentant ignorance about my dreadlocks, either in the form of hamfistedly clumsy questions or extremely rude actions that would get most people flattened like Dixie Chicks CD's circa 2003. You'd think that after having my hair loc'd for 14 years that I'd be used to all the inartful statements and overall belligerence, but you'd be wrong about that my friend. Instead of my naive belief that the world would one day evolve and finally rid itself of the misconceptions surrounding dreadlocks, things have gotten progressively worse, like that undisciplined kid whose desperate need of a foot in the ass has turned him into an uncontrollable little shit. Not only do the offensive questions about my hair run rampant, women more times than not take it upon themselves to invade my personal space with reckless abandon in the name of curiosity. I mean, I like a woman to run her fingers though my hair like any other red blooded American male with a functioning penis and certifiable hetero street cred - but is it asking too much to seek my consent? "No means no" ladies! Also, before you think the blatant disrespect is coming from one particular ethic group, again you'd be wrong. It has been my experience that dumb shit either said or done to me because of my hair spans the racial spectrum like one of those Benetton commercials. Or people who unfortunately like Nicki Minaj. Or skinny jeans. You get the point.

Because I don't have a girlfriend who would take pleasure in easily dispatching the aforementioned offenders, I'm left to do what most artsy-fartsy writer types find themselves doing - venting a litany of frustrations through my potty-mouthed prose. Enjoy.

Tug of War: I laugh when I hear other folks who have dreadlocks complain about people asking to touch their hair as if that's some sort of hellworthy trespass - those complaints usually prompt me to inquire, "They actually ask you?" Ladies, I can never imagine what its like to have your personal space invaded just because some man lacked the necessary vocabulary to respectively compliment your breathtaking curvature. But after having my hair pulled as many times as I have, I can't say that I know what it feels like to be groped but I can at least emphasize with you. Whether its women who weren't accustomed to seeing hair of my texture, so their curiosity took over and they pulled my hair on some "look, shiny object!" toddler shit. Or the women I like to call "Dreadlock Birthers", a gang of ladies who explain their penchant for rude hair pulling as them failing to believe that all of my hair originated at my scalp - I always make sure to tell both sets of ladies that they would be on a strict jello and apple sauce diet if they were born a different gender.

I adore cancer kids, I swear: I can't tell you how many times some person looked at my flowing dreadlocked mane and asked, "Why don't you donate your hair to cancer kids?" Sure, if I ever decided to chop off all of my hair for a more aerodynamic look, "Locks of Love" would be the first place I decided to stop as soon as I left the barber shop. But the aforementioned question always tends to be seasoned with irritation, as if I'm a selfish bastard who is unaware that the sole reason for existence is to routinely be sheared like sheep for hair donation. Even though I always have utter contempt for the person who asks that question, I still give every dollar I can to cancer charities in case I turn out to be wrong on this issue.

Hey lady, I got something you can play with: This is a pretty new phenomenon, one that started about a year ago, but I've had women randomly come up to me and play with my hair. Check the wording. Not "play in my hair", a phrase that suggests an intimacy that leads to the exchange of bodily fluids and early morning snacking. I'm talking about "playing with my hair", like draping it over their head, making it an impromptu wig - or cavalierly whirling it around, the same way you'd do handle a jumprope. As amazing as someone doing that to a complete stranger may sound to you, the truly amazing part is how these women never seem to understand how incredibly fucked up they are being. I remember this one women seeing the grimace on my face after she twirled my hair around and asked, "Am I out of bounds here?" In which I responded, "Put it this way, I'm about to beat six shades of shit off of your boyfriend as punishment."

The Human Scratch and Sniff: A couple of days ago, as me and my homeboy watched a local band play, a woman decided to grab two great big handfuls of my hair and take one gigantic whiff. It was weird man. I didn't know if she was doing so because she had a thing for smelling dreadlocks, or if she wanted to reaffirm some misguided belief she had that all dreadlocks were dirty. I quickly got my answer when her head emerged from my dreadlocks with a look of astonishment, saying "Wow, your hair really, really smells good!!!" Its times like those where I'd usually have some crass but timely quip, some rhetorical take-down that I'd deliver with assassin like accuracy. But before the wheels in my head started turning, a woman that I know damn near gave her an atomic wedgie, pretended to smell her panties and then proceeded to say "Wow, your drawls really, really, smell like roadkill." My hero.