Thursday, July 26, 2007

The Obvious Post

I don't get why Lohan has gone cray-cray. She was caught--much like Herbie--fully loaded. And I think her crazy parents have her in some sort of a trap. Maybe if she stopped hanging out with drunken MEAN GIRLS, she wouldn't need a PRAIRIE HOME COMPANION in some GEORGIA penitentiary to RULE over her. In her mug shot, she's all like, "this is JUST MY LUCK! That coke's not mine! It belongs to BOBBY"

I know I could go on a tirade about wealth and class and white power (yay!), but I won't, cause Sojo is about throwing curve balls. But I will share my favorite nugget from the Lohan debacle. Here is a quote from a prosecuting attorney:

"Whatever you have done in the past, do a 360-degree turn and go the other way," Barry Gerald Sands, a Century City defense attorney who's also a certified drug and alcohol counselor, said Wednesday.

Um, objection?
If Lindsay turned 360 degrees, wouldn't she be right back where she started?

And I was the one who had to fight for freedom?

I Know Who Killed You(r Career), Lindsay!
YOU DID!!!!!!!!!!!

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Peonage Perpetrators

Am I the only one who has heard about this madness?!

Apparently, a southern black family was kept in slavery until the 1960s, under a practice known as peonage!!!

Oh, hell to the no!!!!

See, y'all just thought Sojourner was another angry blacktress, but this shit is fo' real!


News of this oppression comes on the heels of another oppression in my life: apparently, some internet gentlemen callers have found the blog and I've got to run around and explain myself.

Ain't it just like a white man to turn Sojourner's empowerment into his sob story?

Honey, if you can't handle Sojourner's Truth, stay off the plantation!

Mein Kampf-ortable Shoes II

So, apparently I'm not the only one who was shocked by the evil that lay deep within my sole.

I got several personal responses, including some of you who did your own googling to discover if this oppression was real. One friend, who lives in Korea, sent me this email:

Living in Korea, I see swastikas all the time as they are actually a sign first used by many Asian religions. The one in your shoe is actually the backwards one from this part of the world!!!
That is a link from the shoe maker. It seems the Chinese manufacturer was putting them in there! Gah!

So, apparently, this is an "asian symbol" that means, "peace and luck."
I don't believe in Asian symbols. They don't have parties. But you know who does have parties?

Sunday, July 22, 2007


my life is awkward.

Internet Dating: Not Just for Pedophiles Anymore!

Okay guys, I'm not trying to, like, brag or anything, but I think I may be the hottest thing to hit the internet since the URL. Apparently, the gentlemen want to handle the truth, the whole truth, and nothing BUT the Sojourner Truth-- and they want to HANDLE WITH CARE!!

I have not had any real love connections, but after every encounter I have left young gentlemen callers feeling like smitten kittens-- and not once has anyone attempted to fondle or impregnate me! I consider this a success, seeing as the chances of meeting a crazy on the internet in New York are as likely as finding a piece of hay in a... haystack.

(We won't go into the awkward date with the 33-year-old Russian radiologist who read my palm and told me I was "passionate lover" and when discussing our love of desserts-- specifically chocolate brownies and vanilla ice cream-- he said "It's a dessert that represents you and me."
You may not past go. You may not collect 200 dollars. Only Sojo can make racially charged food-related puns.)

After my 3 dates over the last 2 days, I urge the world to surf the interweb of love (i think that's going to be the title of my first album), and offer some advice and tips.


OMG, I'm LOL'ing so much I have to BRB!!!

There are even more abbreviations when it comes to electronic love searches. Here are some I've learned:

LTR = Long Term Relationship
(unfortunately, my initial confusion led to me sending alot of emails about Frodo Baggins and the shire)

BBW= Big-Boned Women
Let's be real, big girls need love, too!

SBF= Single Black Female
(this is often seen preceded by the phrase "SWM seeks..." Holla!)

WTF, D?!= What The Fuck, Dude?!
This isn't particular to internet dating posts. This is just something I write to fellows who send me nude photographs.

Obviously I'm all about the truth, so I don't support putting up a fake picture, lying about your interests, or living a gender lie. I know we all want to seem "open-minded" and "laid-back," but there's one thing positive thing I've learned from racists: it's best to lay your cards out on the table, so people know what you're about. If you tell me you don't get why black women are always snapping their fingers, I will know you're insane and never speak to you again.

Things I told potential suitors I was "about": writing, reading (because I can), red wine, the mingling of the races, ghetto booties, offensive humor, and apple pie.

As a result of my candor, anyone who lacks an interest in miscegenation, baked goods, female literacy, or trunks filled with junk will not write me. I have saved everyone time.

DOs and DON'Ts

DO NOT try to hold my hand 10 minutes into our date like you're trying to recreate that Boys and Girls Club logo.

DO dress like the kind of gal who'd be a lady on the street, but a freak in the bed. (Ludacris is a misunderstood poet. I call his the real Songs of Innocence and Experience)

DO NOT send a photo taken 7 years earlier at your sister's wedding, where you're in fancy clothes you never wear and lack the 20 pounds of beer belly you currently possess. You are not telling the Sojourner Truth.

DO have a list of questions handy. You will find that many internet lovers are kind and gentle, but they lack the social skills to hold a conversation for multiple minutes. Be prepared with tidbits and fun facts. I suggest bringing Snapple caps.

DO avoid back alleys, underpasses, and any other darkened crevices. There could be dementors lurking about.... OR HE COULD TRY TO KILL YOU!

DO NOT get physical with your internet lover too soon, no matter how hot he/she/ze may be.
Trust me, I know it can be difficult (especially when you're feeling hornier than a boy scout at camp after lights out..... I mean, that's not how I feel or anything..... um.... LOOK OVER THERE!)

DO NOT, no matter how desperate for traffic you are, mention the title of your blog or your blogging alias to an internet suitor. This will prevent you from writing with candor ever again. Seriously, ask Mr. W.

Friday, July 20, 2007

Mein Kampf-ortable Shoes

Dear Diary,

Oppression is everywhere.

I am livid.

So, I hopped off the underground railroad (the 'B' train) a few days ago and headed in the house at the end of a long day. I spend alot of time walking in flats and my feet were killing me. As soon as I crossed my threshold, I pulled off my shoes and breathed a sigh of relief.

These shoes have seen the ins and outs of corners of Manhattan I wouldn't even mention on a drunken night; they are thoroughly worn into the ground. So much so, that when I lifted my foot out of my shoe, the thin brown lining (where one can find the lovely 'Steve Madden' label, which proves I'm bourgie) loosened from the inside. I pulled it out so that I could reapply it correctly, and I was witness to the darkest symbol the world has known.

There was, stamped on the inside of my shoes, a swastika.

How could this be???? I thought to myself in horror.

I, Sojourner, almost couldn't handle the truth of my own footwear.

I was at home. I was alone. There was no one to share the fear with.

I lifted up my shoe and brought it close to my face, eying it like a dead insect.

I turned it every angle, just to see if it could possibly be anything other than a symbol of hate-- but there was no denying Steve Madden's antisemitism.

I share this with you all in the hopes that we can band together and boycott the oppression of Steve Madden. Clearly, he is trying to keep down the OTHER. See for yourself:

The oppressor lives in my shoes........ I couldn't make this up if I tried.

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

10 Signs....

I've come to a new conclusion:
Men are like parking spaces-- they are either handicapped or taken!

And this handicap can come in many forms: emotional, physical, mental.

You would not believe how many conversations I've been having with my lady friends over guy drama. And in every case, we give ourselves a hard time, yet when it comes to the guy, we have lower standards than a county technical college. WTF?!

I myself have resorted to interweb dating. Yes, I'm doing it. If the gays can, so can I. We are both equally oppressed. Now, while this seems "unsafe," and "sketchy," I've found that knowing a guy doesn't preclude the aforementioned sketchiness.*

To prove it, I am going to take you on a trip, back in time and relive one of the worst dates in the history of life. I tell you all this not only to further prove my oppression, but in the hopes that you, gentle reader, will not make the same mistakes.

Ten Signs the Date Should Have Ended At “Hello”
10. He comes to your door with his hair dripping wet and when you ask if it’s raining, he proudly says, “No! I showered for you!” Any man who thinks bathing is a cause for celebration is a bad sign. If he wants accolades for something that basic, he’ll expect 76 trombones every time he opens a car door.

9. He then holds up a box of wine and suggests you take it with you to the restaurant. Box wine is to only be consumed by the following people in the following situations: 1. teenagers at a house party; 2. college students in a dorm room; 3. a teenager, visiting a college student’s dorm room.

8. Quick to get this show on the road, you grab your coat. Once outside, he asks if you can stop by your ex boyfriend’s house and pick up something he left there. Anyone content to make you this uncomfortable before you even have anything invested in them is far too presumptuous. At this rate, the second date will be at his granpappy’s wake!

7. While waiting for a table, he tells you about his study abroad experience in China. His favorite souvenir: his worm, which he named! Initially taken aback by his love of insects, you then learn that this worm was kept not in a cage or a cup with a hole in it, like an inquisitive little tyke. The worm was inside of him! Yes, he had a tapeworm that seemed to be difficult to get rid of. This is a sign that the only warm fuzzy feeling you’re going to have this evening is nausea.

6. He then follows up this tidbit of information with chit chat about his foot fungus.

5. He chooses a Thai restaurant and sizes up every waitress in the place. When you jokingly ask him if he “has a thing for Asian women” he excitedly says, “Yes.” Great, you’ve got a fetishizer on your hands.

4. When asked what he does for fun, he says, “There are just some nights when you just want to go out into the woods with your best friend and do some mushrooms, you know?”
No, you do not know.

3. After walking you back to your house, he says “Whoa. I think I gotta drop a deuce. Did your food taste weird?” He then lingers in the doorway.

2. The next night, you see him arm in arm with an Asian woman! I mean, make a decision man! Do you want a ride on the Underground Railroad, or do you want to hop onto the Orient Express?! Stop jerking me around!

1. Upon recapping the night with your friend (who obviously did some gossiping and googling to make sure this man was worth his weight in pad thai), you find out that he may have fathered an Asian baby while studying abroad! Had you received this nugget of information three days earlier, the date would not have taken place. Anyone who is fathering babies, then leaves them to suffer with SARS should be nowhere near your safe space! Where’s your respect, woman?!

I guess I could have titled this post: "Does he have an Asian baby? And other questions you won’t remember to ask until you learn the hard way."

So don't give me crap for internet dating. As you can see, I have nothing to lose.

*Yeah, used the words "aforementioned" and "preclude." You didn't know Sojo could roll like that, did you?!

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Soul-searching cowboy + pizza-eating black girl

One would think that as a militant blacktress, the drunk white male would be my sworn enemy.

But as you know from my profile, there is nothing I love more than a tall white boy. Wait, make that a drunken foolish white boy. Not the grabby, belligerent ones, but the ones who are naturally awkward and drink in hopes of alleviating their innate lack of social skills. Unfortunately, the alcohol usually leads to rambling and accidentally spilling their beverage-- oh yeah, and objectifying me.

There is nothing I love more than being objectified. Quite frankly, my evening is not a success unless someone has referred to me as "shorty" or "ma" (paging Dr. Freud!), or told me my "ass is like damn in those jeans!"

Last night, shortly after 2 am on Avenue A, I was walking with friends and stopped outside of a bar. Out of nowhere lumbers a short man who can best be described as a misplaced cowboy. With tight black jeans, cowboy boots, hat, and a wonderful shirt with roses on the pocket flaps, I thought he might be an oppressor. I was wary as he approached me.

He then smiled at me and said hello, revealing the longest southern drawl this side of the Mason-Dixon line. This both softened me and shuttled me back to slavery days.

It was late, I was eating my post-midnight pizza to stave off drunken nausea, and this fellow from Baton Rouge wanted to chat.

After asking him if he was having fun and complimenting his ensemble (and telling him to be careful with these city girls), I walked off with my group. As I exited, he called out,


Do you now see why I can't pass up a tall glass of milk? I'm not lactose intolerant if you're not blacktose intolerant-- and this man clearly wasn't. He had taken his Black-taid tablets that morning.

And he saw into my soul. He looked into my eyes and saw that at the core, underneath the banter and the hot dress, was a beautiful, pizza-eating black girl.

I miss you, Baton Rouge cowboy. I want to ride off into the sunset.

Friday, July 13, 2007

UnderPaid Negroes

As you all know, I am a blacktress. I use this term because unlike your every day actress, who is seized with low self-esteem, competition from other actresses, and the need to be perfect, I am also darker than a paper bag and 3/5 of a woman. This often means that when I audition for parts I play some marginal character-- perhaps a stepparent, an old wizened woman, or wicked witch (or otherwise "dark" character).

I know there are a dearth of roles available for blacktors and blacktresses. As well as Asian-tresses? And Latinators? No, that won't work-- it sounds like some kind of dinosaur.

Anyway, I'm done bitching. I am going to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. As you also know, I am a woman of color and a writer. And I am currently working on a television series that will not only give black actors much-needed roles, but allow them to appear on screen with White actors.

My show is a prime-time drama that will be set in antebellum South. Think "Grey's Anatomy" + "Roots." It will star Isaiah Washington as a gay slave (the man needs to do some damage control).

Okay, okay. Cool your jets. I'm hoping to pitch this to UPN-- a.k.a "Under-Paid Negroes,"* the network that brought us such great black sitcoms as "Half and Half," and "Homeboys in Outerspace."

I will give you a brief excerpt from the shooting script. Picture this:

EXT. Plantation Field. Day.
RUFUS, A young black teen picks cotton in the hot southern sun. He furtively looks around. He sees the MASTER, an attractive young White man (ideally played by Shia Lebouf) looking off in the opposite direction. He turns to his sister DELILAH, a younger black girl, who is picking nearby.

Delilah, keep a look out. Watch Massa.

Rufus, don't you get us in trouble. Celie's still sore from the last whoopin'!

I just need to take a peek.

Delilah rolls her eyes, but says nothing. She looks over at the MASTER. Rufus reaches into his pocket and pulls out a copy of The Devil Wears Prada. HE READS A PAGE!!!!

Meanwhile, MASTER/Shia Lebouf catches Delilah's eye. She turns away, then turns quickly back. He gives a small smile. Her cousin, CELIE, who is on the other side of her, chuckles as he saunters towards them.

Hmmmm---mmmh. Massa McDreamy comin' over here!

Shut up, Celie!
(to Rufus)
Put that away boy, before you get yo' butt beat!

MASTER McDREAMY/SHIA LEBOUF reaches Delilah. He approaches her closely. Sketchily. She shrinks in. A slight girl (obviously underfed cause she's a SLAVE), she is pubescent and has a crush. This is not the first time he has approached her.

Sure is hot out here. Ain't it, Delilah?

Sho' is.
(pause. unsure. she takes a breath)
You... um. You got some water?

(loudly, putting on a show)
How dare you ask me for water!
(he moves to strike her and she flinches. He stops himself and whispers in her ear)
Sorry, I left my nalgene in the wagon. I'll come by your quarters after supper.
(His eye catches Rufus, who is furtively reading his book)
What you got there, Rufus?

Rufus stuffs the book into his pocket.
Oh, nothing, Massa.

So that's just an excerpt people. What will happen next? Will Rufus's attempt at literacy be discovered? How long can Delilah and McDreamy's affair last? I think you know the world needs to see the next installment of "I Don't Cotton To It." This fall. On Under-Paid Negroes.


(Shia is clearly looking over his property, and Isaiah is saying, "Shh. Don't use the 'F' word.")

* (UPN recently changed its name to "My9," which is clearly indicative of the desperate need of negroes to have OWNERSHIP after being OWNED!!!!)

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Ode to Harry Potter

Okay, I know Harry Potter mania is sweeping the nation right now, with book 7 and the movie. But I deserve to add my three rupees to the Potter discourses. It's my 40 acres.

I heart Harry Potter. I swoon over every second of his milky goodness. He defies all laws of puberty and Britishness, with his clear skin and gleaming teeth.

Yeah, I saw the movie last night. Or, as one friend put it-- the movie and the gun show! Harry has got more definition than a dictionary, and I want to read him forwards and back!

Look, I know he's "underage." I know he "lives in another time zone." I know he "doesn't know I exist." But if I let that kind of negative thinking get in my way, I'd never have hopped on the underground railroad to freedom.

As a free slave, I have learned to read and write. And I will use Harry's native tongue-- the British sonnet (and iambic pentameter)-- to express my love. I think both you and Harry will agree that we are meant to be.

Harry Potter Book 8: Harry and the Legend of Interracial Love

Let me in your heart and I'll take care of your magical creature.
I promise I'll be gentle and show more respect than that house elf Kreacher.
Let me ride your firebolt , I'm nimble like a Nimbus two thousand,
I can make your body jolt; like Lupin on a full moon, you'll be howlin'!
Your owl may be named Hedwig, but you've got more than an angry inch
I bet it's more like nine and three-quarters after I give it a little bit of a pinch.

Now I should say something about how I'm a muggle
Cause that would allow me to rhyme with 'snuggle'
But I think we both know I'm more clever than that
And I want to be on your head longer than the Sorting Hat.
In America, loving you makes me a pedophile
Cause you're still quite pubescent.

But I know I can make it worth your while
Besides, I hear in England 16 is the age of consent.

Do you see his pectorals through his t-shirt? I bought it for him at Tween Gap . I thought it was really sweet of him to wear it as I saw him off on the Hogwart's Express. He was really upset that we'd be apart for so long, so he had that "scary/nauseous-oh-my-god-it's-You-Know-Who" look on his face.