Office Ex

There is this guy who works in my office who looks just like my ex boyfriend. I kid you not. Now, joining the ranks of my Office Wife and Office Husband, I now have my Office Ex. It’s totally freaking me out.

For those of you who don’t know (and for those of you who just love the hilarity of it all), my ex boyfriend is an Israeli, vegan, investment banker, who worked about 90 hours a week and did his study-abroad semester at a historically black college.
I kid you not.

How do randoms find me?!

We met at the birthday party of Edith Zimmerman, back in June of 2006…I should have known those two 6s were a sign….

He met me at a delicate time, when I was lost and confused, just fresh back from my tour with THE DEAF (where no one can hear you scream….), and well know how I love a man-cuddle during hard times. He was definitely sweet, and tried very hard to make the love work, but…

He was an Israeli, VEGAN, INVESTMENT BANKER, who WORKED 90 HOURS A WEEK.
Do you see the problems?

In addition to those, his parents were not happy with him dating a blacktress, and wouldn’t acknowledge I was even in his life.
Oh yeah, and he was pro-life.

Nothing’s more awkward than a guy you’ve been dating 2 months telling you he’d be ready to have a child with you if you were to get pregnant.

Oh, wait, actually, I CAN think of something more awkward: him telling you, “I’ve been thinking about whether or not I would love a black child…”

Um, paging Barack Obama!!! So, let’s get this straight: he’s telling me that not only must I bear his seed, but he won’t love it even if it does pop out of the ol’ babymaker!
In the words of Whitney Houston: HELL TO THE NO!!!

As you can see, this is still an emotional situation for me. I look back on the relationship with conflicting emotions and wonder if he is now in the arms of a vegetarian Jewess, who makes him latkes and likes to do spreadsheets. I sometimes wake up in a cold sweat, thinking of the unloved mocha baby that would have resulted from our union….

And then I see the Office Ex, walking to the bathroom.
Honestly, the first time I saw him, my stomach leapt in my throat until sanity came back to me. “Get a hold of yourself, Sojourner,” I said. “There’s no way a rich banker boy would suddenly decide to work for business-to-business magazines….Besides, Office Ex is a bit more Jewey, and shorter than Schmomer Schmohen.**”

While I know it’s not him, this doppelganger haunts me, and sometimes makes me throw up in my mouth a little.

I haven’t been able to discuss this with my office spouses (you know how hard it is for your mate to think of you with other people—imagine if that person were always around!!!), so I’ve decided to share this with you, fair readers.

Do you think I should talk to him? Walk up to his desk and say “Shalom!” Ask him his feelings on a woman’s right to choose?

Or should I just turn the other way when I see him—as I do now?





**Names have been changed to protect the Jewish.

Heath Ledger and Brad Renfro--R.I.P.

I think this is how he looks in heaven.

Today, at 3:35pm, Heath Ledger was found dead in a Soho apartment belonging to Mary-Kate Olsen. He is survived by his ex wife, Michelle Williams, tiny tot daughter, and…ME.

Coming immediately on the heels of the death of young actor Brad Renfro, this blow is too much to take. As Katie Walsh put it, “the middle-schooler in all of us is crying.”

How right she is.

I blame Mary-Kate Olsen and her pill stash--and that damn masseuse for not getting there sooner and giving him his happy ending.

Renfro and Ledger were actually quite similar: young, talented, kinda dirty-hot, they seemed under the Hollywood radar but still got into their fair share of trouble. Ledger took a sharp turn as a family man (that’s the way white people say “baby daddy”) and Oscar-nominee for Brokeback Mountain.

Heath, I must say, I wish I could quit you….because now, you’ve left me with no choice. Cause you’re dead.


Renfro started out as a young tyke with an old soul, beginning in The Client. I had such high hopes for him once he kicked his drug habit.

Unfortunately, my hopes and dreams are dashed and deferred--as usual.

I'm sorry, readers, I honestly do not have the words. I'm sure to die of osteoporosis, as all the tall drinkable glasses of milk are rapidly turning sour. I mean, Heath and I discussed our love (in my head)-- you know I like an Australian, and his chiseled jaw has always won me over. His divorce from Michelle only proved that we would be together soon.

I guess now, I'll just have to wait until we get to walk the red carpet in the sky.

Brad, this may be how you looked recently,

but you'll always be this plucky little boy to me.

HEATH LEDGER: 10 Things I LOVE ABOUT YOU

10. Your versatility: From bad ass high schooler to rugged gay mountain man, you always had me going.
9. Your love for the BK: Instead of going Hollywood, you went to Brooklyn and decided to make a low-key life.
8. The fact that you made an honest woman out of Michelle Williams-- we all know about her days slutting it up on the creek.
7. Your hobo wardrobe: You looked like a bum even though you had a million bucks... just, you know, so the actual poor people wouldn't feel bad.
6. Your delicious accent.
5. A Knight's Tale and Cassanova: Clearly, you'll make anything for the right price. I respect your morals.
4. Your accent.
3. You're not afraid of a full-on sex scene with another man.
2. Your accent.
1. Um....TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU. Best. Movie. Ever.

Teeth-The Movie: aka VAG-ILANTE JUSTICE

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

To Eli Reed.....

My Australian has been found out. (see her comment on the previous post)

I think we are soul sisters from different misters. I will tell you all the things I discovered from reading her blogger profile that prove my point:

1. She’s from Detroit, but lives in Sydney.
This makes us soul mates because Detroit, Michigan—aka, the City That God Forgot—is my second home. It is where my mother’s from, and where I spent every childhood summer and now all major holidays. I also want to live in Sydney, as that’s where the men appreciate the blacktress and would probably love the truth.

2. She is a comedian, much like myself.
But we probably wouldn’t steal each other’s thunder, and could probably be like a funnier, more attractive version of Frangela (you know, those black chicks who comment on VH1 shows and aren’t really funny).

3. She has a boyfriend and a cat.
These are two things I want more than anything! I’ve had each of them at different points in my life, but to have both a BF and a feline AT THE SAME TIME….WHILE LIVING IN AUSTRALIA…..she lives the dream, my I’m living a dream deferred.

I can’t wait til the day we magically meet and become besties-- it'll be like an episode of that Aussie TV show "Neighbours," that used to star Natalie Imbruglia. Maybe she can find me some Australian men who like the blacktresses so that when I come I’ll have some dudes waiting. I don’t know how long you’ve been reading this blog, my international soul sister, but when it comes to men, I like a tall glass of skim milk! Holla at a calcium boost!

Someone Down Under....I'm Talking to YOU!

Bless me readers, for I have sinned.

My internet stalking skills have been taken to new heights.
It has been 12 years since my last confession.

I have added a lovely feature to my blog that allows me to track visitors. I can tell from whence they came, how long they perused my truths, and what prompted such a visit. I’ve found this to be exciting, ego-boosting, and hilarious, as it is quite interesting to see how people all over the world have stumbled upon this page. Some of searches that are likely to lead you to Sojo:

1. If you're in Malaysia ask Google: what to do if my cat is in mating season

2. Go to Yahoo! And look up “black greeks soundz”—clearly this got someone to my post on my favorite bar, SOUNDZ, and probably something on the fedora-wearing, fur shrug-giving Greek loser.

3. If you’re looking for a gay men diary blog, the blacktress is your best bet.

4. Someone somewhere searched the phrase no love for hos-- I mean, who does have love for hos? Not this blacktress!

5. My new favorite came today, from someone in NYC. They were on Google searching the following: wifey which one are you urban poems.

The thing is, I use the word wifey sparingly and Sojo doesn't even appear on the first page of the Google search. This implies that someone perused the offerings available and said to him/her/hirself, "Hmm....Diary of a Mad Blacktress....that sounds like a place where I could get some urban poems." They were probably sorely disappointed to find that my only urban poem is an "Ode to Harry Potter."

Random search phrases aside, I have also noticed another interesting pattern among visitors. Someone in Sydney, Australia, has been reading my blog on a daily basis. Who could it be????? Could it be the man who inspired this post? I only know two people located in that city, and I doubt the other one has such daily blogging time available, the way a web designer would.

This is intriguing and I'm haunted with unknowing. So I write this post, in an attempt to draw my Australian reader out--smoke him/her out of her hole, as GW would say.

Show yourself, Australian. Leave a comment, show some love, send me a kebab--or a kangaroo.
Sojourner knows you're out there.

2008: The Year of Boo-ification

My procrastination has continued into the afternoon. Here is an excerpt from a conversation I had with my gay husband. I think one read will show you why I think everything is better with gay men.

Me: i'm hornier than a boy scout at camp after lights-out
like, wtf
JJSiii: HA
Me: that's my new line
i think i should copyright it
JJSiii: It seems to be a common problem these days
the terrorists done dropped a horny bomb on the US
Me: HAHAHAHAH.
JJSiii: it'd make sense
I mean, every gay man I know keeps talking about how they get boners all over the place
And they are not alone.

….. There was an hour of time when I psychoanalyzed text messages from the photographer and had to be talked down—it’s not particularly interesting.

Me: my luck with men in the past year (i mean, you know) has been rough.
JJSiii: it's 2008
I decided that this is the year of boo-ification
I was convinced it was going to be with one dude
and out of nowhere, there was a boo in my face
This is THE YEAR OF BOOIFICATION.
Remember that.

I will, JJ. I will NEVER FORGET.

Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm just being pessimistic and things are going well with the Photographer. He did seem to like the fresh-baked apple pie I brought out on Saturday night.
And the sex I gave him.

Is This Appropriate?

Hey there gang,

I've taken procrastination to a new level this morning: I am looking on my magazine's website and reading comments on old articles I wrote. The purpose this activity serves is twofold: I get to avoid listening to my voice mail messages AND I get to feed my ego. While my own self-absorption is nothing new (hello, this is my blog!), I thought I would write because I just saw the best comment ever and had to share it with you.

So, I write a feature where I interview a different artist each month and bring them to interweb fame by posting their work and writing about their "process." One of my favorite guys was a cattle rancher who does portraits of cows and bulls--clearly he is a man of many talents. I was just re-reading his piece for old time's sake and saw that someone posted the following comment:

Love the article. It's beautiful. I remember all the great times we had together. Especially the cow we skinned. I didn't know you exercised racehorses!!!!! Wish we could go back and do all the great things at the ranch one more time.

Please tell me you caught that third sentence!!! "Especially the cow we skinned."
Now, I don't know what kind of shady dealings this artist/cattle-rancher is up to, but I didn't think skinning cows was part of the job description. In fact, I think part of ranching means you help cows grow and give them tons of grass--and then later make them hamburgers at Johnny Rocket's.

Okay, you may be thinking, "Sojourner, maybe this is a private joke between two friends; after all, skinning cows is a little too gross." Initially, I was tempted to agree, as this was the only way my brain could process such weirdness. But upon closer inspection (cause I have that kind of time), it's clear from the sentence structure that the author doesn't think such a statement is strange. It's sandwiched between two compliments, and there's no dash, italics, or funky font--or even a smiley face icon or "haha!"-- to imply that this is meant to be humorous. The person is clearly referring factually to an event in the past that was good times.

Either way, I think it's completely unprofessional for this "friend" to post about such activities on a major art publication's website. This is supposed to be the artist's moment of glory and it's being overshadowed by the fact that he skins cows with friends for fun--and whatever else would make this person want to "go back and do all the great things at the ranch one more time."

Okay, is it just me, or does that last sentence make you think there may have been some sort of Brokeback Mountain-style orgies taking place on the ranch?

Charming? Or Alarming?

i just sent the following ecard to the Photographer:


Too much?

Would you go on a date with me again if you got this?

Oh, I should mention that I wrote:

We need a do-over. Saturday? I owe you an apple pie. -naomi Can you tell I'm totally bored on the plantation?

Confusion

I'd like to bring your attention to the following email, which was waiting in my inbox when I returned home from my date with the Photographer last night (which did NOT go well, by the way--I think he found me about as interesting as an SAT textbook...I don't think he'll call. But, if he happens to read this, he SHOULD call, and I'll bake him a granny Smith apple pie).

This email comes from a man who I've referred to as "cum-face." Um....that's all you need to know. We went on two dates back in September, and that was the end of that. As you know, I never put a guy's number in my cell phone until he deserves it, so the process of erasing was pretty easy with this one--though the nickname he earned left me traumatized.

Anyway, I get this email from him in my alias account. As you read, keep in mind two things:
1. I never gave him either of my email addresses.
2. We HAVE NOT SPOKEN OR INTERACTED SINCE SEPTEMBER 2007.

Naomi.

How are you? Happy 2008.

I guess it's been a while. I left my record company in October. Been starting a company on my own, so I've been laying low.

It was great hanging out with you and you're a big part of why 2007 was so good. For what that's worth. Will never forget that sweater skirt your wore that night

chrz/douglas

Um, what? We went on two dates and then I was degraded--I didn't even LET him cum on my face. How could I make 2007 great?

And, ironically, I wore the "sweater skirt" to which he is referring on my date with the Photographer last night (and it is a sweater dress, for the record). Unfortunately, it didn't seem to have the same affect on him.

::Sigh::

can you TOP THAT?!

I bet some of you are wondering about the status of the Photographer/The Giver. Despite my word vomit and awkwardness, it seems this fellow is still feeling the blacktress. I have been reluctant to go into detail because he may still be reading the blog, and I don’t want him knowing all of Sojourner’s truths just yet. However, I feel the need to share this relationship’s progress as it works toward becoming a REALationship (you know the difference—holla!)

So, last Friday was a low key night, where we attended an art opening that I’d be invited to through work. I thought that the event’s open bar and hip downtown artists would show him how important and with-it I am. Plus, being a photographer, I thought he’d be all into the art scene.

For moral support, I asked my homegirl Karisa to show up an hour earlier.

“SoTru, why would you show up an hour early for a date?” You may be wondering. I know this seems strange. However, I find an early arrival decreases later awkwardness. By scoping out the area before my date, I am able to check my face to see if there were any issues while in transit, make note of all the nearest exits (in case he turns out to be cray), and know where things are to make it seem like I come to said establishment regularly. When my date arrives and I am already waiting, I have what I like to call “the upper hand,” as he wonders if he’s late and tries to placate me with compliments.

Anyway, after checking out some art and having some free dranks, we headed back to the BK to kick it old school. We had a college-style date—you know, sitting in a room and watching a movie. While many of my lady friends wondered why I wouldn’t demand lobster tails and a Broadway show, I stand by my choice of a low key date. First of all, such interactions are the main reason I look for a winter spoon; it’s too damn cold to be hittin’ the streets! Point number two: Do not wine me and dine me just to end up lyin’ to me! I don’t need all the bells and whistles and distraction—let me see what YOU are about, you know? How many times have I giggled and cooed in a tipsy state as a man said things that were clearly red flags? For instance, when I'm at the club and he goes:

I’ve always wanted to kiss a black girl. (WARNING: You have a fetishizer on your hands!)
OR
Oh my god, you’re, like, actually funny. That’s so rare. (Reverse compliments mean you are with a level-one emotional abuser. Back away).

With simply a bottle of Cabernet and X-Men 2 on the boob tube, I could really get to the root of this photog—go “behind the lens” if you will (will you?).

After getting all hot and bothered by the sight of sweaty, bulging Hugh Jackman—aka HUGE JACKED MAN!—I had to assess my desires…and the Giver’s. Was he a slut? A ho? A freak? Did he have a different girl every day of the week?
I told him it was cool, I’m not trying to put a rush on you—but I gotta let you know that I got a crush on you.

After wondering why I was quoting Lil’ Kim, he responded in kind, and I think we reached an understanding. Being deep in the BK after midnight, the logical choice was to spend the night…right? After physically expressing our emotions, we had a little pillow talk. We started talking about movies, and somehow the film Teen Witch came up.

Again, this would be a prime example of my awkwardness and word vomit. I don’t know if any of you have seen it, but Teen Witch is a 1989 classic about a girl who discovers she is a witch on her 16th birthday. Mousy Louise then uses her new powers to make herself hot, popular, and win the man of her dreams, only to realize, she doesn’t need magic after all.

Oh, did I mention it’s sort of a musical with songs such as “I like Boys,” and “I Wanna Be the Most Popular Girl”?

Yes, it IS the greatest film of our time.

But I wouldn’t necessarily recommend sharing this information with a man in his bed….unless he’s REALLY AWESOME (like the Photographer)—or gay (like my besties). One mention of the film, and the photog begins the first few lines of the film’s best track: “Top That.” It’s a great rap in which Louise’s equally mousy friend Polly is magically given the gift of street cred and approaches her far-off crush (Rhett Cappalletti) in fierce urban poetry.

Wait, I don’t think my description is doing the scene justice. See for yourself.

AAAHHH!!!! HOW GOOD IS THIS?!?!?!?!?! CAN YOU TOP THAT?????????
I find myself to be as awkward as Polly, and I guess you could call the Photographer my Rhett Cappelletti--only without the tight stonewashed jeans. But they both have the same street flava.

As you can imagine, the Photog’s knowledge of this great film and its music sparked much delight in the heart of the blacktress. As I fought the urge to propose marriage on the spot, he told me it was “quiet time” as I squealed with excitement at 3 am. Of course, his pop culture knowledge coupled with his no-nonsense manliness only fanned the love fires.

In honor of the role of musical films in our lives, he and I are going to see Sweeney Todd tonight.

And then I’m going to come home and Photoshop our heads together to see what our offspring will look like.

JK (Rowling)!!!!

Or am I???????

ROPHAR!

I would like to introduce you to a great artist.
His name is Rophar.
He is very confident.

Because Rophar has taken it upon himself to publish a website, I can talk about him without getting in trouble. After all, he clearly wants to share his gift with the world.

I have taken a screen capture of a page of his website, just so that you may get a taste of what I can only describe as magical genius.


Note the sparkles that dance to the right of Rophar’s face, as he poses with his brush on some sort of Roman column, which hints at his status as a god among men. He looks off to the side, deep in what can only be described as dirty thoughts. I think my favorite part is the image of the wood nymph in the background, which is part of a rotating display of the artist’s finest work.

He work is divided by themes, which include:
Nudes
Clowns
Wildlife
Fanciful Felines
Christmas
Enchantment
And OTHER MASTERPIECES.

You can tell that Rophar thinks well of himself. And who am I to make him hide his sparkly light under a bushel? He says in his artist’s statement:

“Rophar is rightfully acknowledged in the most prestigious Who’s Who in American Art and worhy of note, an honor chosen excusively on the merits of the artist work-not monitarily obtainable”

Misspelled words aside, I believe what we should take from this webpage—other than brilliant artwork and a clear homage to Lisa Frank (remember her awesome school supplies? I totes had the bright pink unicorn folders)—is a lesson in the importance of self confidence. What we have here is someone who takes his clowns, felines, and enchantments, and brings them to the world stage for all to see.

Perhaps I’m not making myself clear. Perhaps you will have to see the site for yourself.

I think my favorite part is that the sparkles follow your mouse wherever you drag it along the site. GENIUS!

Do you think Rophar is gay?

Mondays With Artists

And it's actually Monday, guys!!

Below is a copy of a letter I received in the mail today. It has been re-typed for your reading pleasure/confusion. I have left in all punctuation, grammar, and misspellings, making no effort to make this man's words intelligible--since clearly, that was not his priority, either.

This letter leaves me scared, confused, and hungry. It's time for lunch now. Read and enjoy

Dear Art Magazine,

This letter is an inquirey. My material is based on this question. How do you turn all the people on this earth to go the other way? The answer is to bring all the people to learn the Circle Language. The Circle Language will bring all the people to be of one mind. The circle is a universal symbol. The Circle Language is a communication with the entire creation.

I have been in communication with the Life beyond this Earth for more than 30 years in secret. The communication came in anger because there has been an insult to the continuing mind around this Earth. I met the Great Spirit of the Indian Nation. The Great Spirit proved to me that the Spirit is a funnel spout revealing the Knowledge of God. The Great Spirit proved to me that the Holy Spirit on the other side of this Earth is the same Spirit as the Great Spirit. This Earth turns about its axis bringing the funnel spout to reveal the same answers as the Knowledge of God to both sides of this Earth.

(he then goes on to say something about ‘conquering the native being a “waist of time”’ which I don’t really understand—but as a freed slave, probably agree with)

The word language comes from the two words land and guage.

(um, call me crazy, but I think those are just misspelled versions of the syllables of the word)

The mind of God can be recognized by the formula 2 in 1. The Life beyond this Earth told me that the Christ Jesus used this formula to coin the word Love. The Word Love comes from the word Low and the letter V. The low V is the cycle of this Earth as this Earth turns around the sun. The point V is the law. High V is the cycle of this Universe every 2,000 years....

(What is he talking about?)

The Life beyond tells me that the people on this earth became confused because the man who wrote the New Testament Revelation was on heavy drugs (much like yourself, I say to the paper in my hand). He wrote in the beginning of the New Testament that he was in the Spirit. The only way to be in the Spirit is on heavy drugs. I was drug free and alcohol free when I met the Great Spirit. I let the Spirit do the identity bringing the Spirit to become a funnel spout.

(What does that sentence mean?)

I am told that the United States of America was built on drugs. The next step to the United States American Government will have to be built on drugs or the United States Government has come it its End Time…….

(Then some more gobledy-gook about “the end time” and “the good god,” which I have chosen to omit because I have real work to do.)

The End Time is a Harvest Time. The End Time of the year is a Harvest Time. The End Time of the World is a Harvest Time. The cycle of this Universe everything 2,000 years is one World….Jesus told the people in the New Testament to bring the message public. Public ment different in the time of Jesus than the word public means today. The Life beyond this Earth brought me to recognize the New Testament Revelation put public brings the formulas for the Holy Thoughts 6, 6-66, 666 through 12.

(Again, I ask: WHAT IS HE TALKING ABOUT?????)

This earth is the 3rd planet in this Solar System in the light of the day time. The Earth is the 3rd planet in this Solar System in the darkness of the night time. The 6 is the number for this entire Earth. There are 9 planets in the solar system. The 9 planets and the Sun become the bases for the mathematic system to the base 10. The Knowledge of God comes first in numbers….

The Christ Jesus appeared to my mind after I met the Great Spirit. Jesus put me to paint a picture provide Jesus appered to me telling me the answers to build the River of Life on this Earth. The Christ Jesus told me that He went back to where God came from to bring the Crop Circles to be put in the fields of England beginning in the year 1957. Jesus and the Life beyond this Earth have brought me to develop the Circle Language from the Crop Circles. The Circle Language brings the answers to build the World of God on this Earth in these days and nights as it is in Heaven.

If you are interested in publishing my material, please contact…


He then enclosed color photocopies of his "Art"-- what can best be described as what would happen if a kindergarten student vomited onto their paper during a fingerpainting lesson. For legal reasons, I cannot scan these images and present them to you, though I am dying to. Just trust that they are doozies.

I'm Awkward II

Note to self:
Do not have a 30-minute conversation with a guy you've hooked up with twice after not seeing him for 10 days. You do not know him. This conversation will not go smoothly. You will feel kinda like Corky from "Life Goes On."
Keep it short, sweet, make a plan to hang out, and then HANG UP. Seriously, this is the only way to go.
I kinda want to send him this ecard, but I can't, cause I don't have his email address:

2007: A Blacktress Looks Back

Hello there gentle readers,

Welcome to 2008! As you can see, we are not as far along as we should be as a people. To my dismay, I awoke in Brooklyn on the 1st day of 2008 and stepped outside to see NO flying cars, and discovered that I hadn’t become an omnipotent robot. I expected way more from us this far along in the aughts (this is what we call the first decade. Yeah, look it up. The blacktress teaches).
Oh yeah, and there’s still oppression everywhere.

As we look to this new year, and as the decade draws to a close, I would like to share some of the lessons I have learned this long, hard year. Perhaps you, too, will gain something from my strife. After all, what good is the struggle if you can’t help someone out?

Sometimes, the only lesson to be learned from something is to not do it again.
Yeah, I said it. I’m so done with all these people telling me that “what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger” (yeah, Kanye, I’m talking to you). I don’t think that’s true. Sometimes rough shit happens and it just sucks. And when it’s all said and done, you learn not to go down that road again. In the words of the wise musician Rick, “Experience is what you get when you don’t get what you wanted.” Yes, true that.

Don’t Buy Him A Drank (Shawty TRIPPIN’!)
Did I ever tell you about the hot mess I met back in November? We locked eyes at the Bourgie Pig (my jam and my jump-off), and, inspired by T-Pain and my liberal need to shirk the gender binary, I decided to buy HIM a drank. I was nervous as the waiter walked over with his beer (that’s what dudes drank, right?). I was pleasantly surprised when he came over and started chatting and then asked for my number. I had high hopes for this 30-year-old IT guy with the bald head and stubble I’ve come to realize is my type.

I was sorely let down when my interactions with Dave became a series of late-night text messages that amounted to nothing. He fell off the face of the earth in the month of December, citing “too much schoolwork” (um, I’m not impressed! Even ancient man knew to holla at a cavewoman after chasing mastadons). I clearly kicked him to the curb—one of the many lessons learned this year—and decided he was dead to me, much like Michael Jackson and Boyz II Men (where are you????).

You can imagine my shock when I received a text message from him at 2 AM this past Friday night!!! I believe the exact words were: “Wadd up…2 am winter spoon?”

No that fool did NOT use my words to woo me! And no he didn’t think he could call me up at 2am like I’m some common woman and expect his needs to be met. That is just like a damn white man to lose his good-goddamn mind and think he can play. I said I was a blacktress—NOT a wack-tress!

White People Have Too Much Money, and it Makes Them Stupid
Yeah, I said it. The paparazzi have shown us what Biggie was saying all along: Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems. From crazy Britney (Tears for Spears, ’08—courtesy Leila Estes!!!) to that Wicked Leona Helmsley, clearly, when white folks get money, they go a little nuts. The green makes them a hot mess, and they don’t know what to do with themselves. Leaving a damn dog money?! Shaving your head, showing your bare vajayjay, and getting into more baby mama drama than a Jerry Springer guest?! I mean, come on, people!

Get an Office Wife and an Office Husband—Preferably Gay-- and the Plantation Will Be Less Oppressive.
My first full-fledged non-temporary office job has taught me that there really is no such thing as sexual harassment if your coworkers like you. I mean, my tender office wife brings nothing but good cheer and laughter, even when I say things that don’t make sense. AND she’s even into Jesus and finds my offensive humor hilARious! Getting an office wife turns the mundane task of sitting at a desk into your very own slumber party, complete with giggling, snacks, and pillow fights (with rulers instead of pillows). Today’s gem from wifey proves it. When discussing our resolutions to eat healthier (I’m on Fatkins, not Atkins), she said to me, “Girl, if it’s not broke, don’t fix it. You can eat whatever you want. I think if you trace back to your ancestry, you’ll find you were, like, a cougar in the Egyptian wilderness.”
AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!!! Wifey is sooo cray! God bless her.
(We’re both probably getting fired soon.)

Gchat IS LIFE.
I don’t think anything could have gotten through this sedentary year of 9-to-5’in’ quite like Gmail and its chatting capabilities. It’s like I can talk to people for 8 hours straight and make money at the same time. I’m never out of the gossip loop, I’ve got youtube links coming out of my arse, and every puny thought that runs through my brain can be shared with 12 people in an instant. I mean, how did the world exist before the interweb? What, people interacted face to face? What about ugly people? I think not.

Everyone Needs A Litsa.
Seriously, she came into my life in the summer like a heat wave—only without the sticky sweat or bad smell. She warmed my heart and soul, and I wouldn’t have survived the blackout of 2007 if it wasn’t for her ability to keep a sober head while nearly blind-drunk. She is my Harlem girl with lesbian dogs, who has hosted me, fed me, given me her bed (in more ways than one), and acted as a sex-cellent partner in crime. Unfortunately for me, her winter spoon has returned, so she’s gone all domestic, but discovering this tame side has only made me appreciate her more. Without our daily gchats, her distrust of unattractive people, and her love of yellowtail Shiraz, I don’t know how I would have made it into 2008.

Foreign Men Are Evil.
Ugh, George Bush would be too proud to hear me say this (lord knows he wouldn’t be able to read it). However, I cannot let that stop me from speaking my truth. I have learned that from Australia to Astoria, from Greece to London, these fools have as many emotional barriers as language barriers, and treat each kiss like another stamp on their passport: makes for a great story, but ain’t nothing much besides that. Like the long transcontinental flights on which they embark, they arrive on our shores with excess baggage, ready to unload on the first brown woman they see. They will leave you with nothing besides a broken heart, a confused mind, perhaps a Facebook friendship, and a fur shrug. You have been warned. Enter the foreign man’s hostel at your own risk.

Everything is Better With Gay Men.
This past year I have made many important friendships, many of which were with gay men. Some of whom I knew in previous years, our love strengthened and deepened with the dawning of the spring and the sunshine of the summer. I spent many lazy afternoons sitting in Central Park with the Boys, ogling shirtless hotties and drinking white trash sangria. We laughed, we cried, we developed blogs and I developed crushes. I’m prepared to lend my womb, heart, and soul to these men as our lives continue forward. I must name the best of the best, just so they know who they are:
Mr. Casey: you taught me about politics, life, and laughter…and I love your mom.
Vince Vaughn: I think you know who you are. You are the counterpart to Mr. Casey, and by far the most surprising love affair I’ve had this year. You make me wanna be a strong black woman.
JJS iii: Your Photoshop is too bootylicious for me, your rhymes are like whoa, and you support my love of HP. Without your support, this blacktress blog would not exist. You may be involved with a D-list, but you’re A-list to me!
Nick Cearley: Sweet god in heaven, you are it. If I had to be trapped in a closet, I hope it would be with you…and some showtunes. Billy Jean may not be your lover, but I think I am!
Tumbles: You cartwheeled your way into my heart, and being fellow Sagittarians, I knew our bond would deepen. We should go on more dates where other people come along.
Ronnie: I have a crush on you. There, I said it. Imagine how hot our mixie would be.
Jeff Hiller: Our love has only just begun. You are my brother from another mother, and I can’t wait to improvise with you.
Katie Walsh: You are a 35-year-old gay man trapped in a woman’s body. You publicly relate to my soul.

Artists and Serious Art Hobbyists Are Cray.
Since working at this art magazine, I have come in contact with more weirdos than I do on NYC transit. Apparently, acrylic painters are oppressed, anything in life can be cured with plasticize board, and “artists are lower than whale shit.” It’s gotten to the point where I’m scared to answer my phone.

I LOVE NEW YORK….WHEN SHE COONS IT UP.
I’ve given her way too much blog time to not acknowledge the force New York has been in my life. She’s a sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania (aka, Utica, NY—not even the city, y’all!), and she has about as much class as a kid at summer camp, I know. But she entertains me. She makes me feel better about myself, and reminds me why black people can’t have nice things sometimes. She is currently boo-ed up with Tailor Made—aka GEORGE WEISGERBER. Um, I don’t know about y’all, but I would die of happiness if New York came to introduce herself as Mrs. Weisgerber. Can. You. Imagine like John Lennon?!
When it comes to New York, I have one word for you: TOOKEN.

Anyone Can Be A Strong Black Woman!
I know this statement may seem shocking and bold, but I hold it to be the TRUTH. As I have shared stories with my ladies and my fellas, I’ve found that strength, courage, and wisdom rest not only with India.Arie. Clearly White in their own right, Karisa, Katie, Litsa, and even Edith Zimmerman have shown themselves to also be strong black women. With their heads held high, their pockets fat like Tony Soprano, and their chinchillas, they can handle the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Everyone Comes Into Your Life For A Reason—Or A Season.
As you know, much of my bloggery has been devoted to the quest for a “winter spoon.” But most of the people I have met (electronically and organically) have not been worth their weight in gold dubloons. I have kissed frogs, dogs, and stayed in shit way too long just for the idea of what I wanted. I have learned that I need to let that go. Besides, this global warming may work in my favor, as half the season has been warm enough to forgo spooning altogether. I am done dealing with fools and consoling myself with the thought that they’ll at least make a good blog post. It is time to stand up as the strong black woman I am and stop cleaning up after other people’s hot messes.

That is all dear Reader. If you have made it this far along, I thank you for supporting Sojourner yet again. Look forward to a year of truth, justice, and the African-American way.