My Very Own Crocodile Hunter / Total Request BLOG

Whoa, guys. Three posts in one-day. I am putting in some serious over-time.
No, seriously, I'm at work after hours.

As you know, this blog can get rather scandalous. As you also know, some people can’t always handle the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the (Sojourner) truth. And, although I’d love some blog traffic (I do have high hopes of becoming an internet celebrity), I don’t go telling every Tom, Dick, and Hairy Dick about my blog. But sometimes I get myself in serious trouble.
See, I have these biz-nass cards, and they pretty have all the information one could ever need to track me down and internet-stalk me—name, email address, phone number, and blog URL. Sometimes, when I’m trying to appear cool and nonchalant, I’ll give a potential suitor my card, and the next thing you know, I’m getting a call that says, “Oh, so you went out with a kiwi.”

Other times, I’m just being conceited and want to show them something funny.

That’s what happened last week when I was talking to my mate--um, let's just call him Wally Balls—which is Australian for “Cool Guy” (you know, the way Foster’s is Australian for “Beer”). He and I met a while back, and you know how I get about a rugged foreign man with an accent. At first, he was playing me like a game of Chinese checkers, all hard-to-get and disinterested, but I reeled him in with my knowledge of quotes from Anchorman and Dodgeball (I think I sealed the deal when I looked in his eyes dreamily and said "You had me at blood and semen.") Finally, we kicked it old school at a bar (The Australian, of course), and didn’t leave until the house lights came on at 2am on a weeknight.
Needless to say, he had love for a blacktress.

Wally Balls is very down with the brown. He played pro basketball in his homeland, and knows the lyrics to a few too many rap songs—but it’s so cute when he gets all “street tough” ‘cause he has that accent of his!

Sorry, I digress.

I think Australian men may be a bit high-maintenance, seeing as Wally Balls is really giving me a hard time about not getting a shout-out in the blacktress's diary—I think it’s cause I mentioned the Kiwi so many times. So, in honor of my dear Australian mate, here’s some TRUTH:

When the Aussie and I first met, I thought it was behoovy of me to have sexual relations with him—you know, so I could do a test-run of Australian men before I headed down under—but now that I’m a man-hating lesbian, it’s not really in the cards.

The thing is, though, I really like hanging out with him and am drawn to him. He is burly. He is foreign. I can sit on his lap. He laughs at my jokes. Like T-Pain (and Jesse McCartney), he’s quick to buy me a drank. And he can hold his liquor far better than I can. Which basically means that after a couple of hours together, I kind of want him to put his P in my V.
This makes things semi-awkward. But I kind of love it.

But I also know that if we ever consummate our magical, tender, interracial love, we will never speak again and it will go from semi-awkward to more awkward than a middle school dance. And I'm trying to live like Mary J.-- no more drama.

There is nothing I love more than a foreign friend. Okay, maybe I love eating carbs more, but it’s still on my list. And certainly, I think sexual tension keeps things fun.

I don’t know, am I crazy?

There, Wally Balls, are you happy now?

BREAKING NEWS -- The Kid's Got Talent

This press release just came to my general-office email. My god, the gems keep rolling in. I don't really know what to say, but I'll try and explain why I think this is so hilarious--if it's not already clear.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

10-Year Old Boy Crowned
the State Fair’s ‘Most Talented Kid’

Wins 3^rd Annual Kids Talent Showcase

Sacramento, CA – The California State Fair today announced that 10-year old Jerry W. won the title of State Fair’s “Most Talented Kid” at the 3^rd annual Kids Talent Showcase on Tuesday, August 26. Jer won over the judges with a soulful rendition of “Listen” from the “Dream Girls” movie soundtrack.*

J. bested 14 other contestants from all over Northern California to claim the title. In addition to the title, he received a prize package that includes a $250 check and the chance to be King for a Day at the State Fair.**

Each of the 15 finalists performed for 3-minutes and the acts ranged from singing to playing instruments, to tumbling and performing karate demonstrations.

“This year’s contestants really demonstrated the breadth of talent found in today’s youth,” said Assistant General Manager at the California State Fair. “We’ve never had such a wide range of unique talents in this competition, and each year the quality of the finalists gets better and better.”

The top four finalists in the competition will share in the prize pool that includes cash and State fair memorabilia.*** The three runners up included: 13-year old Ally L. who sang “I Am” by Nicole C. Mullen, 10-year old Marly D. who sang “Popular” from the Broadway musical “Wicked,” and 6-year old Gaby C. who did acrobatics and tumbling to a medley of music.”****

* I wish Jeremiah was my son. He sang Beyonce. At the age of 10. At the state fair.

**I also love that Jeremiah beat out three girls and will be KING FOR A DAY.

***By "State Fair memorablia," do they mean leftover prizes from the dart games?

****Um, this doesn't seem particularly talented to me. Tumbling? Isn't that just falling and making it look intentional? She's 6--she does that all the time.

Some People Really Don't Like Spam

One of my duties at work (not for much longer, though!) is checking the general email address and replying or forwarding all questions from artists, readers, and general randoms. As many of you already know, most artists are weird and crazy—and turn down no chance to share their “quirkiness” and “creativity.” Take, for instance, the following auto-replies I received from emails about our online survey:

Subject: Yahoo! Auto Response
Message:

I'm in LA visiting Lindsay.Thank goodness for AirTran's Crazy 8's sale on August 8!! Be back September 6. –Shelby

Okay, I need to know why this person would put so much extra information in their auto-response. Who is Lindsay? Am I supposed to care? Is it Lindsay Lohan? If Shelby is indeed visiting drunky/cracky/currently gay starlet Li-Lo, then I need way more details.

Oh, and is it just me, or does the second sentence read like some sort of sponsored content? Do you think AirTran makes you plug them in all emails until you’ve returned from your flight?

Subject: Re: Art Magazine’s Survey.
Message:
September 5th is my birthday, so wish me luck.


The artist wrote this because part of our incentive is a free subscription; winners for this freebie will be announced September 5.

Okay, I know, this isn’t an auto-reply, but isn’t it strange? Does she expect me to reply to this? Do I have to send her a birthday e-card now?


Here’s my absolute favorite:

Subject: This email address has been closed due to spam.
Message:

Regarding your message, RE: Your email requires verification Art Mag’s Mail:



You are trying to reach an email address which is no longer in use due to the deluge of spam I experienced a few years ago.



If you are a friend who is trying to reach me, check your email messages. I probably sent you a message giving you my new email address. If I didn't, type first and last name with a period separating the two. Then add @gmail.com to the end and your message should reach me. If not, give me a call.



If you are a business associate trying to reach me, read the above. I am very sorry for the inconvenience.



If you are a spammer: Bully for you. Your unsolicited garbage overran my email address and caused me all sorts of problems. You now have a private bungalow reserved in the very deepest darkest corner of hell.




OH MY GOD. THIS CHICK IS PISSED. WHAT DO YOU THINK THE “ALL SORTS OF PROBLEMS” WERE??????

The Beginning of Hump Day

As you know, I don’t believe in working many hours in a day. That is because what I have is a job, not a career—I think you know the difference. For those who are confused, let me break it down:

A career is something in which you learn, grow, and advance. It is a series of helpful stepping stones in which you learn valuable skills and pursue a passion.

A job is something which allows you to satisfy your addictions.

I, my friends, have a job. And with having given my one-month notice on Monday, I have a job now more than ever. This means constant g-chatting.

Today’s first chat somehow devolved into randomness a lot faster than normal. However, my craziness is your joy. Read on.

me: i loved andrew dice clay's outfits
and his cameo in Pretty in Pink
K-Dub: oh i love that cameo
me: that movie is my life
i felt as though i was both Andy AND duckie
K-Dub: haha
me: katie, i think duckie started my love of nerdy awkwards
i had the BIGGEST CRUSH on john cryer!
BIGGEST
K-Dub: ahhhh NO
me: but now, when I see him on 2 1/2 men
he doesn't do it for me
i thought he was a gay
but he got married last year to a blonde chick!
but yes, that was the beginning for me
K-Dub: jon!!!! why do you do this???
me: 1986. the beginning of jon cryer and me
and me and awkwards
K-Dub: that must have been it
now i must pinpoint my the origins of my beef craving*
me: hahahahhaa
think back
who was your favorite MMC character?
did you really love AC slater on SBTB?
K-Dub: i did not love AC
hmm
oh!
my first crush was harry connick jr. in memphis belle
not so much on the beef
me: HAHAHAHA
NO WAY
K-Dub: totes
i lurrrved him
as like a 7 year old
oh also
this is way creepy
i had this disney sing a long tape
and harry connick jr. and an animated baloo from the jungle book sang "The Bear Necessities" together
and i was OBSESSED
i was seriously like 7 years old
and i loved him
and watched that shit all the time
i also watched a ton of raiders of the lost arc, so maybe harrison beef?
then i had funny feelings for chris odonnell in the robin suit
me: HAHAHAHHA
oh my god
you are hilarious
bear necessities!
what a great jam
i was all about Disney sing along songs
follow the bouncing ball!
K-Dub: YES
me: (hmm...that could explain my penchant for testicles)
K-Dub: ahahaha
i feel like maybe bear necessities may take on erotic properties for me now
me: hahahhaa
i heart harry connick jr
he has made many bad films great
K-Dub: oh god
wasnt he in some sandy bullock film?
me: YES
HOPE FLOATS
and my hope FLOATED


*by "beef craving," K-Dub is referring to her love for beefy buff dudes with little to no signs of a neck.

Erase. Replace. Embrace new PLACE

That's a slight amendment to my normal motto: Erase. Replace. Embrace new face! You know how Sojo likes to bounce back when the men have done her wrong!

Today I gave the massa notice that I was leaving the plantation--yay!! I was really nervous to break the news, then I rememebr that laying it out there would be a hell of a lot better than running away and risk getting my feet cut off (remember ROOTS).

I was in a place of empowerment, as this action came on the heels of me officially dumping the kiwi.

Yes, readers, even after he was allegedly done, I went back into his foreign arms--partially out of boredom, and partially because he promised to feed me dinner yet again (you know how I hate to turn down a free meal--it's my weakness). However, it just wasn't working for me. I mean, I know I'm leaving and I'm not looking for a baby daddy, but at the very least I should be able to find someone who will call me up regularly and turn me out!!

"Well, duh, Sojourner," you may be thinking. "You're a strong black woman with a boobs so nice that your friend's fiancee calls you 'Count Rack-ula'--you should want for nothing in the bedroom."

Yes, you are right. But guys, I have a confession. I know that I may appear to be a strong black woman (you know, whose truth you can't handle), but I can be quite the delicate lamb with terrible taste in men. Often, I'll just let a relationship go on, too afraid to end it for whatever ridiculous reason. But, in anticipation of my upcoming voyage, I am turning over a new leaf (listening to India.Aire's "Strength, Courage, & Wisdom" helps), and no longer settling for half-assed d-bags simply because I'm bored or they think I've got nice boobies.

I believe when I called the kiwi my exact words were, "Let's stop this foolishness."

Y'all, I am a 47-year-old divorcee and I don't have time for this ish (me and Danny Glover are both getting too old for this shit)! I realized things had gotten too intense when my homegirl who is studying for the GREs used Sojourner's truths to help her learn some complicated mathematics. For example:

1. If the blacktress has 5 possible guys to date, how many different possible combinations are there for going out with different people on Friday and Satuday night?

2. If each of her dates send her an average of 5 inappropriate text messages per day, plus some other random dude sends 5 messages every 3 days, how many days until her inbox is full (assuming it holds 50 messages)?

3. If Sojourner has 6 slutty tops, 4 pairs of pants and 3 skirts to choose from, how many possible bombshell outfits can she construct?

4. Sojo starts in Harlem and travels 5.8 miles south to Union Sqare, then walks 1 mile east and .2 miles south to the bourgie pig. How far is she from home at the end of the night?

5. If Sojourner has $20 and she takes a cab home which charges a flat fee of $2.50 plus $0.40 per 1/5 mile, will she have enough money to pay for a 15% tip and a $2.00 slice of pizza?

6. If it takes 10 bonza blokes to drink a keg of beer in 4 hours, how long will it take 20 of them to drink 6 kegs?*

I mean, you know my madness has gotten too public when it's become engrained in the the minds of others and is helping them solve for 'y'. (you know, as is "Y God, Y?!")


Well, luckily, I can turn my attention to other good things happening in the world, such as JESSE McCARTNEY'S REMIX OF T-PAIN'S 'BUY YOU A DRANK'!!!
I kid you not.

I think we all know how I feel about the song 'buy you a drank' and its creator, T-Pain. And I think we all know even more how I feel about a tall glass of milk. Well, when you put the two together, you get a drank that's so delicious and intoxicating, I'm still hungover today at work. Check this out, y'all.



No, you're not dreaming.
You're welcome



*For those of you who are dying to know (and want to test your math skills), the answers are below:

1. 20
2. 5 days
3. 42
4. approximately 6.1 miles
5. yes, unless there is wait time
6. 12 hours

Mount Isa, Here I Come!!

I think one of my favorite things about gmail is that it’s always thinking. I first noticed this when I was using one of those cool, hip, “emoticons” in a gchat a year or so ago. I wanted to let my gal pal know I was smiling, so I typed a semicolon and open parenthesis. Instantly, it rotated to form a knowing smile.

Gmail is watching.

I also love that it reads your emails and puts ads and article links in the margins that relate to key words in the text. All my talk of Australia has provided me with several cheap travel websites, as well as info on the AU consulate. But yesterday, I got the best tip-off from Gangsta Mail ever.

“Outback Mayor Seeks ‘ugly duckling’ Women”

In a remote mining town called Mount Isa, men outnumber women 5 to 1. In a recent interview with a local paper, town mayor John Molony urged women to move there and help end the shortage. I think my favorite quote of his is:

"Quite often you will see walking down the street a lass who is not so attractive with a wide smile on her face. Whether it is recollection of something previous or anticipation for the next evening, there is a degree of happiness," Molony told the Townsville Bulletin newspaper last week.

"Some, in other places in Australia, need to proceed to Mount Isa where happiness awaits. Really, beauty is only skin deep. Isn't there a fairy tale about an ugly duckling that evolves into a beautiful swan," Molony said.

HAHAHAHAHA.

Oh, Molony, you’re hilarious!!! I love the idea that it’s somehow crazy that a “lass who is not so attractive” could still have a “wide smile on her face”—as though, being less than a supermodel, she should know nothing of happiness. I also think he’s trying to point out that what she’s so happy about is that when she goes into the pub, she’s got her pick of 10 strapping coal-mining dudes, all offering her a bottle of Toohey’s and some of their good sperm.

Of course, people in Oz are now outraged, with some even calling that the mayor resign.

The Ozzie listservs are all a-buzz, and I've been reading the comments to get a sense of my future people. Here's an excerpt from one of my favorites:

I've travelled all over Australia and all over the World, and I've always believed that Mt Isa has a really high percentage of Real Beauties. Some same Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder , I've also heard lately that Beauty is in the Eyes of the Beer Holder. It is a small town and a lot of loving realationships* commence in our pubs and clubs.

Holla at “beauty in the eye of the BEER holder”!! I’ve been saying that for years, and it’s about damn time someone agreed with me.
Yes, the mayor is offensive and cracked out. Yes, he should probably not be allowed to speak in public for a long time. Yes, he is offensive to women.

But I can’t help but thinking that any place where loving relationships commence in pubs and clubs is where I need to be. And any town that’s calling for the “ugly ducklings” is in desperate need of a blacktress.

I am so excited to blow this popstand!!! I was going to be a good employee and give my massa 1-month’s notice (and also free myself from having to pretend like I care for the remainder of my days), but I don’t think I can do that and still holla at my vacay time. But this means that for two more weeks, I will have to smile and nod and “put in effort” (lame). But, if I can make my way to freedom and become one of the most inspiring black women of all time, I can certainly stick it out on this plantation a few weeks longer.

I’ve been reading so many books on the land down under (you know, where the women glow and men plunder) so that I can master the foreign land quickly upon arrival. The slanguage is the best part—Aussies say the darndest things!! Thanks to Deets for the great book “Live and Work in Australia,” which has everything I’ll ever need to know. Some Aussie gems include:

apples: meaning, OK, as in “She’ll be apples, mate”
flash as a rat with a gold tooth: overdone, overdressed. [I really hope people actually use this phrase.]
frosty, tinny, neck oil, singing syrup, etc.: beer. [I love the use of ‘etc,’ as though there is a natural sequence of phrases that would come after these to describe the frothy fermented goodness of beer]
wouldn’t do it to a Jap on ANZAC Day: wouldn’t do it to your worst enemy under dire circumstances. A reference to the Japanese enemy during WWII, ANZAC Day is a national holiday to commemorate the contribution of Australian war veterans to various campaigns.

They are so colorful in their lingo, and abbreviate almost everything. Seeing as I can’t stop saying “totes” and “obvi,” I think I’ll be apples down there (see how I incorporated my new vocab so flawlessly?).




*note his misspelling here. I actually think it’s a CORRECT spelling of what we’re all looking for: a REALationship—none of this half-assed, late-night-texting crap. Man up, commit to loving me for eternity, and let's get this going!

Cop and a Blacktress

So, as you know, I work on a plantation--a plantation of writing, crazy artists, and writing about crazy artists. I really enjoy getting know the artists and their process, as most of them are very friendly to the person writing a feature-length article on them. My favorite artist thus far has to be, hands down, the man I like to call "The Detective"--mainly because that is his occupation. Based in the Pacific Northwest, he's a man of the law who draws composite sketches of criminals based on witnesses accounts. When he's not doing that, he's doing high-class commissioned portraits. He is, in short, bad ass and artistic-- and cool as ice.

The thing I like most about him is that we've sort of developed a rapport that has lasted long after his article was published. He sends the funniest emails ever, and I thought it was behoovy of me to share them with you, my gentle readers.

I knew from our first interview that The Detective and I would get along. He was already a reader of our magazine, so he was all flattered by the idea of being interviewed. He was really long-whinded (which I love when writing an article, because it means I'll never have a shortage of quotes), and he laughed at all my jokes. Before we'd even spoken, he'd done a little research on me, reading my past articles to see if I had the chops. I immediately told him, "Detective, I'll bring nothing but my A-game with this article--primarily because you could have me killed and make it look like an accident."

We had a good long laugh at that one, and we only calmed down once he said, between chuckles, "Yes, that's true."

So, needless to say, I got down to business--but there was also some pleasure.

The Detective told me he'd never been to NYC, and I told him all about our fast-paced lifestyle. I also explained that I could never live anywhere else, because I hate nature. He couldn't believe it. After that convo, he sent me the following email:

Sojo,

Nice talking to you today. I'm still laughing. I've never met anyone who doesn't like nature. Just for you, I'm attaching the photo collages I sent out with our last Christmas card. You're going to see a lot of my family, but what I really want you to see is the number of photos taken outside--in the woods, trails on the sides of mountains, on the beach, in parks, in kayaks on the water, there's even a picture under the water, etc. Pay special attention to the photo of my whole family on the beach building an enormous sand castle. You want to talk dirt... Okay, it's sand, but pretty much the same thing. I love it outside. Maybe I should write an article about you. In Seattle, you'd be the fascinating one! Like talking to an alien.* "Yes that's right. She doesn't like nature!"

Let me know if you have any more questions--I will have more time this weekend, but right now I have to go to bed because I have to get up at 0230 to go serve a warrant. This could be a wild one--house full of armed gang members involved in an assortment of crimes. It's not as bad as it sounds--we're sending in the SWAT team first. - D

Please note that this last paragraph has not been doctored in any way. The Detective is hard core. Note the use of military time when he tells me what time he has to wake up. Also note how chill he is: "it's not as bad as it sounds--we're sending in the SWAT team first." Oh, okay detective--and when you're done, you'll all have some donuts and coffee and go make love to your wives.

I love the detective. In my head, he and I could be a dynamic duo, if not the basis of a TV movie. He'd be solving gritty crimes by day, and by night he would come home and draw his victims. Only with the help of Sojourner would he be able to unlock the truth and crack the case. I think it'd be something like this:

I'm the little black boy and he's Burt Reynolds.

The detective and I still talk, and he sends me emails to let me know how things are going. Sometimes he asks for favors, like advanced or discount copies, and because of our bond--and his power (see above re: killing me and making it look like an accident)--I often give in. He's always really nice, but he makes sure I never forget who I'm talking to. Take, for example, this short gem he sent a few days ago:

Sojo,

I've been busy all morning arresting a guy--got a full confession though. You find anyone to help transfer that file?
I'll be back in an hour--got to go meet a victim.
-D

Was he telling me I only had an hour to get him the file or I'd be sleeping with the fishes? Was he mentioning a "victim" just to give me the willies? I didn't even give him time to explain--that file was in his inbox in 12 minutes.


*[The Detective thinks I'm from another planet simply because I said to him, "I don't get why anyone would want to go outside and pretend to be poor. I don't want 'the stars as my blanket'-- I want a blanket as my blanket!!"
I don't get what's so crazy about that.
Oh, and fyi-- one of his family photos showed his son with a black gf--holla at interracial love!]

Forget Confucius—Blacktress Says…

So, I’m done with the Kiwi. After not calling me for 4 days—when he specifically said he would—I just lost interest. I mean, I don’t ask for much, but at the very least, do what you say you’re going to do, you know? Or, if you can’t do it, at least have a good reason. His excuse for not calling me: “I got really wasted all weekend and couldn’t call.”

Really? Really? That’s the best you got? Honey, in those kinds of situations, lie to me. tell me you lost a limb and needed to get it reattached before you could see me. Tell me you’ve been smoking too much and they had to amputate your fingers (like the lady in the NYC Subway ad about quitting smoking) and you couldn’t text me. Come up with some good shit!

When he finally resurfaced, he promised to make it up to me by cooking me dinner at his place. Never one to turn down a free meal (Mama didn’t raise no fool!), I went over there Monday night—and I think I might find his roommate more interesting than him.

Not a good sign.

When recounting a story about one of his coworkers (who he referred to as his “little black brother”), the Kiwi couldn’t remember the guy’s name. He’s trying to figure it out, and he looks at me and goes, “What’s a black name that begins with a ‘J’?”

Sweet god in heaven, am I on candid camera?

Normally, I can shake off foreign ignorance, but when the person puts their p in my v, my tolerance becomes much lower. I looked at him and said, “Um…Jay-Z?”

Anyway, after a decent dinner (made more delicious by the fact that I didn’t have to cook it or clean up afterwards), we chatted a little bit—or, rather, I listened as he talked. After a lackluster makeout session, I headed home. As I rode the bus (doing my part to help the environment and my wallet), I realized that the Kiwi may be a lighthearted distraction, and even though he’s quick to feed me a meal, he’s not actually bringing anything to the blacktress’ potluck.

Let me explain.

Sojourner has a theory--a philosophy, if you will (will you?). I first developed it a couple of years ago when I former female friend of mine started dating one of my exes who’d hurt me real bad. As I thought about how to handle the situation, I looked back on our friendship up until that point. Over the 4 years I’d known her, she’d slept with one of my crushes, and, when I offered to take her home one night when she was drunk-crying (you know, the worse kind of tears), she put her head in my lap and PUKED ON ME.
We were on minute 7 of a 45-minute car ride.

As I sat in her vomit that night, I knew that this was not someone who was good for me. It wasn't until later that I was able to sort out my feelings.

See, the thing is, life is like a potluck. And the question is: What do you bring to the table in the potluck of my life???

Think about it:

You have a gathering of friends, and tell each one to bring a little something—and what they bring to the table is very telling.

First off, you’ve got the friends who roll up with a main dish—maybe some pasta with pesto, or a hearty salad—maybe even a meat dish. Those are the people you can count on. They’re bringing some sustenance to your table, and by extension, your life.

YUMMERS!!! This kinda goodness comes from a bestie, who knows that you need to be fed--both emotionally and physically.

Then, you’ve got the people who roll up with a couple bottles of red wine—I like them. They may not be the ones you go to when the chips are down, but when you want to know where the party is, they’ve got it. And that, my friends, is vital.

Wine-bringers are the folks who will tell you to go up and talk to that hot guy who is eye-fucking the shit out of you, and if he doesn’t holla back, they’ll buy you a shot. God bless ‘em.


Then, there are the folks who come by with some sort of Entenmann’s cake they clearly got at Duane Reade on the way to your house. I mean, I appreciate the effort, but that’s a little lackluster. It’s like, they forget they had a place to be and at the last minute ducked in to the place near the atm; they know they should bring something, but it’s not really what anyone wants to eat—and it’s full of trans fat, which will kill you.

NOT DELICIOUS. THAT ICING HAS BEEN ON THERE SINCE 1997!

I’ll still take an Entenmann’s cake person in, cause at least they tried, but they won’t be on the permanent party list, if you know what I mean (and I think you do).


Then, you have, like, the people who bring a half-empty bottle of Pepsi that’s going flat and some hummus dip. Those two things don’t even go together! It’s like they were cleaning out their fridge and thought you’d like the leftovers! These are the kinds of friends that dump all over you, give you their crap.
NOT OKAY.

I thought an image of The Hoff humping pepsi would really get my point across. If this image isn't wrong, I don't know what is.

Then, you have the bitches who have the nerve to roll up to your place empty-handed, LATE, and then when they leave they take a plate!!!

[No image on the interweb can describe this horror and disrespect. You will have to imagine it for yourself]

OH HELL TO THE NO!!

You know the ones I’m talking about. The bloodsuckers. The ones who will date your ex and then ask you to tell them it’s okay. It ain’t okay!! That’s not cool!!

I think the Kiwi would fall into the Entenmann’s category. He tries, and brings a little something, but it’s not quite rounding out the meal or bringing a new and exciting flavor, you know? I’ve decided from now on, people need to be coming with some main dishes or wine!! Do not come late and take a plate from my potluck!!

I think I should have majored in Philosophy.

Think About It...

I have a lot to share about this past weekend, but my ability to engage in fun bloggery is hampered by the fact that, in addition to meeting randoms and wishing I was 50 years old, the black community--no, not just the black community, but the WORLD--has lost two great blacktors.

On Saturday morning, blacktor/comedian Bernie Mac died of pneumonia.

This morning (Sunday), blacktor/songwriter/singer Isaac Hayes was pronounced dead at a hospital in Memphis.

"Sojourner, shut yo' mouth!" you may say with disbelief.
"I'm just talking about Isaac Hayes and Bernie Mac," would be my response. (You know, in the style of the song)

Yes, Isaac Hayes-- best known for the theme song to Shaft, and later as Chef on South Park-- was only 65 years young.

Black visionaries are dropping like flies.

OMG, this just in (from three days ago): blacktor Morgan Freeman (freeman)was in a car accident on August 4. Luckily, he's doing okay after surgery on his arm. I knew Morgan would pull through--the man has a bucket list--you can't kill him!

What is happening to these men? Do you think THE MAN (you know the one I mean) is trying to send Barack a message? He's getting too big for his black britches, and they have to let him know they could end him?

Oh, Sojourner and her conspiracy theories.

But it seems I'm not alone. Check out this piece of spam that came to my work email this morning:

Yesterday, it was Bernie Mac. Today it was Isaac Hayes. Could Samuel Jackson be next?

Daryl Toor, president of Attention!, an Atlanta based publicity firm, a former music reviewer and record company executive notes:

"This photograph, taken from Isaac Hayes' official site at http://www.isaachayes.com/myframes.html is as eerie as the time I read a newspaper obituary on its own obituary writer…."

D. Toor
CEO & Chief Awareness Officer
dtoor@attentiongroup.com


Daryl Toor is searching for the TRUTH!

But, seriously-- think about it... Here's some help from Flight of the Conchords. They know what's up.

New Future Baby Daddy

No, not the kiwi. But the kiwi did bring this man into my life. Let me explain:

Tuesday night’s dinner started off a bit rocky. I arrived at 8:15—fifteen minutes late—only to find the kiwi had just started cooking and the other two guests hadn’t even arrived. (Luckily, I’d inhaled a slice of pizza after work, foreseeing this possible delay.) I was sort of nervous and fidgety, wondering what he’d told his friends about me and if they’d be friendly and welcoming. Could they handle Sojourner’s truth? I’d already hung out with his roommate a few times—a scrawny, precious Caucasian who’s down with the hip hop music and getting his drank on—so that was one less person to worry about. But there was a … couple.

Couples are always hard—you have to win over both of them, but approach them in totally different ways. The thing about this pair is that they weren’t particularly interested in getting to know me, and I’m not one to force my truth onto another.* Normally, if I’m with a group of friends and a new person comes into our midst, I pepper them with questions, not only to figure out if they’re a Commie spy, but to make them feel like they are worth getting to know, and by extension, more at ease. These two peeps—a 21-year-old Cali chick and her 26-year-old Aussie bf—initially reacted to me as though I were a piece of furniture … or the cleaning lady. The kiwi was in the kitchen slicing and dicing away (SO hot!), and his roommate, who I thought would support me, just sat on the couch watching humorous internet videos. So I did what any normal, non-awkward person would do during an intimate dinner party.

I drank red wine and read the newspaper.

Now, anyone who knows me would be shocked to hear of the blacktress exhibiting such autistic behavior. I wouldn’t normally do this, but I was tired and didn’t really feel like trying to impress anyone. I figured it’d happen organically (you know, like Whole Foods), and if I tried to sweet-talk his friends, the kiwi would think I was really into him or something—and we can’t get his panties in a twist. So, I just drank my 3-buck Chuck** and kicked it old school.

When the couple wasn’t all up in each other’s grill (dude was fucking flossing her molars with his tongue), I decided I’d woo the woman first. Only 6 months in NYC, she was blonde, bright-eyed, and bushy-tailed, and relatively easy to talk to. I followed the three-step rule for making lady friends (see below), and soon she was putty in my hands. I used my impending move to Australia to woo the guy and get him to tell me all the hot spots (he warned me that even though I’d probably be a cool bartender, Aussies don’t really tip, so I might want to change my career plan).

After a lovely dinner of homemade, non-greasy, chicken fried rice (look at my kiwi, getting ethnic in the kitchen!), we continued to drink and chat.

And that’s when he appeared to me.

Jon Lajoie.

Future baby daddy.

He’s a Canadian comedian/musician who writes hilarious songs that can be seen on Funny or Die. Why I’d never heard of him, I don’t know. Why he isn’t in my bed right now baffles me even more.

His song, “Everyday Normal Guy” is basically a magnum opus written about the men I love. Check it out:

See more Jon Lajoie videos at Funny or Die

How can you not love this man?! He is a credit to his (Canadian) race. I think my favorite line is:

“I’m a pretty shy person and I’m average looking … I get nervous in social situations, muthaf*&!%@#”
Lord knows I love an awkward with anger management issues.

No, wait, I think my favorite line is: “And I like the show Grey’s Anatomy, mutha*&!%@#”

I bet he cried over Izzy and Denny, too.



* that’s a bold-faced lie, but I was out of my element!

** Trader Joe’s Wine Shop has a $3 bottle of wine that was made with the budget blacktress in mind.

THREE-STEP RULE FOR MAKING LADY FRIENDS
1. Compliment female on article of clothing or jewelry (you know, like Regina George in 'Mean Girls'--but don't make it a lie).
2. Make a funny-but-harmless joke about something innocuous.
3. Ask her about three questions about herself—if part of a couple, “how did you two meet?” always works.

Textual Seduction

So, the kiwi invited me over to his place for dinner tonight. It’ll be him and “a few friends.” I’m slightly nervous and slightly not really looking forward to it. I’m feeling sorta lukewarm towards this foreign man—and it’s not even a protectionist measure because I’m leaving soon. He’s really nice, friendly, straightforward, and relaxed, but I worry he may be a bit dim. Am I a bad person?
Yes, yes I am.

He kinda reminds me of a puppy--a scrappy, hyperactive golden retriever. You know how it is:
The cute puppy you just got from the pound is a bundle of joy, bounding all over the house. One day, after playing in the muddy woods, he’s so excited to see his new master that he jumps all over you, leaving muddy paw prints all over your favorite jeans.
“Bad, bad, puppy!” you say to him sternly.
He just pants and wags his (large) tail.
You can’t help but grin at his puppy excitement, but you’re still kinda pissed that he got carried away—not to mention that time he crapped on the carpet.

Do you get the analogy?

Anyway, I can’t really complain about the kiwi. The last thing I need is stress, and that’s the last thing he can bring to the table. Besides, I like being involved—it keeps me off the single streets and out of trouble. For real, y’all. For an example of what kind of shenanigans I get into when I’m on the market, check out the following text messages I’ve received from a certain “suitor.”

He is a 29-year-old PhD student at a prestigious New York university—New York University, to be exact. I point this out because these credentials imply that he’s a grown-ass man with more than ½ a brain.
Alas, I may be wrong.

After one date three weeks ago where we had a couple of drinks and he kept asking me to come over to his house (to which I said, “homeslice, slow down! Does my vag have an expiration date?!”), he has been blowing up my phone with pathetic attempts at textual seduction (I heart Snoop Dogg*). For example:

Received 07/19/2008, 7:05 pm: so are you comin over to be crapped on or what?
(my complete response: “No.”)

Received 7/19/2008, 7:15 pm: what about for some sex?

Seriously, these are real text messages I have received from an educated adult male pursuing an advanced degree.

Just when I thought the madness was over, I got this one over the weekend:

Received 08/02/2008, 6:04 pm: is there a reason i haven’t fingered u yet?

I KID YOU NOT.

Um, what should I have said-- "because you are an insane man lacking in propriety and respect, and possibly a sexual predator" ?

I didn’t even respond. I don’t even know how to. I feel like he is beyond reason, completely vulgar, and possibly autistic (at the very least, he’s got Aspberger’s).

But, I have found a silver lining:
Normally, in such circumstances, the blacktress would lament her fate, wondering “Why God, Why?!” would such a terrible person seek her out. She’d blame herself for somehow “making” this PhD student this way.

Not anymore.

As I fortify myself for my international journey, I realize that, at 29 years old, this dude’s got about 28 years, 8 months, and 14 days worth of issues that were there before I cropped up on the scene. There is no way that my dazzling conversation, rapier wit, and pretty green dress got him so beside himself that the only way he could express his interest was through crazy texts.

He is, in summation a HOT ASS MESS.

And that is certainly one thing the sweet, hyperactive kiwi is NOT. He may not believe in spelling words completely or properly via text, but everything he has to say is in good clean fun. He invites me to meals that he will prepare in the presence of other people, proving that he has both social and culinary skills. He is also keeping me off the single streets of this cray cray city, where apparently PhDs are still Playa-hating Degrees!


* if you have not seen the music video or heard the song on which my clever title is based, please click here.
If a man came at me with Snoop's level of mojo, I'd probably be hearing the pitter patter of little feet by now.

Pearls of Gay Wisdom/The Importance of Gchat

Last week, I was gchatting on the plantation with one of my good friends, who shall remain nameless. For the purpose of today’s post, let’s just call him the ELITE GAY VISIONARY. He’s a fine-ass intellectual homosexual (the best kind), and from the shores of San Francisco or Miami, he’s ready and willing to offer his advice to all a blacktress' romantic queries. Here’s an excerpt from one of our recent chats. I think the words of wisdom here are useful for all of us.

me: miguelito
i have date #2 with the new zealander tomorrow
i mean, TONIGHT
Elite Gay Visionary: eek!
me: we've already done the dirty*
how do you act on a "date" when you've already done the dirty?
EGV: well
i only go on dates with people i want to do the dirty with again
so you can act like you want it again, but pending any new information
me: hahaha
EGV: the way i judge too is i count the number of drinks before i want to do it
me: hahah, what do you mean?
EGV: okay
with HOT guys
i want to do it before i drink
with good looking guys it takes 1 drink
with okay guys 2 drinks
with ick guys 3 drinks
i only date the first 2
if it takes 2 drinks i'm over it
well except for that night because i've already had the 2nd drink
so it's too late by then
but that will be the last time
me: you know this is going on my blog, right?!
EGV: hahaha
does my SLUTINESS UPSET you?
me: hahaha, i love it
it's BRILLZ
this is going to be called "reasons why gays should be allowed to adopt"
i mean, you make sense
EGV: and we'll only adopt children if we want to before the 2nd drink
me: exactly


*yes, we did the dirty. honey, time is of the essence--all bets are OFF!!

Warning: These Images May Not Be Suitable For Children

So, one of my lovely duties on the plantation is sorting the mail—as you can guess, this is why I often get first dibs on all the great letters from cray cray artists. Today, I got the usual announcements for shows, press invites to openings, and random magazines. One such mag is called Arts & Activities, and contains all sorts of fun craft ideas for those who teach youngsters. The subscription was for a former employee, so I’m not even bothering to renew, but we just can’t seem to get off their mailing list.

What I wouldn’t give to get off this mailing list.

Today, instead of a magazine or renewal notice, they sent a piece of advertising so terrifying that it can only be described as pure evil. Look:



Why would a magazine about art projects for youngsters have such a hideous monster in its advertising? What kind of response do they expect to get from me by showing me the drawings of some twisted youngster who most likely sees dead people? This is why we have to stop "nurturing children's creativity"--they are dangerous, warped, and deadly.


So, what do you expect to come after the ellipsis when you flip over the card?

a. …For the sweet silence death brings.

b. …Or the grim reaper will come for you.

c. …To let the glue dry on your papier mache watermelon.

d. All of the above

e. BOO!!

Ha, I tricked you!! The correct answer is:

...to show off your products this fall!!!

Um....
W
T
F
?
!