Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Sojo Goes Solo -- A Solo Show, That Is

So, as you all know, the Sojo has opinions. I’ve been inside Caucasia, got hos in different country codes, and love to share my business. This clearly means I need to have a one-blacktress show—first on LOGO, then on Bravo, then on EVERY CHANNEL POSSIBLE.

My first step on the path to world domination is taking a solo-show writing class, taught by a strong black woman in a white woman’s candy coating. I’ve heard great things about her, and although this brain of mine is teeming with ideas, I have no idea how to organize them, or what’s worth expanding upon.
And also I’m lazy and can’t motivate myself. (see any post regarding gchat, which often takes place at work).

So, I started this class on Saturday, and after hosting two shows the night before, was feeling excited to nurture the blacktress within. These feelings quickly disappeared when I walked into the classroom and found myself, yet again, in the heart of Caucasia.
And not just any Caucasia, but smiley, excited, creative types who, despite being able to tap into their emotions, seem to lack self-awareness.

The class was 11 girls and 1 guy, which actually could have been pleasant, given my last improv class experience, which consisted of 14 white boys and one blacktress (such a circle jerk!). But I walk in, and I suddenly felt like it was the first day of Dalton (NYC private school that blacktress attended in her youth. The school’s motto should have been, “Dalton: it’s where self-esteem goes to die.”) All the girls know each other from previous classes and shows, and are giggling and gabbing in their high-pitched tones, and everyone has taken a class with the teacher already—and is her BFF—except for myself. I swear, if there had been a stool in a corner, I would have sat in it.

To make matters worse, the first person I see when I walk in is this girl from my college who I could not stand. Although I’m open to her surprising me, I find her to be overly confident and she gets under my skin. Whatever, I need to let it go and let it flow, right?

So, I try to shake it off, take opposite action and engage in class, not make myself the last person to present as we go through exercises, and generally remind myself that I’m here to work on me, and I don’t need to be besties with anyone.

It’s not really working, though, and the last 30 minutes of the class are spent playing "questions," where one person gets in the circle and everyone else fires questions at them. This exercise is meant to get us closer, remove that awkward feeling, and foster a sense of comaraderie. Here are some highlights:
When asked her favorite book, one girl answers, "The one I wrote."
Really? The one you wrote? She seems like a nice girl, but I’m sorry, that is a first-impression FAIL.
Another girl’s questions only consist of drug-related experiences. "When was the last time you were really fucked up?" she asked, or "What's the hardest drug you've ever done?" Of course, when placed in the center of the circle, she spent much of her time recounting the time she did 7 hits of liquid acid after several tequila shots.
I’m sorry, but like Danny Glover in Lethal Weapon, I’m getting too old for this shit.

When asked, "When was the last time you stole something?" one girl, whose name I've blocked out, replies, "Oh, god, I stole some lipstick from CVS, some bracelets from H&M, and a sweater from Century 21--and I got caught for that one." This girl is 20-something, started class whining about crashing with her parents in Westchester while the person she's house-sitting for comes back to town for a week, and is a non-working actress. I don’t think she really needs to steal things. No one has oppressed her--why is she engaging in thievery?

These are basically long examples to explain that, as a blacktress working on a personal-story-driven solo show about time inside Caucasia, and my own conflicting feelings about race, class, and both of these things as modes of performance, these students may not be good for me.

So, this is a bit of a rant, but I had to get it out. Should I stay in the class? I think the teacher could be really great, very smart, and she’s kind of a bad-ass lesbian I’d want to hang out with on the weekends. But if I’m not comfortable and trusting of my fellow classmates, how can I really write and express myself freely? Ain’t I, Sojourner, a woman?! Don’t I deserve to be there? Don’t I need to hang up my hang-ups at the same time that I hang up my coat? I need to get it together, cause I am not being a strong black woman!

How are you today, gentle readers?

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Jennifer Love Hewitt Has a Book!

Hey gang,

So, my girl KWalsh always has her finger on the pulse of celebrity culture. This is why I was not surprised to receive an IM from her, alerting me to a new book written by everyone’s favorite girl next door, Jennifer Love Hewitt.
It’s called “I Shot Cupid: My name is Jennifer Love Hewitt and I’m a Love-aholic.”
I kid you not.
Um, where’s my book deal? Do I have to know what you did twelve summers ago and date a bunch of lame dudes? I’ve clearly done both of those things throughout my life.

Anyway, I digress.
As you all know I kind of secretly love Jennifer Love Hewitt. She is so fucking fresh-faced and optimistic, and when everyone freaked out because she’s a size 2 and not a 0, she wasn’t having it, which implies that she may have a smidgen of common sense.
Alas, it would seem from some excerpts from her book,that it is I, Sojourner, who can’t handle the truth about J. Love.
I don’t know if I can handle randomness that is Jennifer Love Hewitt’s “pearls of wisdom”—or, should I say, crystals of wisdom. The girl actually suggests you bedazzle your vajayjay.
I believe the word she uses is “vagazzle.”
Again, I kid you not.

Left to process this alone in my cubicle, I couldn’t cope. I clearly had to g-chat KWalsh and get some answers.

Me: She says “a friend” did it. What friend would you have swarovski crystal your vag?
Walsh, would you do that for me?
KWalsh: No, I’m sorry
because I am morally opposed to vajazzling
KWalsh: and I would not enable you
me: hahahhaa, I am also morally opposed
this sounds insane
and unsanitary
KWalsh: would you like a nice friction based rash from rubbing your junk on crystals, potential male sex partner?!?!?!
me: HAHA
KWalsh: It doesn’t surprise me that JLH vajazzles
vajazzling seems entirely "sex less" to me because it would not enhance sex
It’s like, "I’m a pretty Barbie girl with sparkles on my lady bits, oops don't touch!"

*I think my favorite is number 9 – why on earth should a man have a coat for you? Why a coat? What is going on in her head? I think she was spoiled by Bailey back on Po5.

My Mom is Apparently Gangsta

Hey gang,

Sorry I’ve been MIA – I spent much of last week in Austin, Texas, enjoying the musical stylings and breakfast burritos of the South by Southwest Music Festival (SXSW). While that’s ripe for bloggery, I’m just getting back to the plantation and should keep my blatant procrastination to a minimum (details on Texan hipsters to come). However, I must share with you the conversation I had with madukes this morning:

It’s 8:15am. As I eat my oatmeal, I’m flipping through the channels. A music video comes on, and it’s featuring Ludacris. I mute it, because it’s too early for loudness. Just then, my mother emerges from her office…

Mom: That’s Ludacris? Turn it up.
Me: What?
Mom: I love Ludacris.
[I oblige. After all, she birthed me and lets me live rent free. I am shocked to find that she is staring at the tv screen.]
Me: It’s just featuring him, though.
Mom: He’s so good. Do you remember when he came on the rap scene. He had that big afro, and he was doing something different. Plus, he’s a good actor.
Me: What?
[mother does not respond, as she is entranced by Luda. We proceed to watch the video. The lead singer is some dude named “Taio,” and he basically sounds like an Akon wannabe. Ludacris proceeds to do his mid-song rap. It’s not particularly good, which does not surprise me.]
Mom: No, this is beneath Ludacris.
Me: What?
[I am still so baffled and confused by this. My mother is an attorney. She owns a Michael Buble CD. She loves Sarah Vaughn. I know a person can have layers, but damn.]
Mom: I thought he disappeared. He just left the rap game.
Me: I guess he’s got his money from his acting now.
[I don’t know how to keep up this conversation]
Mom: He was in Guy Ritchie’s “Rocknrolla.”
Me: I know, mom. You made me watch it.
Mom: It’s just like Ja Rule.
Me: What?
Mom: He just fell off, too.
Me: Okay.

The video is over. I finish my oatmeal and get ready to leave. As I head out the door, I tell her to have a nice day.
I don’t even know who she is anymore.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

HAPPY(?) St. Patrick's Day

So, the St. Paddy’s Day Parade is taking place right outside my building. As I headed out for my lunch break, I was visually assaulted by waves of green, and men in kilts.

I was petrified.

Now, we all know I love a man in woman’s garb (hello, Drag Race). Rather, I was terrified by the hoards of Caucasians, smelling of booze and feeling really excited about being white. This, my friends, is when Caucasia is at its most fearful. As I weaved my way through the crowd, desperate to reach the subway station, my heart started to palpitate. There was no room to move. My purse—and my loins—were in grave danger of being snatched! I started to have a flashback to plantation days, when Massa would have me work during his big parties. Although I wasn’t allowed to look anyone in the eye, and my only job was to serve, after some mead and ale, those white men would ask me if I wanted to be serviced!! It’s dangerous for a young blacktress when Caucasia’s feeling frisky!!!

After a brief jaunt outside the office, I came back up and could not get down the street. As I took a circuitous route, I saw two girls who looked like they were Jersey Shore castoffs drinking “soda” out of a big gulp. One was screaming to the other:
“Rachel, where’s AAAAMy? Where’s AAAmy??”
Clearly, Amy’s somewhere turning 16 and pregnant. After all, we all learned from Britney Spears what happens If You Seek Amy!!!

As I made it to my office, my excitement for being black swelled. As I watched young girls become mothers, and grown men pee on the street to avoid the port-a-potty line, it felt nice to be young, gifted, and black.

My coworker, who just came back from being outside said:

“I just saw a drunk woman being carried by two friends, yelling to everyone she passed, ‘YOU’RE Retarded!’ And there were girls who were wearing t-shirts that, if I actually did what there shirts told me to do, I’d get arrested.”

I reminded him that the day would soon be over, and those girls would be back in geometry class tomorrow, tempting him no more.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day Everyone!!!

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Here's the Good News - Black Love Lasts FOREVER

Sorry, gang, I totally got sidetracked at work and forgot to give you the good news. This heartwarming tidbit was brought to my attention yesterday by Scribe.

Drumroll please.....

The World's Longest Marriage is between a black man and woman!!!

After watching the episode of "Being Bobby Brown" in which Bobby talks about how he stuck his finger up Whitney's bum to help her poop and cites it as an example of "black love," I told myself I wanted no part of it. This, however, is the kind of black love I can get behind. Look at them:

Their names are Herbert and Zelmyra Fisher of New Bern, N.C. He's 104, and she's 101. They've been married 85 years!!!

Look how cute they are!!! They're over a century, but don't look a day over 8 decades. (I told y'all black don't crack). And even at 101, Zelmyra isn't afraid to wear some spring brights--no stretchy sweatpants for her--she knows how to keep her man at home (accentuate the hips--but not the one that got replaced.)

I want nothing more than to interview them. I bet Zelmyra was in the audience when I first gave my "Ain't I a Woman?" speech (j/k - she's not that old, guys!). Maybe we could sit down over some tea and soft foods and talk about what it takes to make a marriage last. Or maybe I could bring my 93-year-old G-Unit with me and they can shoot the shit about colored-only fountains and The Great Depression. I bet Zelmyra wouldn't want a younger woman around her man, though. I don't want a geriatric catfight on my hands!

So, I hope this tender tale of never-ending black love helps quell the rage-fires that burn in your heart after reading about black women's median income. It gives me just enough boost to keep on truckin'.


Extra Extra, Read All About It!!!

Yesterday, two very interesting pieces of news were brought to my attention – it’s almost as though, when people think black, they think blacktress. Seeing as I’ve been waiting for this kind of power for years, I take no offense to such an association.

Let’s start with the bad news first. This bit of news actually came from my former boss—we still K.I.T like two friends from summer camp. I think the best part is that he provided no commentary whatsoever. He just emailed me an email with the subject line "wow," and posted the link below:
Study finds median wealth for single black women at $5

Y’all, we need to get this straightened out – seems like we’re still making slave wages!! Sojourner can’t handle this truth in 2010, recession or not!

For those who aren’t up for the reading, here are some highlights from the article:

For all working-age black women 18 to 64, the financial picture is bleak. Their median household wealth is only $100. Hispanic women in that age group have a median wealth of $120.

"That means half of [black women] have a net worth of more than $100 and half have a net worth of less than $100," Ms. Lui said. "So that gives you an idea of how far in debt some women of color are."

Married or cohabitating white women have a median wealth of $167,500.
Married or cohabitating black women have a median net worth of $31,500.

In a 2008 study of black women and their money, the ING Foundation found that black women -- who frequently manage the assets of their households -- financially support friends, family and their houses of worship to a much greater degree than the general population.They also are more likely to be employed in jobs and industries -- such as service occupations -- with lower pay and less access to health insurance.

"If wealth was based on hard work, African-Americans would be the wealthiest people in our nation," she said. "It's not about behavior. It's about government policies. Who does the government help and who is it not helping?

The huge disparity between the median wealth of cohabitating/married black women and cohabitating/married white women is particularly interesting, especially hot on the heels of this unofficial experiment conducted by a strong black women on a popular online dating site. She explains it in greater detail on her blog, but basically, she set up two profiles that were identical in terms of content (favorite movies, job, interests, etc), only one profile had her own photos, and the other featured those of a perky Caucasian friend. Needless to say, the responses were very different. Although we all have preferences, and the inherent “racism” of potential suitors is certainly up for debate, the one curious finding was this:
The fellas who were down with the brown weren’t down with the ejumucation. She notes:

Erin’s (fake girl’s) dudes are rocking the shit out of higher learning. 7 have Master’s degrees. There’s a frigging DOCTOR trying to get a piece. Her least educated suitor is currently in college.

More than half of my suitors didn’t finish or never even attempted college. 3 didn’t even bother listing their education level which can not be a good thing.

Even in the online world, the only men trying to get a piece of a strong black woman are unable to ultimately provide a lifestyle that could close the large income gap this article acknowledges.


Okay, y’all, that was a little Thursday morning truth. Maybe not funny, but we all need to note these hot messes.
I’ll put the good news in my next post.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

16 and Pregnant - DELAY!

Hello Gentle Readers,

I'm sure many of you are shocked to log onto the blog and find no news of "16 and Pregnant." Trust me, it hurts me more than it hurts you.
Fortunately for me, and unfortunately for pregnant teens, I had a stand-up show at Comix Comedy Club last night, and it directly conflicted with everyone's favorite reality show.
But do not fret, friends -- I'll be watching it online when I get home and posting tonight.

In the interim, here's a bit of what I'm sure it'll be like:

Two minutes before: Expression of excitement.

First five minutes: Expression of sadness and disdain.
Insert douchebag teen boyfriend. He will have a penchant for hair gel, and probably look like a Justin Bieber wannabe--only pubescent.

Minutes 8 - 14: Expression of shock at parental advice and/or opinion. One parent will have a boy or girlfriend close in age to the pregnant teen. It will be awkward. Hopefully there will be a mullet present.
Friends arrive to offer useless advice, except for that one smart one, who I approve of wholeheartedly.
There will be an explanation of how the teen got pregnant, probably something like. "We used the rhythm method-- like, we did it in time to this Lady Gaga song, and we figured if we stopped by the end of the track, it'd be fine."

And so on and so forth.

More deets on last night's show to come! Try not to get pregnant (or turn 16) til then!

Friday, March 5, 2010

Fellow Truth-Tellers

Happy Friday, gentle readers. It’s not even 11 am, and I’m already procrastinating on the plantation with a new post. I don’t really have anything report. I’ve got two stand up shows this weekend, and need to find the funny, stat. I think a grande Starbucks is in order sometime before lunch--extra cocaine sprinkles, so I can really feel my heart burst!

I’m just surfing the information superhighway, getting my daily dish, and I was pleased to see that my homegirl SCRIBE is back in the blogsphere. She’s another freedom writer (see my list on the lower right of your screen), and lately, she’s been telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the ugly truth – and I’m loving it. Check out an excerpt from the latest post:

Jesse Tyler Ferguson plays Mitchell on Modern Family, one half of a gay couple with an adopted darkie. Recently the NY Post interviewed him and everything was fine and dandy until:

PW: Are there any actors you'd like to have on the show?
Jesse: The one person I actually have gone after -- because she'd be so brilliant -- is Gabourey Sidibe. I think she would be fantastic as a nanny we hire. She's just so bubbly and sweet and a fan of the show. I think this would be a seamless fit for her.

Black woman as a nanny, hasn't that been done to death? I mean it is 2010, we have a Black First Lady for Buddha's sake! Are you for real?

Thank you, Scribe! Bringing some truth. This is why Sojo doesn’t have an agent yet—they want to box me in, bring me down!

Y’all know I’m all about breaking the barriers, especially with the black female image. This morning, as I ate my oatmeal and watched VH1 (you know how I do with my fiber boost and morning videos--it’s how I stay hip with the young people), a video came on by an artist named Angel Taylor.

It was kinda meh, poppy-acoustic-guitar summery vibe, but I was so into it because…SHE’S BLACK!
She’s basically the black version of Colbie Caillat, and I am very pleased by this.
We so rarely see black acoustic-pop female artists—I think they’ve always been there, but record labels haven’t known what to do with them. Now that we’re allegedly in some “post-racial” world, they’re not afraid to put Angel Taylor out there, complete with a video chock-full of miscegenation! Check it out:

I think it’s quite fitting that she’s on a label called AWARE Records.

Her voice has zero soul or flava, but there she is, strumming along in a coffee shop with her Colgate smile, and I’m glad.
Homegirl even has a song called CHAI TEA LATTE.
I think if we were introduced, we’d be besties—we’d bond over how people said we “talked white” growing up, and share our tastes for tall glasses of milk (you know the kind….)

I bet her dad’s a dentist.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

It Has Been Decreed

KWalsh: ok well you know its going to happen
You have reached the tipping point
I reach the tipping point once every 6 months

Me: I don’t know, maybe I’m ovulating.

KWalsh: You might as well just accept the fact that a regrettable sexual encounter is in your future.

Apparently, I have no choice.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Conversations With Blacktress

Okay, I’m kind of freaking out right now. How am I just finding out today that Roger Ebert has a black wife? I’m a discredit to both my primary and secondary race – that of film scholars.
Have I been living in a cave????
I like to think that, as the world’s preeminent blacktress (“preeminent” means ‘popular among my friends,’ right?), I’ve got my finger on the pulse of American culture, especially film and television.
Apparently, if it’s not the tale of a genetic anomaly or a pregnant teen, I’m just as in the dark as my 93 ½ year old grandmother.

I give this coupling TWO THUMBS UP!

If I’d known about Ebert’s black wife, I would have certainly profiled her for BHM!!!

I think my favorite quote so far (as I scour the interwebs for news of their love), is this:

"One of the things I admire about Roger is that his ego and his intellect enjoy a challenge," she says. "He likes a woman of substance who is smart and has something to say."

In other words, Roger’s not afraid of a strong black woman!
I guess I need to start hitting up the nerdy, film-critic set to find a man who can go toe to toe with a blacktress.

This decision comes in the wake of a recent exchange I had on the streets of NYC. It was a page out of Conversations With Deb, so ridiculous that I couldn’t even believe it was happening to me. So embarrassing that I had to go home and eat a brownie right afterward. So tragic that I had to share it with you, gentle readers. Here goes:

Monday night, around 6:30pm, I'm walking down the street with my friend Danielle, talking about life.
Me: I'm never going to find a boyfriend.
Danielle (loudly): Yes you ARE!
Random Man Crossing the Street, smiling at Sojourner and Danielle: No you're not!!!

This man was not homeless. He was not visibly intoxicated. He actually kind of looked like a grown-up Harry Potter.

And yet he still knew.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

16 and Pregnant - Season 2, Episode 3

9:56 - I would like you to know how much I'm multi-tasking right now. I am blogging, flat-ironing (and then wrapping) my hair, and eating a brownie.
Although I'd like to be able to do one thing at a time, I must say I am grateful to be able to do all these things at once, as this ability is due to the fact that I am not pregnant or 16, or in an abusive relationship with a 17-year-old psychopath (for more on that, check out last week's live blog.)

10:00 - Valerie! She's 15 and lives in Farm Country, near Oxford, Pennsylvania. She's brown, but she was adopted by white parents (middle-america's very own Brangelina)...and has 8 brothers and sisters.

White boyfriend, we cut to him beatboxing, and then saying, "I'm gonna be chillin' shirtless for the next few hours."
Clearly he's urban.

32 Weeks Pregnant - She wants to give Matt space.
Valerie, chillin' with her friend Sienna on the dirt road. Look, there are other black people in farm country!
"I can't visualize being with anyone else."
Um, Valerie, you're a tween. You think Taylor Swift settled with Taylor Lautner just cause they had the same first name?! If Swift can take it slow, so can you.

"But you're only 15. How could you know for the rest of your life that you'll never be with another person?"
- I love how each girl has a smart common-sense friend.

10:02 - They didn't really use condoms. "Cause I was dumb...he was more experienced than I was, so I thought if it was an issue, he'd bring it up."
Well, I guess she beat me to it, so there's nothing to say there.

10:04 - They're expecting a girl, and naming her Neveah-- "cause it's 'heaven' backwards."
Um, did Ekatsim (what's that backwards, guys!) not have a nice ring to it?

10:05 - "We're pro choice -- Pro-life [he corrects himself after Valerie interrupts him]. So, she had no choice the way I saw it." - Her father is, like, 100 years old. And the fact that he confused pro-life and pro-choice implies to me that he shouldn't even be making the calls.

10:06 - Matt and his homeboy are sitting in his car beatboxing - you know, the way the urban youth are known to do. Then, you know, just take a break from the beat to discuss why he broke up with Valerie. I love that he wants to get a paternity test. Or, as his friend Eddie calls it, "the FRATERNITY TEST."
Good lord.

10:07 -
Valerie calls up Matt. "We don't have any reason to be talking unless it's about the baby." Damn, he left her out cold....but then tells her he still loves her.

"We had sex alot and it was unprotected. You know it was your baby." - Valerie
"I'm not gonna deal with this petty shit."- Matt's response before hanging up.
Really? If unplanned pregnancy is petty, what does get Matt's panties in a bunch?
Probably rap battles going down on his turf without his beatbox skills.

10: 12 - Valerie's home-schooled because she failed a bunch of classes last year.
"I guess I miss getting up and actually going to school." Well, yes, Val - that's what it means to go to school at home. I love how her friend Ashley is kinda ridiculous.
Valerie is so pouty. Like, not a whiner, but a wanna-be sexy pout.

10:13 - She called Matt to give him an ultimatum, then went into labor that night.
But now she's fighting with her mother about the contractions, and then trying to call Matt.
This labor seems oddly relaxed.

10:14 - in the hospital - thank god
"After the nurse got me hooked up, we waited...and waited...and waited."
Um, what exactly were you hooked up with? I don't consider there to be any sort of hook up involved in pregnancy.

10:15 - FALSE ALARM -- the doctor sent her home!
Matt left her a vm "I just called to see if you were in labor and all that....if the baby ain't born, don't bother calling back."
Where are these 15 year olds finding these emotional abusers? I think Dr. Drew needs to do a special on relationship violence.

10:17 - Valerie brings her homegirl to the doctor's office with her. Why is Ashley in the office, just chillin?
"Is it going to go back to normal after I have the baby?"
I don't know if she means her physique or her vag--all I know is, you've got bigger fish to fry.

10:18 -
Matt calls, saying he's ready to step up. So he goes over to Valerie's and lays out his plan:
"I thought for hours...I laid in bed and listened to music for three hours straight, and just thought...about what's best for the baby, and for me, cause it's my life."
Um, everything about the sentence above is why 17-year-old boys shouldn't be allowed to have sex.
Matt's decided to move to Wilmington, Delaware, so he can get a job and get his life together to help support his baby.
Okay, you know they must be in the back woods if Delaware is the promised land.

10:23 - August, 36 Weeks Pregnant.
Home schooling is soooo boring. Well, this is what happens when you skip class and get knocked up.
- 39 weeks pregnant - BABY SHOWER!
Sienna came over to talk. I like Sienna much more than Ashley - and no, not just cause she's black. It seems like she has some sense.
- "He [the doctor] told me to push like I was having a bowel movement, and I thought that was, like, a special move or something." I love that Valerie has no idea what a bowel movement is, and is about to be in charge of another human life.

10:31 - 40 weeks
"What's going on with you and Matt?" - Her younger brother asked her. He's brown, too, as is her older brother. What's with Val's parents adopting the brown?
She's ready for labor. Matt showed up!!
Why isn't he beatboxing?
"My dad can keep a pretty cool exterior, but he must be excited if he forgot his teeth."

10:33 - Baby's being born! There's brown stuff in the amniotic sac, which makes the doc think the baby may have breathed in her own fecal matter in the womb -- DANGER, DANGER!!

God, it's so hard to blog and stay focused, this is so intense.

9 Hours into labor. Matt's all up in the crotch, trying to give support. Okay, I hate him less than Josh.
10:35 - Watching her push. Oh god, the pain is beyond intense.
Whew, the baby popped out!

Josh is wiping her tears!!! Teens can be tender!

10:36 - The baby's airlifted to a larger hospital because her condition seems to have gotten worse.
AAAHHH, this is too intense.

10:39 - She was airlifted to a hospital in Philadelphia and given antibiotics...and now she's safe!!
This baby's a trooper!

Matt headed back to Delaware, and now Valerie's figuring out how to handle biznass on her own.

10:41 - Valerie calls her soul sister Sienna, who lives 200 miles away. They're totally having a "Waiting to Exhale" moment--you know, like, a 15-year-old version.

10:43 - Valerie's calling around for daycare to see if she can go back to school. She doesn't have daycare money. Shit, I don't have daycare money, and I'm an employed adult!

10:47 - Baby's 6 weeks old, and now mom is back in home school.
Everything about that sentence makes me sad.
Valerie and her homegirl Ashley are shopping for baby things - why are all their scenes set in Target?
Ashley's giving her the hot high school gossip.

- Valerie's in home school. Barb's trying to teach her about like terms and the baby's crying - how can she concentrate?! I love how old Barb is - I bet she and the dad both have autographed copies of the Bible.

10:49 - Matt comes over and is actually sweet with the baby. I wish he'd get rid of that god-awful facial hair, though.
"Her head is 15 1/2 inches in.... diameter?..." Oh, Valerie - I need you paying attention during math class in home school, boo boo.

Mom lets Matt sleep over, even though she's "not thrilled about it." Well, shit, she's already gotten knocked up, Mom - what's the worst that could happen?

10:51 -
Matt's beatboxing to the baby!!!
I'm sorry, this is the greatest moment in the history of "16 and Pregnant."
I think I need an urban daddy to sing my baby ghetto lullabies.

10:55 - I love how Matt keeps asking about the baby being gassy, and even went to wash his hands before holding the baby-- and he hasn't once mentioned the fraternity test!
Something's happening to him!

They're giving her a bath together, so sweet!
This baby doesn't have a touch of color and she's got a brown mama - but she'll color up. Believe it or not, young Sojo was slightly light skinned-ded growing up.

10:57 - Valerie's final thoughts:
You gotta do, what you gotta do.

Well, not the most inspired thoughts, but I hear ya, Val - you're making due.

Next week's ep: Chelsea.
Another shitty piercing and another abusive teen boyfriend.

Are we bored of these posts yet, gentle readers?

Shameless Cross-Promotion

Hey Gang,

Today, Sojo is appearing on another blog - JJSiii's "This is the Money Shot." Check it out, and read the embarrassment that is my musical tastes.

Seriously, it's so bad that I sometimes can't even look at myself in the mirror.

Hint: Think Ghost Whisperer.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Bye Bye Black History

Today is a day of sadness. Not only is it a Monday, but it’s also the end of Black History Month. As we look b(l)ack on all we’ve accomplished in the last 28 days (5 stand up shows, RuPaul’s Drag Race, 16 and Pregnant…and a partridge in a pear tree), we can be thankful for the black people in our life – and the ones we’ve only read about.

Gentle readers, I find myself in a bit of a holding pattern. No, it’s not just because I’m back at the same job that drove me cray-cray only a year ago, or because my mother and her latin lover STILL haven’t moved out of the house. Perhaps it’s because I haven’t had sex in a year. Yeah, that’s probably it. All I know is, I’m feeling bored. I don’t know what to do to keep myself busy in a way that’s particularly active. 10 minutes on stage is fine, but what about the other 23 hours and 50 minutes in the day? Okay, take away 7 for sleep, then that’s still 16 hours and 50 minutes. What to do when there are no genetic anomalies to ? Now that Stephenie Meyer has stopped writing Twilight books, I have no tales of repressed, dramatic and traumatic teen love to get me through the day.

What do you suggest, gentle readers? As my number of followers pushes 45, I feel it is behoovy of me to start making out with strangers, getting in trouble, and giving you your money’s worth.

Wait, this blog is free.
Well then, consider my job done here.

Happy Monday!

PS: AAAAHHH! I just looked at my list of followers and saw that Daddy Dugan is now following a blacktress. For those of you who don’t know (i.e. all of you), Daddy Dugan is this guy I met on Friday night who seemed to be able to handle my truths. We got along swimmingly, and his ex-girlfriend is really pretty, making him much cooler by association. Do you think his following of my blog means that we’re going to be besties and braid each others’ hair and watch TEEN WITCH on Saturday nights? I hope so!

Speaking of TEEN WITCH, I will use any excuse to post a youtube clip from this film. Below, see one of the finest moments in film history (and a nod to my celibacy):