I Wish I Was Above This Foolery....

but I'm not.

Hey friends!

I'm totes crushing on my new Jew boo. I feel like Ron Burgundy in Anchorman, after he and Veronica take a ride to "Pleasure Town." Like Ron, I, too, want to shout it from the rooftops, but I don't have a rooftop--I have Facebook (you know, the way Ron had a newsroom). Should I let the world know?

But what'll happen once he sees me cry for the first time and realizes I'm a hot ass mess? What a dramatic to-do when I have to change my status back to "single." Imagine all the awkward "likes" and "dislikes" I'll get. Imagine the comment feed--it'll be sad on so many levels.
Ugh. I wish I didn't have the emotional depth of a 13 year old.

Being boo'd up is cool and all, but it comes with it's own set of stresses. Now that I've found the fool, I gotta worry about keeping him--my legs aren't even used to being shaved this regularly.

Sometimes, when I wonder how the heck I got into this REALationship, I'm reminded of the perils of my single life. Take last night for instance.

I was IM'd by a random fella on FB chat (red flag #1 - who uses FB chat for serious?). He's a stand-up comedian I've met a few times over the last few months. The first time, he made quite the negative impression. It was at a party in BK, where me and my homegirl were dancing. This clown comes over to us and starts talking. He seemed normal enough, so we didn't shun him immediately. However, instead of plying us with questions, he proceeds to talk at us -- you know, the way male comedians are wont to do. After getting away from him, I bump into him on the lower level of the party as I'm heading to the bathroom. He comes over to me and after saying something so lame I can't remember it, he runs his clammy palm down my face.
He FACED me.
[not to be confused with the "face, face, face/I give face" that drag queen Bebe raps about in the song "CoverGirl (Put the Bass in Your Walk)"]
Who does that?! Who on earth clogs someone pores with their grubby, unwashed Bushwick hand???
As my friend Adam (you know, the one who went into the heart of Nubia) put it: "That's one of the creepiest things a dude could do without cause."

I ran into this weird toucher a few weeks ago after I hosted a show in Queens. He was sitting with someone I knew, and when the mutual friend introduced us, I reminded him of the "facing." He was not at all surprised or apologetic.

Then, on Easter Sunday, I had a show and he was also on the lineup. This joint appearance led to a facebook friend request from him later that day. Not one to turn down a networking opp, I accepted.

I am now paying for my friending haste.

Last night's chat started off innocently enough, although I was instantly on edge due to the fact that this guy is kind of a d-bag. I try to push him to get to the point, with a "to what do I owe the honor of this IM?" but I'm met with vagueness. Not one to be cocky, I try to see this as an olive branch of friendship--and I do love me some olives. However, I was promptly proved wrong, and reminded that, no matter how unattractive you may think you are, 9 times out of 10, a single dude who speaks to you has a desire to get into your pants. The convo veered in this direction:

Sketchy Stand-up Comedian: So, where you do live?
Me: Harlem
SS: Well there goes trying to charm you into a drink tonight :P"

Good lord. I give a weak "heh," then finally put it out there.

Me: Oh, you... unfortunately, I'm recently off the market.
SS: Just recently?

I say nothing and ask Adam how on earth I can ward off this person who I'll certainly run into at shows in the future. I try to turn the conversation into networking, and he mentions he's jobless.

SS-uC: "you can be my sugar momma if you want. i'll pleasure ya whenever and don't have to tell your bf or whatever this person might be haha"

W
T
F
?
!

See, if I was listed as "In a Relationship" on FB, I probably could have avoided this situation. Then again, Adam (he's my go-to for insights in the Caucasian male mind) reminded me that, "assholes aren't very easily detoured."

What do you think, gentle readers?--you're the boos I can count on to never leave me. Your opinion matters most.

xoxo,
LYLAS
-Blacktress

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?

I'm Awkward

Things Not to Say When the Guy You Slept With Calls You to Make a Date:

6. I can’t really talk right now-- I’m watching the season finale of “I Love New York.”

5. You know, I think you should be on “I Love New York." You’re very urban. You remind me of Tailor Made.

4. I have three leaks in my ceiling.

3. When he arranges a date for Saturday on Monday, you say: “It’s good you called so far in advance; I book fast. I’m very important. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany….. um, have you ever seen Anchorman?”

2. At the end of the conversation: “I’m going to hold my breath until Saturday!”
He says: “Um, why?”
You respond: “Until our date! I mean, what will I wear?! The possibilities are endless!”

1. I blogged about you.

And it is for this reason I had to take down my previous post, extolling his virtues as a giver. Just in case he is anywhere near as savvy an internet stalker as I am, he can't find out that I gave the world a little TMI. I'll repost once I have him firmly in my clutches, and he can separate the ACT from the BLACKtress.