Making it to the top of the top end.

Blacktress' Log, Thursday, 19 March 2009.

Greetings from Darwin!!

The last week has been crazy and awesome, full of randomness and excessive heat--temperature-wise, I mean.

After 6 days in the Outback, our group partied it up in Alice Springs, which is a pretty boring town. If it wasn't for Bojangles pub and the bottle of wine I'd treated myself to, I don't know how I would have gotten through it. Tuesday I was a hot ass mess, and I awoke to find myself being spooned by my Outback tour guide, a ruddy Aussie man who goes by the nickname 'Jesus.'

I guess you could say I woke up in Jesus's arms.

It was odd and random. Not only because Jesus had three beds in his room and there was no need for us to share a space, but because Jesus is betrothed. Nothing happened, and it was very PG--although his touch was surprisingly tender and he held me all night, which I don't know if I'd want my future husband doing with a nubian princess such as myself. There was no weirdness in the morning, thank god/his dad. This wouldn't be the first time I'd won the affections of a taken man.

I spent much of Tuesday nursing my hot mess of a hangover, hydrating and doing tons of writing. My flight out of town was Wednesday arvo, so I woke up bright and early, showered, de-sketchified, and headed off into the bright sun to see what Alice had to offer. It's quite a small city, and the main attractions are walkable enough.

So, you guys know how I'm really into reptiles, right? This means that the Alice Springs Reptile Centre was my first stop. As I walked through the exhibition, loving the cold-blooded creatures, I took note of all the venomous ones, should I come across them along my travels. As I walked through one section, I noticed this Olive Python was eye-fucking the shit out of me from inside its cage. It was really weird--totally one of those moments where I wish I could speak Parseltongue and figure out what the hell was going on.

In addition to its reptiles, I greatly appreciated the Centre's air conditioning, and just took my time reading placards and cooling off. While admiring a dinosaur fossil (yes, admiring), I was alerted to an animal presentation starting up. Suh-weet.

Maureen, our lovely presenter, showed us all sorts of creatures that we were then allowed to HOLD. I totally elbowed children out of the way and held a blue-tongued lizard, a horny devil (yes, a horny devil), and the Python who was staring at me. It was totally cool--I seem to have lost all fear since my journey into the outback. I was a bit wary of the massive snake, but he just slithered and it was all good....for a while.

As I went to hand it back to Maureen, it began to constrict around my hand.

My life flashed before my eyes. I totally knew there was a reason it was staring at me before--it was sizing me up for the kill. Being a constrictor, it's grip was deadly and I struggled to squeeze my hand out without making a scene that would scare the children. "Umm........" I said sorta loudly. Maureen told me to stay calm and or force the snake off, as it would feel threatened. I wriggled my hand out sloooooowwwwwllllly, and managed to break free--you can't put shackles on this blacktress, reptilian or otherwise!!!

Escaping death, I headed off to a couple other sights then went to the airport. There, I ran into this cool chick who I'd met in Sydney through a friend a couple months back. She's from Hotlanta and is totally a strong black woman in a white woman's body. We discovered we were seated in the same row--22A and C. We joked about talking over whoever was in between us.

When we got to our seats, we saw there were only seats A and C together. Talk about meant to be! We were obvi fated to be together, and spent three hours talking about dudes, travel, and fun times ahead. Her hostel was down the road from mine, and we met up and went out on the town last night. We landed at 7pm and it was still 90 degrees and humid out. Hot mess.

Darwin wasn't exactly popping on a Wednesday, and we went to the one hot spot, The Vic. The cover band was rocking ('Save Tonight,' by Eagle Eye Cherry, anyone?), and with $3 tequila shots, you know we'd basically gotten ourselves two tickets to the Shit Show. We ended up meeting some Canadian dudes, one of whom was 21 and tried to flirt with me. He was outgoing, had a full beard, and totally seemed older than me until he revealed that his age. I mean, wtf, Canadians--why must you always trick me?! He's from Sasketchawan, where I guess all the men are part Yeti and born rugged. I explained to him that, "I can't do anything with 21," and he got annoyed. Me and my new bff left The Vic at about 1am, chanting our new motto:

Darwin. My town. Love it.

The Blacktress Goes Blue--Blue Mountains, That Is

You want to know the cure for a broken heart?
A near-death experience.

So, last weekend with the redhead was really nice, although it involved alot of prepping/errand-running. I don't think anything says "I wanna have your babies" like folding a grown man's boxer briefs and packing his rucksack.
And making him mix CDs, uploading them onto his ipod, and filling in all track listings.
And meeting his family and bonding with his older brother.
And telling him you want to have his babies.

No, I didn't do that last one. However, I did say the following over the course of the weekend:
"I wish I could show you New York City."
"Fucking Canada?!" (this was said after we'd... physically expressed our emotions....)
"Why don't you stay here and be my boyfriend?"
"You and I will kiss on the northern hemisphere."
"Fine, go ahead, get with some acoustic-guitar-playing hippie chick, get it out of your system. Because then the blacktress will come for you in a few months' time."

Okay, that last one didn't sound as dodgy as it looks when I type it.

Anyway, I was quite broken up about his departure, and found that one of my feelings was a sense of, "He's going off to have an adventure and I'm stuck here." This, however, is kinda effed-up thinking, seeing as I am having an adventure of my own, up and moving to Australia and all. Leaving friends and family and all my normal coping mechanisms has enabled me to develop new skills. Instead of, you know, drinking a whole bottle of wine, listening to every Ani Difranco album I own, and then sobbing into my pillow, I decided to do the following:
Sob into my pillow briefly, then book a quick getaway to a new location.
This, I was convinced, would enable me to take my mind off of things, being in a new environment, and give me the sense of adventure I seem to think I'm lacking.

So, with a quick chat with Pete in the IEP office, I was off to the Blue Mountains, a scenic mountainous region that starts about an hour outside of the city. I didn't really have a plan, other than a group hiking tour scheduled for Friday. I woke up on Thursday morning at 7am, so I could get as much of the day there as possible. I quickly stuffed a messenger bag with toiletries, a couple items of clothing, some pajamas, a book and a journal, and my iPod.

Look at how spontaneous I am!!

As the train chugged along on the 2-hour ride to Katoomba, the biggest town in the City of the Blue Mountains, I realized I didn't have a map or any information about the YHA where I'd booked a room. I'd vaguely remembered that it wasn't too far from the train station, based on the map I saw online. Ah well, I'll just ask someone and I'm sure they'll point me in the right direction, I thought.

The Weasley twin has started to influence me--if he could pack for a 2- to 3-year journey the night before departure, and have no idea what he was going to do in Canada after his NYC jaunt, then I could certainly rock up to the Mountains for an overnight and see what could happen, right?

Wrong.

I don't know how many of you have followed Sojourner's journey, but I don't really like nature. You could say nature is not in my, um, nature.
I don't like the feeling of twigs underfoot, I don't enjoy sweating in public, and when it comes to insects I have a basic rule: when you're that small you don't need that many legs unless you're doing evil.
And, I don't know, maybe it's residual anger from my slavery days, but I have no desire to sleep outside on the ground. I worked too hard for the roof I have.

But I was going to give this a go. I was going to broaden my horizons, and perhaps be so busy trying to survive that I wouldn't think about how I'll probably die alone because no one I want will ever love me. (cue strings)

I did however start off strong, managing to make it to the hostel, drop off my stuff, and set out to find lunch. Katoomba Street, in Katoomba, has everything you'll ever need--antique shops, bookstores, cafes, and, in my case, a girl-crush.

I popped into a fish-and-chip shop for lunch (I love anywhere that only fries food), and after ordering, the girl at the register said, "I love your accent." She was red-haired, much like my lost lover, and I felt a pang of longing. Her name was Kate, and she had lived in LA for 9 years because her dad was a director.
Before I could ask if her pops wanted to put the blacktress in his next feature, my food came, and as I sat and ate, Kate periodically came over and asked me how I liked Sydney and my impressions of the Mountains. I told her I hadn't seen them yet, but wanted to check out Leura Cascades, which was on the handy map the hostel had provided. It seemed within walking distance, and Kate agreed, adding that it would be "quite nice to go on a cool day like this."

After I was done eating my plate of trans fats, Kate walked me outside and told me the best way to get to the cascades, periodically touching my arm for emphasis.
Her touch was tender. I felt safe and excited as I set off into the wilderness.

The walk wasn't too long, and I had no trouble following the map combined with my girl-crush's directions. However, it was quite hot when I set off, but figured I could deal with the help of shade. As I walked, I saw a tall thin black guy who was on my train ride up. When we passed each other he said, "Hello goddess, we meet again. How are you?"
I was briefly pleased by being referred to as a goddess.
Maybe I need to start dating within my race again.

Anyway, I get to Cliff Drive, and start to follow the signs along the trail to Leura Cascades.
I felt good. I felt strong. I was facing my fear, not wallowing in sadness, and moving my body after a fried feast--I was growing. I put my headphones in and put on some Jack Johnson--I knew he'd appreciate such outdoor activity.

Soon, however, the heat began to beat down on a blacktress. It was nearly 85 degrees, which I saw on a thermometer on my way to the trail (it was in Celsius, but I can do the math now--I'm mad international, yo). I was beginning to have flashbacks to the hot Southern sun, and my days of toil.

Oh, I should also mention that I was wearing dark blue jeans.
And converse sneakers.
And I hadn't even brought a water bottle.

Can you say hot ass mess?



As you can see, heat doesn't agree with me, for I sweat much in the manner of Whitney Houston. (If you've never seen Ms. Houston sweat under the harsh stage lights, youtube that shizzle. You could wax a floor with all that gloss)

I trudged on, determined to get to these cool cascades Kate had promised me. I could not have another ginger let me down this week. And on top of that, I am young, gifted, and black--there's nothing I can't do.

As I walked, I noticed that there weren't many other people on the trail. In fact, I only saw 6 people in an hour, and they were in two groups of 3.
"Hm, perhaps I should have told someone where I was going," I thought to myself as these safe trios passed by. "Or maybe I should have written down the phone number of the hostel or some other nearby safety organization."
I had just brought my ipod and camera.

Clearly, I must learn to walk the fine line between spontaneity and not ending up dead in a ditch.

For serious, the trail was hella treacherous. Lacking shoes with good traction, those slippery sandstone rocks kept getting me, and the distance between the fake man-made nature-stairs was too great, and at one point resulted in a dangerous spill. As I caught myself on a rock (ew, gross, rocks!), I took a breath and saw my life flash before my eyes. In that instant, I learned one thing:
I'm way behind schedule.

I sat down briefly to write, but then a bird shat near me and I got up. I kept going in what I thought was the right direction, but was then faced with a series of steep fake-nature stairs:
I don't know if you can tell from the pic, but these fuckers were hella steep. I went to take a step, then realized that I'd already cheated death once, and if my memory of the "Final Destination" films serves, he won't let you get away too often. So, um, I turned back around.

I realized that to get to the falls I had to actually walk back on the street to the next trail entrance, then descend. Once I got there, however, I was tired and sweaty, and flies were buzzing around me like I was an African sponsor child--can a blacktress get 10 cents a day?!--so I pretty much decided to F that S and make my way to the hostel.

Fuck. I forgot that when you do a hike you have to, like, get back to where you started--usually by hiking.

It was nearly 4pm, and the sun was beating down hard. What had been an easy walk to the Cascades was harder on the return, as much of it was on an incline. My vision started to blur, and I wondered if this was what death felt like. I needed some H20 like whoa.

As I re-approached civilization, I saw on my map that there was a supermarket nearby. I mustered up what little strength I had left and made it to the huge Coles, where I spent the first 5 minutes deliriously wandering, nearly sinking to my knees at one point out of gratitude for air conditioning. I finally made it to the 'water' section, and grabbed two 1.5-liter bottles. I got the supermarket brand because I was drawn to its lovely label:

"It's natural and refreshing." - Elysha, drinks 2 litres a day.

Um, since when did we need endorsements for water? Isn't it basically something that sells itself, being a basic human need and all? Besides, who is Elysha? She's not famous. She actually looks like a cartoon when you see the bottle in person. And she drinks 2 litres, but the bottle is only 1.5. So, what, Coles brand--you want me to feel like a failure? You want me to compete with Elysha for approval? WTF, mate?!

I still bought 2 anyway, cause they were only $1 each.

I made it back to the hostel shortly after 4pm, and immediately attempted to de-gross-ify. I thought I was going to pass out, seeing as I hadn't really slept in 2 days and my body had begun eating my organs for survival. I forced myself to stay up til 9, and was totally that annoying "Early sleeping" girl in the hostel room, making everyone tiptoe when they came in to drop things off and feel guilty for having energy.

The next morning I woke up bright and early, partially because I couldn't sleep because it had been hot as balls all night. In addition, I had to get prepped for my guided hike with a small group, which would start at around 9am.

I arrived late to the bus and was totally "that girl who kept everyone waiting" for the first 30 minutes of the tour. Our guide was Jon, an old, ruddy, Australian who knew the land like the back of his calloused hands. As I looked at the other people on the tour I realized how ridiculous I seemed, in my jeans from yesterday and my converse. They all had on shoes such as this:


I, on the other hand, was rockin these:
They also wore sensible breathable shorts and tops, while the coolest thing I had was the tank top I'd slept in the night before. Clearly, I'd be in the group doing the "short walk"--which, fittingly, involved being driven to various sites on a short bus.

Although, in my defense, there was my polar opposite--a girl wearing sneakers with a floral mini-skirt and aquamarine tube top. Is homegirl going from the trail to the club? I wondered as we split off into the two groups of short and long walks. Initially, I was the only person signed up to do the short walk (I say know your limitations, bitches!), but the heat convinced 4 other women to go for the ride. We got to see some great wildlife, and even walked through a rainforest as John told us about seedlings and saps and the devastation caused by the 2006 brushfire. I was hotter than a ho in church, and almost had a heart attack when I had to brush an ant off my boob, but I was able to see tons of sites without getting lost, and even befriended a 30-year-old Canadian Asian woman who used to play rugby and now worked as a yacht technician. Holla at a vacay on the Amalfi coast, y'all!!

On the way back I checked out a local magazine, which included info on various walks, along with tips. Here's an excerpt:

Important Notes About Bushwalking Safety:

Always carry sufficient drinking water.
Always carry first aid, as well as personal meidcation.
Know your route and advise friends of your plans.
Do not rely on mobile phones in remote locations.
Wear sensible walking shoes
Match your walk to you sensibilities.

Oops, my bad.

All in all, I'm glad I can say I tried. However, unless you're a hot redheaded Aussie boy willing to hold my hand and kill any thing that crawls in my path, count the blacktress out of the next hiking trip.

Performance Anxiety

So, as I said in my previous post, there is a red-haired man that's got me swooning! As I also said, he is leaving me for my hemisphere. Other than the terrible irony and complete unfairness that is an Australian man leaving me when I'm in Australia, this now means two of my future husbands will be in Canada: him and Michael Cera.

I don't know how I'm supposed to live in a world where everything I love is sent to Canada. I'm gonna have to get Obama to do something about this.

Anyway, we were talking about exchanging some music to broaden his horizons and provide him with some new tunes as he embarks on a new voyage. I believe his exact words were, "I want some cruisey tunes."

Though he uses this word often, I'm still not quite sure what 'cruisey' means. This is one of those Aussie terms that I'm still grasping three months in. Like that time he said there was a "biffo at the cricket," which I assumed was some sort of foodstuff, but actually means "there was a fight a the cricket match."


Basically, I think "cruisey" means laid back, rhythmic tunes you can sort of bop to--the kind of jam that puts a pep in your step, but doesn't overwhelm an afternoon bbq. Regardless, I'm basing my CD creation on this theory.

Guys, this is a very high-pressure situation. Remember back in the middle-school days when you were totes crushin' on someone, and you wanted to show your luuurrvvv? You went back home, broke out a cassette, and got to recording tunes that you were convinced proved your coolness--and your ability to be the perfect partner. The result looked something like this:


Remember how hard making a mixtape was? Stopping, pausing, trying to keep the flow seamless, so you'd even rewind a little bit to make sure the time between songs wasn't too long? It was a labor of love, and by the time you handed over it was not unlike your still-beating heart--only way less gross.

To this day, nothing proves you're into a guy like rolling up to him slowly and whispering in his ear, "Damn boy, you so fine I wanna make you a mix tape."
Go ahead, try it on your next crush.

He's going to judge me based on my musical taste! What if he listens to it and is like, "oh em gee, she sucks balls. but not mine. no sir, not mine." ?!?!??! This is very stressful. He will be listening to these tunes as he backpacks the Canadian wilderness. I will use these tunes to keep myself on his mind even when we are separated by thousands of miles. I can NOT have him remembering that I'm kind of lame.

As you can see, I'm really into him. So into him that I did not blog about him for a week and refuse to talk about our actual interactions because the only comedic fodder comes from my giddiness, not his foolishness. So into him that he left his man-deodorant at my place before his flight, saying that I should hold on to it cause he can't take an aerosol can on the plane, but I'm pretty sure he's leaving it here because he wants me to sniff it and think of him.
So into him that I almost told his brother how I felt.
I IM'd the friend of mine who got me in touch with him, and our conversation would have gone something like this:
me: HEY GIRL
HOW DO I GET [FRED WEASLEY] TO MARRY ME?! IT'LL BE LIKE IN HARRY POTTER BOOK 5 WHEN THEY ALL NEED DATES FOR THE YULE BALL AND FRED ASKS OUT ANGELINA, THE BLACK GIRL!!!
my friend: roofies. [i think she would have said this]

Instead, it went like this:
me: HEY GIRL
then, for some reason unbeknownst* to me, I paused and waited for her to respond. I never do this, seeing as I have a lot to say at all times.
my friend: hey Sojourner, this is her boyfriend [and my Weasley twin's brother!!!]. she's out right now.
me: oh, hey, sorry about that.
her boyfriend: no dramas.

AAHHHH! Can you imagine how that would have gone if I'd kept talking?! I'd be the mayor of Awkward City!!!

So I'm sitting here at 11:30 am on Australia Day trying to get some cruisey tunes. I made one sure-fire winner only to discover that the disc won't play in a CD player. I AM BEING FOILED BY TECHNOLOGY!!

I now have to go buy new blank CDs that are more versatile. This is way hard, guys.

As I wipe the sweat off of my brow, I try to remember that this is just a nice thing, and he'll appreciate my follow-through-- even if he thinks I have the musical taste of an emo 14 year old.

But, um, seriously, how do you record music so that it plays a subliminal message that makes him want to wed me in a rushed Canadian ceremony?

Whoever's got the answer gets to be the flowergirl.


* I'm trying to bring this word back into the general lexicon. What do we think?

The Three-Day Grape Escape - aka - the Blacktress Goes Sideways

I'm writing on location from the Hunter Valley, the nearest wine country outside of Sydney. The HV (not to be confused with the HPV) is magical, and every vineyard has a "cellar door," where they conduct free tastings. I got up at about 8:30 this morning and arrived at the HV at 11:30, and had about 10 minutes to use the loo and apply lipgloss (you know it's got to be poppin'!) before heading off on the afternoon wine tour.

The itinerary: 2 wineries, break for lunch, 2 more wineries, and then a cheese tasting.

My buzz is just wearing off.

I came solo, but connected through the IEP program's many hook-ups. I'm loving the fact that they let me come to their offices, dominate their internet, ask them endless questions, and haven't kicked me out yet. I also appreciate their willingness to get drunk with me without judgments (more on their "Canada party" later).

There were 4 other people on the tour, 2 pairs of pals who were all.... FRENCH CANADIAN!!! As they spoke their native French-Canadian tongue, my pulse began to quicken, for me all know how I feel about Canadians. I wasn't sure how to interact, and was already feeling awkward and lonesome.

Luckily, this changed after the first winery.

We headed to Drayton's, where the shopgirl was working her first day, and seemed to be quite generous. We tried, like, 7 wines and 2 ports, and were already giggly and tripping after 30 minutes, and our love of liquor acted as a cross-cultural bond that could not be broken. I was on the hunt for some Pinot Noir for BCB as a thank-you gift, so I tried to stay focused--which was nearly impossible considering I hadn't eaten breakfast and we were on to the ports before 12:15pm.

Our tour guide was Mike, a fair dinkum Aussie bloke who wore a loud Hawaiian shirt partially buttoned, allowing his tufts to gray chest hair to have some air. He and I chatted alot, seeing as I wasn't French Canadian and didn't have anyone else to talk to. He pointed out fun facts and cool locations, adding a hint of color and class to the tour.
"Oi, guys," he said as the FCs chatted, "over there is the Broken Back Range--that's where the gay cowboys hang out."
Oh, Mike, you're hilarious!!

At the second vineyard, we tried about 5 wines, but this lady was a pro, so we couldn't coax more tastings out of her. However, I did get a sample of the Aleatico, a wine so old that it's known to be Napoleon's favorite.
I think this makes me a dictator.

Over lunch, Mike and I chatted about the election, and about how I'm "not a normal American" because I'm traveling for so long by myself. "Most Americans come for a few months, over vacation, then head back. You're breaking the ice, Sojourner!" I'm all about the old weathery Aussie blokes, cause they are really friendly and random. Take, for instance, our trip to the third winery, the Bimbadgen Estate...

As we drove up, Mike told us about the concerts and events they often hold on the grounds, such as the upcoming concert with "Alicia Keys and that girl from American Idol--you know, 'No air, No air.'" Mike then proceeds to sing snippets from Jordin Sparks' "No air" for the rest of the afternoon in this really high-pitched voice, and for some reason, it never ceases to make me laugh.

Graham, the host of Bimbadgen, is another bloke, and as he gives us tastes he chats us up and ends up taking quite a shine to the blacktress. I tell him I'm staying for a year and he says, "I think you'll be all right here," after I make him chuckle with some one-liners. I reveal that I'm a blacktress, which he dubs a "very clever" term, and tells me their opening up a new theater in Cessnock--a town of about 5,000 just next to the wineries. He suggest I be their opening act.
As we head out (I unfortunately buy no bottles because I already picked up bottles at Draytons), Graham shakes my hand and says, "Blacktress, it was a pleasure meeting you. When you take over Australia, remember you started here first."

I think Graham is going to be president of my fan club.

I now write from the YHA common room, where I fight the urge to open a bottle of port--after all, I have been drinking for 4 hours already and it's just now 6:30.

Um, who am I kidding? I have an addiction.

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.