Home is Where the Blog Is / Big Big Blacktress News!!!

Dear Gentle Readers,

I know it's been months since my last blog post, and I may have lost some of you forever. But for those of you who still enjoy the procrastination of a good blog read or those of you who kept me in your blog feed, I want to share some important news.

News that has only been shared with family and close friends. News that hasn't even made it to Facebook.

On Friday, March 29, 2013 at approximately 11:35 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, Jewboo ASKED ME TO MARRY HIM. AND I SAID YES!

Can you believe it???? I still kinda can't.

I come to you with this news because you guys know what a blacktress has been through. You've spent nearly 6 years reading about my stops on the long road to finding love. A road filled with potholes (aka potheads who were also assholes), construction closures (you know, the ones who were "going through a lot right now and can't be in a relationship"), and foreign drivers who didn't know how to drive on the right side of the road (I think that's pretty self-explanatory).

I'm not someone who has friends from kindergarten or even middle school that I still keep in touch with. If not for Facebook, there'd only be a handful of high school friends on my radar. Between my year with the Deaf and that time in Australia, I'm somewhat of a rolling stone, and this blog has been my one constant. Although I have many friends I'm close to, and some who have limped alongside me on the trail of tears, many people in my current circle of friends don't really get how much of a change I've undergone. They laugh at the stories and can sympathize with dating struggles, but they don't know how rough it got.
But you do.

Since 2007, you have stood by me during my irrational love of Daniel Radcliffe and shared in my disappointment after I saw him nude in Equus. (And if you check the comments, you'll see where D-Rad himself got up in arms about my...review)

You went along with me on internet dates when I was just a "beautiful pizza-eating black girl," discovering the true depths of Caucraysia. (And, of course, you were there when I first made up the word "Caucraysia".)

You also felt my pain and embarrassment after one hot mess of a Friday night.
And let's not forget THE GREEK (as much as I've tried)

You guys went with me to 8th grade prom in 2008--and witnessed the debut of Scorned Women Ecards, the brainchild of KWalsh and myself--two bitter gals with rapier wits.

You withstood the insanity that went along with loving various Australian men, both at home and Down Under, and the inevitable drama that ensues when a narcissist and a blacktress don't see eye-to-eye.

And of course, I think none of us will forget the morning that I awoke in Jesus' arms.

After kicking off 2009 with an ER visit and Swedish meatballs, I returned to America with a slew of stand-up material and new portmanteaus. Armed with a list of affirmations and goals for the year ahead, you guys sank down with me as I wallowed in "the summer of new lows," which I don't think anyone is proud of. 

As I ended 2009 dissecting every decision I made, I was left with unpleasant realizations about why I was unlovable. I kicked off the holidays with full-on hermiting, renouncing men and repeatedly using the phrase "I'ma DO ME!"

So when Jewboo came into my life in March 2010, he was a total gamechanger. He reciprocated my feelings and in some instances was the first to unleash the full extent of his love.
It wasn't all peaches and cream, however, but we worked through everything from ER trips while meeting his parents to the return of the Australian (who is my own personal Michael Meyers*--he never dies!!!).

From this point on, my blog was less about crazy men and more about the things that really mattered: crazy celebrities and coworkers. Of course, the latter subject got me into heaps of trouble and marked the beginning of the end of the blog. With all the watchful eyes and dissonance between my day job and my blackting, there was really no space for Sojourner's Truths. And really, without the truth, what's the incentive to type up nonsense on the regs?

But since my last post in December, things have changed for a blacktress, and I can now speak the truth and be set free! Laid off from my job, there's no one to pretend to be normal for; and in a relationship full of open and honest communication, I can bloggity blog without fear of hurting his feelings (he understands the requirements of a full-time blacktress).

So, here I am, sharing the most important moment in recent blacktress history. Just 2 weeks after our three-year anniversary, Jewboo totally caught me by surprise by asking me to come into our shared office room to "help with something really quickly." I walked in to find him holding an open ring box with the prettiest ring that I ever did see. Without my knowing, he'd gone to Philadelphia, purchased a ring with the help of his father (too cute!) and had it shipped to New York. The ring is absolutely perfect, the exact style I wanted.

(Ignore the fact that my hand looks like it belongs on an 80-year-old woman. THE RING IS SO PRETTY!)

Given my relationship history, I'm sure it comes as no surprise to you that it still feels surreal almost a week later. I can't believe someone who is cute and funny and smart and not racist wants to be with me forever. I think we can all see the blacktress's journey to true love as a sign that there is good in the world and there's someone out there for everyone. Granted, he may live off the G train and be slightly neurotic, but that can all be worked with. 

I've missed you, blog and blog readers. I'll be back soon--I promise!

*The villain from the Halloween movies, not the Canadian-born comedic actor who also seems to be limitless.

I think I'm turning Japanese, I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so. Because they have an island on which cats roam free!!!

I want to go to there.

But honestly, I'm not sure what I love more: The precious cat pics or the fact that this was brought to my attention by Jewboo, who sent an email titled, simply, "OMG." #howyouknowyoufoundtheone

Of course, my penchant for anthropomorphizing animals makes each of these pics so rich with meaning. 

Yes, I created captions. 

You're welcome.

Clearly these two are on some sort of quest, probably to buy kitten-sized beers without an ID. I imagine the one in front is Michael Cera and the one struggling to catch up is Christopher Mintz-Plasse. 

A MOTHER'S LOVE IS SO TENDER!!!!!!

I have a feeling these two sleepy heads aren't even hers, but she's one of those cool neighbors who ends up taking care of all the kids on the block because she could never have any of her own. 

"Are you my mommy?"

Okay, these three are clearly the bad-asses of the island. I bet they have some cool name, 

like "The ME-YOWZAS!"

Just go ahead and make this your desktop background--you are powerless against this cuteness. 

If this just gave you a reason to hold on, Wilson Phillips style, there are 44 more photos on BuzzFeed! Like Tom Haverford says--TREAT YO'SELF!

Search Herstory

Happy Friday, friends!

Living with Jewboo is going pretty well, considering I'm an only child who needs complete quiet in order to fall asleep and he's a neurotic workaholic. It's good having someone to share responsibilities with and look to for support. And have an extra computer to use. My laziness seems to know no bounds and when his computer is right there, all on the desk and easy to use, I don't want to lug my laptop to various areas of the house.

Unfortunately, this also means Jewboo has access to the myriad of useless things that occupy my mind on a daily basis. Below are a list of things I've recently looked into on the information super highway. As I write this list and share it with the blogsphere, I release the shame and embarrassment that comes with it. Thank you for bearing witness to my recovery.

Things I Have Recently Googled

• comedy festivals 2013, submissions open
• comedy managers
• how many calories burned by [insert a range of everyday actions here]
• best rueben sandwiches, nyc
• how to make corned beef (clearly, I was trying to empower myself)
• large pores in forehead cause excessive sweating?
• coupons Almond Breeze Almond Milk
• [My own name]

I Found More Than Just Containers....

I want to design my own t-shirt. I wouldn't sell it and no one besides myself would want it because it would say:

I just got back from 

and all I got was this AMAZING NEW BEST FRIEND. 

And underneath would be a picture of me and Ellen, the sales associate who made me feel like a better person.

This is what happens when I try to sneak out briefly during work to get a set of drawers.

Ever since the blog stopped being a safe space, I've been unable to tell my personal truths in the cathartic way that this blog once offered. I can, however, talk about how I'm feeling, since that doesn't sully anyone's good name and feelings aren't facts. 

In short: I'm having a hard time. 

See, I'm not very good at "organizing," "making efficient use of my time," or "being a functioning member of society." Whenever I manage to get anything together it's usually because I've been guilted or shamed into behaving in a socially acceptable manner.* Which, of course, means that I'm having trouble living in close quarters with a man and two cats—all of whom I love—that remind me every day that I'm just taking up too much space. 

I know that I need to get rid of the half-full Ikea bags full of clothing that I've hidden in the closet—I mean, it's because of them that I've worn the same 6 outfits for the last 3 weeks! And I can't complain about Jewboo's unpacked boxes when I'm using a stack of three of them as a desk for my laptop. As RuPaul used to say: If you can't love [living with yourself], how in the hell are you gonna love [living with your Jewboo]??? 

She also said, "Don't fuck it up," which I should also take to heart.

With that in mind, I started looking through shelving options on the Container Store's website. I was immediately overwhelmed (do you know there are containers for holding your double-A batteries???) and finally decided to just walk the 50 feet from my office to the actual store. 

Actually, what I said to myself was "THIS. ENDS. NOW." before I grabbed my credit card and keys (they won't know I've really left if my purse stays!)

[Yes, I like to think of myself as Bruce Willis in everything ever.]

When I got there, it was all too much. For a store that was all about containing, I felt it was overflowing with stuff that was just out of control! I was about to walk out when I spotted a smiley sales associate with a hip haircut and very subtle blue-grey eyeshadow.

"I need help!" I said, much like a lost child at a county fair. (I've found this is the best way to get a stranger's attention and immediate sympathy.)

"What are you looking for?" Smiley Lady said, much like a kindergarten teacher addressing someone who she knows has just peed his pants. 

"I need shelving because I just moved in with my boyfriend and my shit's a hot mess and if I don't get it together we're over, and I was on the website and saw this shelving unit that I want and I was at my desk and decided, 'THIS ENDS TONIGHT' but I can't find it."

Her name was Ellen. She was very patient and had no problem with TMI, which means we're meant to be BFF. 

Elllen got married last year and she and her husband have been living in a studio apartment—and they're making their love work!!

"How, Ellen? HOW?" I asked as we stood by the mesh Elfa drawers sold exclusively at The Container Store.

Ellen explained that she's pretty chill and just says exactly what she's thinking.

"Yeah," I said. "I don't see you as one to fly off the handle." I just got her, you know?

 Unfortunately the item I saw online actually looked like it was based on the novel PUSH  by Sapphire, and I was back to square one, but Ellen helped me figure it out before I had a Mariah Meltdown.

As I left without a drawer unit for my clothes, but with a jazzy clothes hamper, I felt hopeful. I'm ordering some drawers to pick up in store, which is both high-tech and less stressful. I'm probably going to pick them up on Saturday, which is the next day that Ellen's working.

Yes, she told me of her own volition. We're going to start going on coffee dates at Bed Bath & Beyond's cafe and I'll probably get her to "Like" my Facebook fan page. #BFFnotonNBC

*We all know that if I had my way I'd be the star of next season's new show "Biggest Hoarders Loser Intervention," where obese men and women are made to lose weight by kicking their drug addiction and cleaning their health-code-violating compounds.

The Chosen People Have Chosen Me!!!

So, I don’t know how many of you received my March newsletter (email madblacktress[at]gmail.com if you wanna opt in!), but I mentioned a gig that was unlike any I’ve ever had. Of course, being nervous and stressed about it, I was trying to block it out and not speak of it—you know, like how I handle sweating in public. Saturday, March 17, I was scheduled to perform at a Jewish Community Center in York, Pennsylvania, just an hour away from where Jewboo’s parents live!

One of these things is not like the other.....

Clearly, someone had dropped out at the last minute—but I’m not quite sure why I was the natural sub. Never one to turn down a gig, I said yes and figured I’d work it out later. It was kinda exciting—although I was getting paid to do “20 minutes, clean material, but can be edgy,” and my lover’s parents would be in attendance!!! As you can imagine, I was freaking out. I mean, what does ‘edgy’ even mean? Can I just get a list of forbidden words? You know, like:

YOU CANNOT SAY

• F word
• S word
• C word
• Vagina / Vajay-jay
• P in V without a C
• “I can’t passover those matzohballs.”
• Niggerbollen
• Honky Lumps

YOU CAN SAY

• The other C word (cancer)
• The other C word (Caucasia)
• "Save the drama for Obama"
• Bitch, when used as a pronoun
• Wintercourse, when used as a biological term

I was equally stressed out being in a JCC. We all know that I’m down with the chosen but I’m learning that non-New York Jews are a different crowd. And, like the New Hampshire country club I attempted to entertain back in October, these folks were going to be out of my target demographic in terms of age and lifestyle choices. Would they know what Roots or a Tyler Perry production was? Would they be offended by the use of the term ‘Jewboo? I just wasn’t sure how I’d play it.

After consulting some of the top comedic Jewish minds I know, I reached the Zen place of not actually dealing with it. As Jewboo and I headed to PA, I started to get stressed. This was quickly eclipsed by a near-death experience.

So, turns out that I have allergy-induced asthma...which I discovered on Saturday, the morning before my JCC debut. #fml

Remember the magical impression I made on my first visit to Jewboo's family/a suburban PA emergency room?

Well, turns out it wasn't the lady meds--it's cat dander plus wall-to-wall carpeting.

After a night spent wheezing, we finally decided to suck it up and go to the urgent care center. Of course, being Pennsylvania and not NYC, I was in and out in just over an hour, complete with prescriptions to pick up!
Of course, fear of death trumps fear of death by stage, but once I passed that hurdle, I was back to freaking out, and waiting around the venue for over 90 minutes didn't help--until I went to the bathroom, that is.
After closing the stall door, my own face looked back at me!!!

Seeing one's own face in the most unexpected places (i.e. not a mirror) was mind-blowing!

I felt like Rihanna.

Clearly, they were ready for me, as they'd had to see my face numerous times over the last two weeks. I went up second, which gave me time to read the temperature of the room. They were quite fun, actually, and opener Gilad Foss killed them with his Israeli sense of Jewmor. I followed, and just sorta went in with my same old stuff. And turns out, they liked me--they really, really liked me!

After my set, everyone wanted to meet Jewboo (who had to repeatedly say his real name in an attempt to assert his identity), and the head of the JCC even cornered me in a wine-induced stupor and asked if I planned to convert to Judaism.
"Um, let's go over to the cake," I replied.
BYOB at a JCC = TMI!

The night was fun and it felt good to share that side of myself with the boo's parents. I was, however, wrecked from the previous night and ready to get to bed when we got home at 2am. (Keeping the parents out til all hours!) Unfortunately, steroids and the inhaler kept me hyped up like Jessie Spano before the big dance contest. I spent much of Sunday lying on the couch and returned to NYC with a mountain of laundry and much to do--you know, like prepare for an audition for 30 Rock on Monday.

Yep, that happened! I got an email Friday afternoon while en route to the PA JCC (perhaps I was already creating Chosen People karma before the gig began???). After the insanity of "Schmobbie Jones" (remember her?) I had to do a bunch of sleuthing to make sure I wasn't being lured into a dark alley. After all, how did they even know me? Where'd they get my contact info? How did they know I'd be right for the part?

Well, turns out those casting folks are good! Based on a set they saw me do at a club back in September, they called me in for a strong black woman whose one line is, "I handle conflict appropriately and I'm up-to-date on my mortgage payments!" YES!!! THAT IS SO ME!!!!

I was pretty psyched and was totally hepped up Sunday night--and still trying to get that whole "breathing" thing under control. A trip to the bathroom at 3:30am turned nearly deadly as I walked directly into the doorframe, clocking myself in the head. Any attempt at sleeping was abandoned, as I worked to ensure that I wouldn't end up with a giant lump on my head for 30 Rock.

I went into the audition in my Banana Republic dress and was about 10 years younger than the other women, which was a bit awk. I felt like I'd walked into a scene from Waiting to Exhale, especially because they all seemed to know each other. For reals, they were showing pictures of their babies, talking about their New Jersey homes that were minutes from one another, and generally being BFF. Clearly, there's an elite group of upwardly mobile blacktresses that function similarly to the Freemasons that I need to be a part of.

I must find my way in.

How are you?

We've Come a Long Way, Baby!

Hi Friends,

How are things going? I actually have energy today, which is surprising because I headlined a show at 11pm last night, got to work an hour late, and am about to get my period! TMI? Since when has that stopped me.

I headlined at Therapy, a gay bar that's served as a port in a storm for a blacktress for many months. I actually have fans who know when I'm gonna be there and show up to see me. And you have no idea how gratifying it is to be called "a funny bitch. I fuckin' love you." over and over. It never gets old.

Speaking of fuckin' loving people: Yesterday marked two years since Jewboo and I first made out and a love was born. Can you believe it, guys?

You've been there from the beginning, readers, and I had to mark this milestone with you. Honestly, you know more than my mother. It was to you that I first broke the news of my love affair 3 weeks in, coining the term 'Jewboo' in an attempt to protect his anonymity. It was you who found out about the first cry, 6 weeks into the relationship, and shared my elation when love was declared. And here we are, preparing to move in together, just two interracial lovers and two mildly obese cats. Who woulda thunk?

I'm going to keep this post brief, since I'm also trying this new thing where I actually focus on work between the hours of 9am and 5pm. Wish me luck!

xoxo,
blacktress

Home is where the Heart Jewboo Is

Hey friends!

How's your day going? I'm actually on a up-swing, largely because of baked goods. Wednesday is my birthday, which always gets me in a mood (What do I have to show for myself????). A need for a quick lunch led me to Hale & Hearty Soups at about 2pm, when I was ravenous. A need to stop feeling crappy led me to exit Hale & Hearty and hit the Crumbs right next door.

As I walked back to my office with an Oreo cupcake, I tried to rationalize my lunch decision. When I reached my desk, however, there was already a package from Crumbs waiting for me!!!! My coworker had gotten me an early birthday gift! Clearly, I was meant to eat a cupcake today. I feel like the world is on my side.

In other news: There have been intense happenings with Jewboo. Of course, since the blog has ceased to be a safe space for my emotions and dramatizations, I've had to confide in my main gay via gchat. But obvi I can't keep anything to myself for too long, so I must share the transcript.


me: THIS JUST IN:
JJSiii:!!!
me: From Jewboo at 9:53am:
Hey dear, now that my job situation is taken care of, maybe we can now start discussing seriously moving in together? How does that strike you? Just wanted to float that out there.
JJSiii: I assume this is a good thing?
me: Yes! While visiting his parents, we even took a quick gander at RINGS.
JJSiii: RINGS? STOP IT. I HAVE BEEN OUT OF YOUR GCHAT LIFE FOR TOO LONG.
me: SERIOUSLY.
We were visiting the parents and we went to the mall
and he went into video game store and i went into one of those shops--like, Kay Jewelers or something--cause that's my idea of true romance.
and then he met me there and we looked for, like, 15 minutes together
I TRIED THINGS ON
JJSiii: oh my gosh, oh my gosh.
Shit is serious. I'm, like, planning your wedding in my head.
By planning it, I mean that I'm thinking about how much I want to be at it.
JJSiii: EVEN THOUGH I'VE NEVER IRL MET THIS MAN.
me: YOU MAY BE GIVING ME AWAY
you know i need one of my main gays to give me away
JJSiii: OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH.
This is such a caps-lock occasion.
I'm basically fanning my non-existent Cindy Lou Va-Who-Who, because this news makes me WET WITH EXCITEMENT.

So, as you can see, there's a lot happening. Of course, there is no proposal on the horizon BUT we are talking about cohabitation, which is more than enough ch-ch-change for one decade. Of course, the big issue is Harlem vs. Brooklyn, and you know where I stand.

Really, guys, my aversion to Brooklyn isn't my fault--it's in my blood. Before I was born, my mom and dad lived in Brooklyn and when my mom was pregnant she planned to have me at Harlem Hospital, cause it was way better than the BK hospitals at the time. Can you imagine a woman with her water broken hopping in a cab, saying, "Get me to Harlem, stat!"

Clearly, this was before the days when cab drivers profiled.

As luck would have it, I was born a few weeks early, just when my mom was having a follow-up appointment with her doctor. When she hopped off the exam table her water broke and I came out a few hours later. I knew we couldn't wait until returning to BK.

The main issue is that I am living in a ridiculously large place in the heart of Manhattan. I'm beyond lucky and I don't think it's smart to abandon prime real estate I'd never be able to afford otherwise in a city that everyone wants to be in.
Jewboo's reasoning is that the Harlem house comes with substantial mama drama, and he doesn't want to be subjected to it--or, even worse, in the middle of the two of us.
And I get that. Most people who come over for a meal start talking about moving in; Jewboo isn't just going with what's easiest or trying to take advantage, which I respect. Plus, I'm done with being under my mom's thumb, too, and there is a lot of pride I have to swallow in order to be where I am. But....
Mama didn't raise no fool. You don't cast off a brownstone for a shoebox when you're increasing your household size. Me + Jewboo + 2 cats + all of our creative endeavors which would make great use of extra rooms as offices and rehearsal spaces = sucking it up and taking advantage of a sweet deal. Perhaps it's because Jewboo has never really seen himself as a "have not" and knows nothing of NYC besides expensive shoeboxes, so he's not really hung up on it. I think our standards directly relate to our expectations, and I will be the first to admit that I am spoiled when it comes to accommodations. Besides, the idea of moving every 2 years as you inevitably outgrow the space (after all, our Emmy collection will take up most of the shelves) isn't appealing.

Plus, I must say I'd love it if those two cats had a special closet for their litter box--you gotta confine that smell, people. I'm not trying to come home to the smell of "Not-so-Fresh Step." Of course, this is a totally luxury "problem," but if it's possible, why would you live any other way?

Then again, as we start a new phase of our relationship, it would be nice to start fresh, in a newtral space. And I'd love to be able to decorate and start from scratch and build a place together--and not have my mother popping over whenever she felt like it, ragging on how badly I maintain a house, like a demeaning Steve Urkel.

I don't know. I love the boy and definitely want him to be my forever friend, but I also don't believe in oppressing myself if I don't have to or denying myself a luxury simply because there are a few strings attached. I mean, there are always strings attached to stuff. It seems like it's more beneficial to work on establishing boundaries with mom than it is to abandon the Harlem house--wouldn't you say it's throwing the baby out with the bathwater?

Your comments/suggestions would be much appreciated. Perhaps you can help me frame it in a way that a Jewboo can understand.

Happy Food Day, Guys!!!

This is definitely my favorite day of the year. As you all know, I used to drink to feel pretty and now eat to feel nothing. Thanksgiving Day is a nationally sanctioned day of eating one's feelings under the guise of celebration and gratitude. Clearly this is my time to shine.

See, the key to a successful Thanksgiving is pacing and preparedness. Many people think that starving until meal time is the best way to get the most out of it--rookie mistake. When you don't eat all day, your stomach contracts and your metabolism stays at it's sleeping rate, making mass consumption of delicious foods difficult. You've got to eat little light bits throughout the day leading up to the meal.

Of course, I'm all for cleansing the day before, as it helps the body prepare to take in copious amounts of carbs. Last night, we enjoyed a light dinner of shrimp & avocado over mixed greens--the right amount of roughage and good fats to center the body, but nothing heavy that couldn't be expelled rapidly.

So, here it is, the big day. The time is now 9:48am. Food won't be ready until 3pm at the earliest. I can't sit here all day, smelling the smells and promising myself I'll "go to town on that apple tart" when my stomach is the size of a toddler's fist! I must start off with a simple breakfast, just to get the body ready; Coax it out of slumber and prepare it for domination at the dinner table. I'll start with a fiber-rich cereal and perhaps a yogurt. After watching a motion picture, I'll likely follow up with some squats, push ups, and fruit. By that time, I will be called into the kitchen to prepare the sides that only I know how to make. This is when I'll have to maintain a steely resolve and not waste calories on taste tests.

As you can see, I'm serious about this.

I'm spending the day with mom and her latin lover, then heading to PA tomorrow to visit the Jewboo's fam. Although they invited me for the holiday, I couldn't pass up our Southern-influenced side dishes for who knows what in suburban Pennsylvania. When I tried to explain this to Jewboo, he looked at me like I was crazy. "You think the food won't be good at our family friend's house?"

No, that's not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is, I get one day a year to eat stuffing, yams, and macaroni and cheese on the same plate, and I'm not losing it to have some roasted potatoes or green bean casserole. Besides, Jewboo is a vegetarian and really weight-conscious, which not only impairs his judgement but also makes him a real buzz-kill on a day like today (but I still love him!). I need to be able to spend the day in drawstring sweatpants and no shoes, not eating daintily so as not to embarrass myself in front of my potential in-laws. I owe it to us both to show up to Pennsylvania with a full belly and high blood pressure, just so the weekend can be relaxed.

I'm feeling a bit anxious, as I woke up to the sounds of arguing and had flashbacks to my youth. I was already on the brink as of last night, when my mother told me that people would probably think I'm a pedophile if I kept offering to babysit their kids. So, you know, I'm dealing with that.

Hope you're having/had a great Food Day!

xoxo,
blacktress!

Vermont is for Lovers

Hey friends!

I’m banging my head against the wall with this article for massa, so I decided I’d switch to blog mode. The artist I’m writing about isn’t weird or crazy or unskilled, so I don’t know why this is so hard. In fact, he’s a silver fox who gets my humor and actually used the word “shit-tastic” in an email, which makes him my new favorite person. I just can’t get a lead-in, and without a running start, it’s just a dragging, lagging article. Plus, I’m only half here because I slept about 5 hours and am going out of town tomorrow—to a wedding!

Jewboo and I are heading up to Vermont to witness the nuptials of one of my favorite ladies. I’m really nervous-excited (nerv-cited? excitervous?)—it’s our first road trip, Jewboo’s driving my mom’s car, and he’ll be meeting a bunch of college friends. We did great in Minnesota, so I’m not worried about the friends-meeting part or spending 6 hours in a car together, but the driving….to Vermont… in madukes’s car. What if my map-dyslexia flares up and we get lost and he hates me? What if I get diarrhea? What if one of us farts in the car when the windows are up????

I am very excited for the nuptials, though. It’s not going to be another German-Indian dual-ceremony at an inter-faith cultural center, but you only get one of those a lifetime. The bride-to-be and I really took our love-friendship to the next level post-college, with the advent of this blog (specifically “16 & Pregnant” posts) and collaboration on a bachelorette party. She was really good about making me feel like less of a failure throughout the whole thing, and her scrappy, Vermonter, can-do attitude really came in handy on a rainy, late-night drive during which I thought we’d end up inspiring the next Saw movie.* She’s the kinda gal you’d want to get stuck in an elevator—or a sinking car, or a tornado, or a zombie apocalypse—with. Besides, it’s always great to watch white people come together. I feel like their numbers are dwindling.

Overall, I’m excited to get outta the city, breathe in some country air (and then develop a hacking cough as my body rejects it), and spend 48 hours with my Jewboo.
Yes, this pleases me. It’s hard being in an LDR, Brooklyn-to-Harlem style!

Of course, I’ll give you a wedding recap when I return. I think that after the wedding goes off without a hitch and everyone’s happy, I can write about my experiences being in nature without being misconstrued as hateful.


* Not sure which is scarier—inspiring it or being alive to see the release of a 6th Saw film.

Family Matters

Happy Friday, y'all!

So, I'm taking this summer Friday and heading off to PA, to visit Jewboo's parents. I could barely sleep last night, which is nothing new given my anxiety levels. But I realized, as I jumped up and got everything done this morning, that maybe I wasn't anxious as much as excited. I love visiting the 'rents; middle-aged Jews hold a special place in my heart (probably all those years of private school), and Jewboo's parents think I'm the next best thing since sliced challah. Nothing makes me feel like a vital contributor to the human race quite like Papa Jewboo telling me I'm a "catch."
It's also really nice to get out of the city and get the scent of homeless-man urine out of my nostrils.

Today is almost a year to the day that I first met the parents. As some of you may recall, that was certainly a trial by fire, as I ended up in the ER within 12 hours of arriving. (Learn from my mistake, ladies: Always use the vaginal suppository.) Although I was mortified for days, the upside of that hot mess was that the standards for a "good visit" are pretty low--as long as I don't end up hospitalized or lose the ability to breathe, we'll all have a gay ol' time!

Have I mentioned that Jewboo's mom makes me nervous? She's not mean or anything, she's just kinda quiet and doesn't really have patience for bullshit. Yes, okay, she's a strong black woman in a white candy coating, and for that I love her--but I also feel this need to "crack" her. With robotic, straight-faced, non-emotive folks, there's always a part of me that wants to be the one to make them laugh. I want to get a serious guffaw. I want to get a thigh slap and a gasp for air outta this woman! But of course, as with any relationship, too much wanting makes for creepiness and awkwardness.

I'm trying to play it cool and just chillax. I'll let you know how it goes, though. Wish me luck!

xoxo,
blacktress!!

On the Last Day of BHM, My True Love Gave to Me….

The chance to finally be FREE!!!

Hello internet friends!!!

I write to you now with a feeling of levity and freedom that can only come from working for one’s rights. After being bombarded with black mama drama Friday and Saturday, I had to end the pain. Her e-mails were legen—wait for it—dary*, and although this may incite drama, I can’t help but mine the molten earth of mom-induced guilt to reveal the comedy gold that is the following piece of advice she offered in an email.:
It's about an image, a brand. If you're doing voice over about baby stuff they don't want your name and vagina being associated with that.
MY NAME AND VAGINA!!!!!!

I swear, Mama Bear is hilarious.

“Sojourner, how could you just put your mom on blast after the drama of which you speak?” you may be wondering.

Well, gentle readers, not only did Mama Bear say I could blog about her (tender quote: … you can talk about me all that you want. That was the funniest. LOVE MOM ), but just minutes ago I created a new email account for this site, changed my username, AND instructed robots not to crawl to the site—resulting in a full-name search that comes up with NOTHING INCRIMINATING!!! (Well, until Google caches out)

Guys, do you know what this means???

It means I can blog with confidence, knowing that anything I say can’t and won’t be used against me in a court of law!
Well, unless some potential employer decides to start googling “Blacktress”—in which case, they got what’s comin’ to them.

What I do on my own time under my alias is, to quote the great rappers Salt ‘n’ Pepa, none of their business!



If I want to write a blog / about some dirty dog—it’s none of your business!
If I wanna spend my work day / talkin' 'bout what's cray cray -- it's none of your business!
A boss shouldn't even get into / who I'm givin' skins to -- it's none of your business!
etc.

With the monkey off my back, I can now fill you in on the other anxiety-inducer of the last few days: Jewboo’s birthday!!

I planned a surprise party for him that was unlike anything I’d ever undertaken. I reached out to 3 friends of his from out of town and arranged for them to come in to the city. The plan was this:

6pm – Arrive at Jewboo’s house.
6:30pm – long-time childhood best friend arrives. Jewboo is shocked and moved. They proceed to bro-out until it’s time to go to dinner.
7:30 – We go to dinner with friend, roommate, and another improviser—a nice Thai place in the neighborhood.
7:45 – We arrive at restaurant and find TWO OF JEWBOO’S GRAD SCHOOL FRIENDS!!!
7:46 – Jewboo weeps with joy. They proceed to catch up and hold each other close. I become best friends with the black lesbian with the locks from the ATL.
9:00pm – Other friend leaves dinner to “stop by a coworker’s party”—which is really going to the bowling alley to put our names down for a lane.
10pm – we arrive at bowling alley, where other friends are waiting!! SURPRISES!
Jewboo can no longer contain it. In front of everyone in the bar, he announces his plans to marry me. Just then, a writer from Comedy Central offers him a job—writing for the TV show they’re going to offer me. “Any woman who can plan a party like this is someone I want to get behind!” the hipster-y producer says, holding his monocle (ironically, of course).

Everyone rejoices and we stumble home at 2am, drunk on love and accomplishment.

Okay, I might have planned a little too much. But it really went well. He had no idea anyone was coming (although his emotional repression prevented the weeping I’d hoped for), and even though bowling was a bust (a 4-hour wait for a lane—wtf?!), we went to a random divey bar and dominated the jukebox. His out-of-town friends stayed til the end, and when his parents visited the next day, I received many accolades. I think my favorites were:
“You have the best girlfriend ever.”
“You put up with our son; the least we can do is give you a ride to the subway.”
[Bless these chosen people for getting me out of Greenpoint in 15 minutes flat.]

Considering this was the first time I ever had a boyfriend with a birthday**, I think I did pretty damn good.

Blacktress out!


*(h/t Barney Stinson/NPH—aka, Heterosexuality’s Greatest Loss)
**they’ve all been genetically engineered.

Food For Thought

I know that many of you don’t know me IRL, so any talks of physical appearance will probably fall flat. Basically, I have gained about 14 pounds in the last year, largely because I stopped drinking to feel pretty and instead eat to feel social. I’ve been trying to nip it in the bud ever since Thanksgiving, but to no avail. My therapist has advised I keep a food diary, so that I can see what and why I’m eating like a crazy person.
I already know it’s because I’m on FATkins, not Atkins: Last weekend I ate French toast for both brunch and dinner; I’m a hot mess. But I decided to go with the doctor’s orders just to straighten myself out a bit. Here’s an excerpt for all you lovely readers who might know what it’s like to eat your feelings.

February 15, 2011


Dear Food Diary,

How are you doing? I can’t believe it’s been, like, 4 days since I’ve written in you. I’m sorry about all those nasty things I said about you—you know, that you were useless, annoying, and judgmental. I also feel kinda bad about staining your pages with my tears.
Anyway, here’s what I’ve eaten recently. So, last night Jewboo came over for Valentine’s Day, and I made dinner.

We had:
chicken (thinly sliced breasts) in a mushroom and balsamic sauce
with a side of pesto pasta (angel hair)
a mixed green salad
and cheesy garlic bread.
For dessert we had heart-shaped brownies (I know, I know, Diary--I’m such a sap!!) with ice cream.

Oh, and did I mention that for V-Day Jewboo got me a pint of red velvet cheesecake ice cream? Yeah, um, that happened. Look, Diary, it’s not my fault! It was really thoughtful of him and I had to at least try it! I mean, what kind of gf would I be if I was like, “I can’t eat this. I’m on a diet”?

This is why you’re single, diary.

So, I was all set to be good today, but the RED DRAGON is upon me, and my uterus is aching. You know when the dragon comes he must be placated with sugar. And I would have been fine, but then my coworker brought in cookies. So today’s food has been:
1 biscotti
2 cups of tea
FOUR frosted cookies

I haven’t had anything else. I swear I’ll get a salad for lunch. Or maybe I’ll just have some more Advil. I don’t know. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, mmmkay?

Friday (Lack of) Focus

Hey y'all,

I'm a total bum today. I got all of 5 hours of sleep, after a night that was a mixture of shock, awe, and aaawwww. There were laughter, tears, and plenty of self-loathing. Let me explain:

So, Jewboo and I hadn't seen each other since Sunday, which ended in a terrible fight (basically, I'm a mentally unstable biatch--think Halle Berry in Introducing Dorothy Dandridge). I was seriously in the dog house, and after some brief phone chats during the week--and more than one visit to the Italian restaurant next to my job for eggplant parmesan sandwiches (food = love)--I was scared I was on relationship probation.

I was so scared, in fact, that I was nervous to see him. Add to that the fact that I was doing a set that night, and I had more butterfly in my stomach than Mariah Carey's 15th album. We met up around 6:30pm, and parted after seeing a mutual friend's show. The plan was for him to come stay at my place after my show--yay! Jewboo sleepover on a weeknight!

We held hands during the show, and I felt heartened. I went to my set downtown and in walked BCB, who was visiting from Sydney town--and she brought a Hollywood agent TO SEE ME!!
Seriously. She talked me up and dragged him downtown! He represents many famous actors and produces films--they met on a set where she was the stylist. He was really nice and thought I was funny, and even quoted one of my jokes back to me later in the evening!! I was having a total Sally Field moment.

The set went well, but the club was sparsely populated. I had a good time, though, and stayed afterwards to schmooze with the agent (obvi--gotta work it). I ended up staying out a bit too long, and jumped in a cab so that Jewboo wouldn't be waiting.

At 11:45 pm, while sitting in traffic on the West Side Highway and damn-near hyperventilating, I got a text from Jewboo. "I'm here, where are you?"

I was on Little West 12th street. For those of you outside of NYC, I live approximately 135 blocks away from 12th Street. We had quite a ways to go. For those of you not on the east coast or Midwest, it's currently 23 degrees in New York City. Needless to say, if I wasn't in the dog house already, I was certainly in it now.

I was in the cab freaking out--so much so that the taxi driver closed the partition to separate himself from the awkwardness. When we finally arrived at my place 20 minutes later, Jewboo limped up the block. He had gone to wait in the subway station, and his feet were so cold that they hurt. I tried not to make it about me--you know, looking to him to tell me it was okay. After all, it wasn't.

I simply opened the door, went up to get a hot bath going, and mellowed out.

You know how I know I want to marry him? He just looked at me as he sat on the bed and said, "I'm not mad. I'm just cold." And he meant it. And the fact is, if it had been me, he would have been dead to me. Like, done and done. The fact that he's so patient and understanding is a god send. I can't wait for him to put a ring on it.

Of course, I can't say this. So, instead, I made him an ecard:



They say an e-card is worth a thousand words. Is that true even when you have an 80-character limit?

Step Up 4 Realz

Happy Friday, Y’alls!

So, this past Tuesday was my berfday, and I am starting to feel the effects of another year. I had a decent day, primarily because I didn’t go to work. I woke up early, did some exercise, went to get my hair did, met mamadukes for lunch, and then we went to get our nails and toes done (like rapper Nelly, I too am a sucker for cornrows and manicured toes). I planned to share my beautification with Jewboo, with whom I was going to see Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson on the great Broadway! We were going with a really cute couple, Steven and Dan. Steven and I share the same bday, and he’s one of those ethnically ambiguous-looking Jews, which I heart (I love when people come up to them speaking Spanish).

The show was good (primarily because it starred Jeff Hiller, my spirit animal--who was kind enough to take us onto the set post-show!), but I was less then enthused by the time the lights went down. Before meeting up with Steven and Dan, Jewboo gave me my birthday present. He had been excited about it for several weeks, priding himself on ordering it early. Although I’d kept my excitement at a minimum, it kept all my blackting skills to act gracious when I unwrapped the package.

He’d bought me a copy of The Walking Dead Compendium. You know, the first 48 issues of the comic book--oh, I’m sorry, graphic novel--on which the series is based. I do love me some zombies, and I’ve been really into the tv show, so I sorta get where he was coming from with the gift idea.
Sorta.

The thing is, I do not like comic books. I have had no penchant for picture books since the age of 7. I have nothing against them, and I am aware that many adults read them, and they’ve apparently grown quite sophisticated and complex since Sojourner was a young truth-teller. Since dating Jewboo I have made more than a few trips to Midtown Comics so he could scope out the latest releases, and I found myself able to overlook the scent of Dr. Pepper and low self esteem and really see the patrons around me. They’re people, too.

But I simply don’t get comics. I never know what order in which I’m supposed to read the talk bubbles, and I get all confused. I just don’t know if I’m a visual thinker, because I see the pictures, and it’s like, “Ok. I guess that means he’s walking far.” It just doesn’t resonate.

I have often said this, which is why a 20-pound, 350 page comic as a gift was not only shocking, but mildly worrisome. Does he not know who I am? It’s not even that I wanted any particular thing. I would have greatly appreciated a free hot meal and a cupcake. I mean, I know he knows me, because he printed out and taped the following e-card to the front of the box:

(Yeah, we’ve been through a lot.)

So why the comic, y’all? Of course, it’s not even about the gift. I realized that I’ve been holding on to a lot of residual resentment, and when he couldn’t even Step Up for my birthday, it all came out. He got a job at Columbia, only 20 minutes away from where I live, and yet he hasn’t spent the night at my home since 10/23, often using the excuse that he doesn’t “have his stuff.”

Okay, now I get that we all have our routines, but as I stood in the drugstore buying products for him after 9 months of dating, I wondered if I should even be doing this. If he wants to stay with me, shouldn’t he get his own products?
I live alone, in a very nice place, with tons of on-demand channels, and yet I trek to Greenpoint more often than a Polish immigrant trying to get her paperwork translated. The only time he’s come over to my place since 10/23 is when he wanted to use my kitchen to shoot a web video. He, along with 6 other folks came over to my house on a Sunday night, took twice as long as was scheduled, and when he was leaving, all he had to say was “thanks,” after telling me that he had been upset with me for telling them to utilize the extras sooner rather than later.

I get that he’s busy, and I’ve been trying to be supportive, but as it gets colder and I try to walk the 20 minutes from the train to his house as quickly as possible, with every step I wonder why Jewboo won’t Step Up 2 Da Streets (of Harlem). Add to that the fact that I spent 8 months paying for things and have yet to be treated to anything since he got a job, and, you know, blacktress was about to get ghetto up in here.

So, after talking to everyone but him, we met for dinner and had a talk last night. I know he loves me, and perhaps I haven’t been as clear as I think (because it seems to obvious to me what he should do, I almost feel crazy having to break it down). I explained that I was disappointed in his lack of initiative, and had been trying not to fight, but was just not living up to my TRUTH. I told him that I understand he’s a procrastinator and has trouble making plans, but I needed him to Step Up 3-D —you feel me, ladies?

He took it well, and had a good think while we ate. It helped that I not only made a list of grievances, but the fancy-ass face wash I had to order online for him had arrived that day, and I had the UPS package in my purse. When he asked what it was, I quickly displayed my effort/his products. I had also visited good ol' Wikipedia and looked up the definition of “empiricism,” because my former-philosophy-professor of a Jewboo often responds to my emotional reactions with, “I just don’t think like that, because I’m an empirical guy.” So, with a firm definition of empiricism as a theory of knowledge which asserts the idea that knowledge arises via sense experience; the belief theories must be tested against observations of the natural world, rather than resting solely on a priori reasoning, intuition, or revelation, I explained not simply the way things made me feel, but the observations of his actions in the "natural world" of our REALationship.
I had to go deep into the male mind for this one, y'all. It required internet-study.

I explained the facts, and basically asked him if he felt my grievances were out of line. Honestly, if you can’t stand Sojourner’s truths, get out of the relationship kitchen!

He said they weren’t, and really felt bad about some behaviors. He also came at me with some of my own truths, noting that I tend to plan things to avoid disappointment, but as a result don’t give him the opportunity to take the reigns. So he hangs back, and then I feel like he’s not active. He had me there, y'all--with default emotions of sadness, anger, and fear, I can't help by try to control everything in an attempt to avoid those emotions. I love a man who can dish up a steaming hot bowl of TRUTH.

Okay, I’m done now. How y’all doing?

Guess Who's ENJOYING Dinner?!

Hey Guys,

Sorry for the delay. The slavedriver is cray cray this week, and I've been balls deep in work. For those who want to know, mom liked Jewboo!!

Yes, y'all! He had her cracking up the whole time, but wasn't being showy. He was being his weird, random self--you know, like referring to his delayed reaction to burning his mouth on a scallion pancake as similar to that of a brontosaurus (it takes a long time for signals to travel down its long neck)--and she actually thought he was, "cute, funny, and clearly intelligent, even though he's a bit quirky."

EXACTLY, MOM!!

When we talked hours later, she was still chuckling to herself thinking of his pun--DILBERT & Sullivan.

I kid you not. He stopped in the middle of dinner to break out his notepad and jot down the gem.

He was funny and nice and interested and managed to avoid political talk, yet openly asked me if I'd go to the comic book store with him after dinner, as though he had no reason to be ashamed of such an endeavor at the age of 31. I think his self-acceptance and honesty makes it so that you sorta have to roll with it, and the neurotic jewyness of it all makes you love it and want to feed a potato latke.

I think my mom is really excited that I have a boyfriend, especially now that he's gainfully employed. I also think she was a little jealous that I'd been to his parents' house twice, but I'd been keeping him away, because at the end of dinner she pulled out a wrapped Hannukah present! Yes, y'all. He unwrapped the blue-and-silver paper (natch) and laughed when he saw this:



"Do you get it?" my mother asked.
Yes, yes he did.

I really was quite impressed, seeing as the humor works on many levels. Former Daily Show correspondent Lewis Black is an angry ranting Jewish comic, much like Jewboo himself. Jewboo also loves The Daily Show, and said he'd never want a Christmas tree in his house (not even if I decorated it with blue and silver ornaments--I asked). He also loves to read because he's all former-adjunct-professor smarty-pants.

At the end of the night, I was so happy, it was Chronicles of Riddickulous! Not only did Andy think my mom was "funny and cool," and she thought he was "a good guy--but I don't know how long you can keep going to the comic store," but I think madukes and I are just a tad closer, now that I've let her in to my interracial love.

Okay, y'all, that's it for now. Gotta go back to pretending like I care about my job.

xoxo,
Blacktress

Dinner for Schmucks

Hey Gang,

My bad for the lag in blog posts. My brain was drowning in gravy, and I could barely string a sentence together—you know, except, “Pass me a crescent roll,” and “Oh god, why did I have apple pie for breakfast?” How was your holiday? I went to my mom’s house in the dirty Jersey, where we hosted 10 people! As you know, my mom has a Latin lover (who’s she’s been married to for 5 years, but I refuse to change his title). He’s got two 30-something year-old daughters, and both are married and have kids. The daughters are pretty chill, but their men are wack as all get out. One is super creepy and has a molestache, and the other supplements his income by driving an ice cream truck and is really competitive with his 7-year-old son. I knew we’d be in for a doozy of a day when my mom told me that they’d be bringing over fish and pork.

Um, this is America. I don’t think that we slaughtered the Indians for their salmon.

Anyhoozle, I cooked my favorite Thanksgiving staples, and proceeded to eat them all by Sunday. I hit a personal low earlier that day when I had not 1, not 2, but 5 crescent rolls with my morning meal. (God, I want to throw up in my mouth just thinking about it)
This, of course, has led to the Juice Fast of 2010.*
Before you get all up in arms and call the eating-disorder police on me, trust me when I say that this is a short-term thing. I honestly want to clean out my body from all the starchy sugary cheesy goodness that tasted great, but is probably lining my colon like a tacky ‘70s shag carpet. Prior to Turkey Day, I had be eating more sugary goodness than an oompa loompa, justifying it by reminding myself that I’ve stopped drinking, and just wouldn’t be human if I didn’t have at least one vice.
Next thing you know, my jeans are a bit too tight, and I start to fear that strangers on the subway, thinking I’m pregnant, will start to offer me their seats.
So far, it’s been rough, and I already cheated (a handful of nuts post “lunch” yesterday, and a small slice of leftover pie and ice cream post “dinner”—I thought it would be un-American to leave the last slice standing). However, even with these cheats, I did way less damage than I normally would.
I am, however, feeling really tired and my stomach hurts. My usual procrastination time has extended from 20 minutes per hour to the entire day. And I almost ripped my coworker’s throat out when he had the audacity to eat delicious-smelling leftovers for lunch yesterday.

Luckily, it won’t last too long. In fact, I will be forced to eat tomorrow night, when I go to dinner with Mom and Jewboo. Yes, y’all. And it’s on the first night of Hannukah, no less!

The time has come for Jewboo to meet my Claire Huxtable-esque Antoine Dodson-Ludacris-loving mom.
This is big.
I haven’t had many boyfriends, and no hot mess of a hook-up was meeting my mom, obvs. Jewboo is the first man worth presenting since Clinton was in office y’all! His parents have been quite welcoming to a blacktress, evening sending him home from Thanksgiving with a souvenir from a recent trip and a birthday present for me! This has been really crucial for the growth of our love, because Jewboo is very attached to his fam.
I, on the other hand, am not so much.
I mean, it was just me and my mom for most of my life, and I know she’s got my back, but we have really never been close-close in my adulthood. I don’t really tell her my business unless it’s impersonal, like whether or not to apply for a certain job, or if my taxes are done properly. I’d never tell her if I liked someone or if I was stressed or anything.
Which means that any person I present to her is a BIG DEAL. It’s so rare, the dude MUST be special. And, if he is important, ma-dukes is going to “do me the service of scrutinizing him carefully and taking an impartial view that I am not privy to because of my emotions.” In other words, “I’m gonna put him on the stand like I do the drug-addicted parents in my courtroom every day. “

I’m nervous for Jewboo, although much less so now that he’s employed and works under a strong black woman (making him better equipped to deal with mom). I love him dearly, but this is just such foreign territory for me. People often assume that, as the mother of a blacktress, my mother is bubbly and funny and chill—this is not the case. She’s straightforward, and has no patience for “foolishness.” To aid in the interview process, I’ve prepared a list of talking points for both parties:

1. Barack Obama—is he a mensch or what? (cross-cultural appeal!)
2. Kwanzaa—the black people’s Hannukah?
3. “You ain’t no Challah back girl!” aka “I see where Naomi gets her good looks and brains.” (flattery will get him everywhere).
4. “So, you’re a lawyer for the city, huh? I bet there’s a lot of baby mama drama going on there!”
5. “What do your parents do, where did you go to school, and what are your intentions for my daughter?”

It’s sure to be a good time, guys—if only because I’ll be eating solid foods.

*hash tag JF2K10

Young, Gifted, and BACK

Guys, I come to you now with my tail between my legs and my head hung in shame. I haven’t blogged in so long, you’d think I wasn’t an insecure narcissist whose primary form of procrastination was writing ramblings on the internet.

Since I last posted, there have been many changes afoot—I don’t even know where to begin!

1. On Friday, October 29th at 6:34pm, Jewboo called to tell me he GOT A JOB!!!
Yes, y’all!!! He’s got a sweet temp-to-perm gig at Columbia University! For those of you who don’t know, Columbia’s located in Harlem, which means that not only has Jewboo solved the “I’m broke-ass” problem, he’s also helped alleviate the “I love on the G train” issue! Other pluses to this new employment:
- Jewboo’s entire staff consists of strong black women and a black man named Junior. Our 8 months of dating have trained him perfectly for dealing with a strong black woman—and, should his superiors be prone to outbursts and mood swings, he will be able to respond by asking them if they are in “food distress.”
- When the gig goes permanent, Jewboo will be making 25% MORE THAN ME. Seriously. As an administrative assistant. It really makes me wish I hadn’t gone into debt going to a liberal arts university when managing an Outlook calendar is where the money is.
- With this newfound money, Jewboo can begin purchasing me foodstuffs of the baked variety. I’m ‘bout to get myself mad cupcakes, y’all!
- My mother can stop telling me that I need to “use this one as a back-up; don’t get attached.”

2. So, for Halloween, I decided to go as “slutty Condoleeza Rice,” complete with cheap corset purchased from H&M and a headband with a top hat. I was definitely a tramp, but luckily, my party of choice was a bunch of gays in a high school gymnasium in Chelsea. It was kind of amazing. The drag queens brought out their A game, and they actually taught me how to—

UGH, God, my fucking coworker keeps interrupting me, and I can’t get a blog in edgewise! He’s being such a fucking shunt*, and I having been wanting to cut him for days. My hatred has gotten so intense that Saturday night I dreamt we got into a fist fight. I wish he’d just never talk to me again—or only communicate with me via email. He’s just so damn….detail-oriented and “wanting to get your thoughts on” things that it just bothers the shit out of me. I swear to fucking god, I can’t handle being here.
*that’s Australian for “shitty cunt”

Okay, rant complete. Where was I?
Oh, right, HallowQUEEN. (How did I just start calling it this now???)
So, I’m dancing to remixed versions of every pop song I’ve ever known (when you speed up “Umbrella,” Rihanna sounds even more like a chipmunk than usual), in my trampy outfit, hanging out with two members of my BLONDtourage (white girls are excellent safety nets on nights when the crazies are out), when a guy crosses behind us to put is coat in a corner.

I freeze. My stomach twists in a figure-eight knot.
No, it isn’t one of the many former lovers I’ve had.
It was MY BOSS!!!

Yes, y’all! My boss was at the HallowQueen party, and decided to plant 4 centimenters from a blacktress! I immediately alerted the blondes and made sure to text my nearest and dearest. Jewboo’s response: “Isn’t yer boss a drag queen?” as though I shouldn’t have been at all surprised. One of the gals I was with was convinced he must have seen me, since he’d crossed several times to drop off his coat, go back to pull out his wallet and phone, and then go back to put something else in his pocket.

“Do you think he’d recognize me in this outfit?!”
I tried to continue dancing non-chalantly, but the night lost its luster. I wasn’t ready to be caught out dressed like a tramp by the man who signs my checks. I walked over to my bag to put my cell away when he turned towards me. I used my collapsible fan as a face shield (just like Condi would do), but it was a wrap.

Michael just looked at me, rolled his eyes and laughed, and said, “I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”

I swear, I’m only having former drag queens as bosses from now on.



Okay, there’s much more to report, but I gotta get back to work before the shunt comes over with another request. I’m glad I broke the block, y’all—how you been?

Obituary

OBITS

It is with a heavy heart that I inform you that Paul, the octopus who "predicted" the winners of eight World Cup matches, died this morning.
Known for his uncanny ability to pick mussels out of boxes with flags on them (note: mussels are one of an octopuses favorite meals), Paul lived a very full life in his just two-and-a-half years, even becoming an honorary citizen of the Spanish town of Carballino. His favorite television show was "Two and a Half Men."



How will we know who'll win the next cup? How will we know if Jewboo is going to call me back?! He said he'd call, Paul. He gave me a kiss on the mouth with just a hint of tongue--but maybe he was turned off my this morning's email, which said "I got my period!! Yay!" He said he'd call! I'd been waiting for your response to my query for days, and now you're too dead to tell me!!!

Unfortunately, Paul had no wife, as most octopussies found him to be a bit of a media whore. (Known for scouring the ocean's depths, most octopuses aren't a fan of the limelight.) His life in captivity also means he had no children. He is survived by his agent, Chris Davies. "It's a sad day," Davies said. "Paul was rather special but we managed to film Paul before he left this mortal earth."

Wait, how did an octopus get an agent, and a blacktress can't even get a walk-on on 30 Rock?

Columbus Wouldn’t Have Wanted it This Way

Hey gang! It feels good to be blogging again. Hell, after my weekend, it feels good to be showered and not reeking of menthol again! Yes, my boofaces (can I call you my boofaces?), I was sick, sick, sickie all weekend. It began Wednesday night with a scratchy throat. I came in to the plantation on Thursday, although I definitely had my fair share of daytime cold medicine. By Friday morning, all bets were fucking off, as I was feverish, every part of me ached, and I wanted nothing more than to sleep, but couldn’t breathe through my nose. My entire weekend was a wash, and I was too mad to have to cancel a hosting gig, miss a great networking opportunity, and generally lose the me-time the weekends allow. Not even the joy of "The Next Karate Kid" and "Sleepwalkers" coming on TV (I didn't have to Netflix them!!!) could brighten my spirits. I spent most of the sunny, warm weekend in my house wearing a turtleneck and sweatpants under the covers and hacking up a lung.

Yes, gross.

Although I wasn’t feeling great, I was definitely better by Sunday night, and vowed to come to work Monday morning. After all, I’d already missed one day, and there was so much to do. We hadn’t gotten Columbus Day off, but a few people would be out, so I could work in relative quiet/not scare anyone off with my mucus. It was, however, a struggle to get up and out, and even the shower water was a shock to my delicate system. I got in to work a bit early, and my self-congratulatory smugness was definitely spilling over into the unoccupied cubicles. I checked my emails and kept looking around—I’d had to unlock the elevator and the gate, but I love being the first one in. It was, however, already after 9 and no one was here. Weird.

Finally, at 9:30, my massa came to my desk. I went to say hello, but the intake of breath resulted in a coughing fit. When it had subsided, he said, “I didn't want to call you at home, but I gave everyone the day off today and said they didn't have to make it PTO [paid time off]".
OH HELL TO THE NO!!!

Let me get this gay: I dragged myself out of bed with my whooping cough to do work, and you gave everyone the day off? And, not only did I deprive myself of much-needed rest, but it could have been avoided if you or anyone else on staff had thought to call or email my ass?????
I can’t take this shit, y’all. Not only have I still not been given the raise I was promised OVER 5 MONTHS AGO, they now don’t even want to put me on the fucking office phone tree????
As fellow freedom writer Scribe put it, “your boss is the cuntiest ass in the history of assholes.”
Her words are like poetry—angry, vulgar, TRUTH poetry.

Y’all, I’m about to snap like a fucking Lifetime movie heroine. With a 9-5 like this, I see why J. Love ended up becoming a prosti-mom!

I’ve been trying to really let go of my rage, but this really was the cherry on the pie of a crap weekend. Do you know Jewboo is so damn dense and selfish that he didn’t even come see a blacktress once while she was bedridden—we haven’t seen each other in 6 days! Homey was like, “Well, if you need something, I’ll come…” Um, what I fucking need is a man who doesn’t have to be shamed into behaving properly. Jewboo is on thin ice. That behavior after 7 months and a key to the pad is just out of fucking order. He’s not dead to me yet, but he’s definitely in a coma and I’m putting his stuff on eBay just in case.

I’m feeling slightly better today, and downing OJ and tea like it’s my job—you know, one that actually pays me.

How y’all doing?

I'm a Bad-Ass Shiksa Dipped in Chocolate Sauce!*

(*courtesy of my she-ro, Aisha Tyler)

Hey Friends,

I’m back from my latest voyage INSIDE CAUCASIA: Judaism Addition. Starvation actually went pretty well, and things with me and the Jewboo are all good. In fact, yesterday, at approximately 1:41pm, Jewboo and I took our relationship to the next level—it’s on facebook! Yes, y’all. The world knows—including randoms I met abroad, my cousins I don’t like to talk to, and my former camper at the 92nd Street Y who we affectionately referred to as “Hanna Banana.”

I know this isn’t a big deal in today’s facebook.com/facebookthemovie world we’re living in, but I’ve never had the confidence—or the closeness—in a relationship to go public. I never wanted it out there because, you know, just in case we broke up, I could do it without embarrassing myself in front of the whole world. But, you know, after the second visit to the parents’ house (in which I didn’t end up hospitalized—yay!), after fasting for a day out of solidarity, I realized that no sort of pill will get rid of this jungle fever!!!
Oh, and some little tramp was trippin’ and I had to let her know what was up.
Let me explain.
So, Jewboo and I are sitting and breakfast and his mom and dad are around. I told them how he’d changed his profile pic the night before to one of the shots we took after dinner. He then casually goes, “It’s good because now it’ll keep randoms from messaging me.”
“What random?” I said, like a Tyler Perry character trying desperately to reign it in. I know his parents are down with the brown (dad even saw me in my head wrap!), but they may not be ready for some attitude.
“Some girl emailed me after a show.”
Apparently, this happened a week or so ago and he didn’t want to tell me “because I knew you’d freak out.”
Fair enough
“Did you write her back?” I said calmly and sanely.
“Yeah. I didn’t say anything, though.”
We head upstairs to get ready and I let my hair down, so to speak. I wasn’t really angry, but I just needed to know the details so my mind didn’t blow it out of proportion.
First of all, the girl was a tiny Jewess who does comedy (my rival!) and when I saw her email (“Hey, You were really funny last night,” blah blah blah I AM A TRAMP”) in the words of Whitney, I was like, “HELL TO THE NO!”
With him right next to me, I changed my status, cause clearly these girls need to know what’s up. I’m up in suburbia fasting and cracking up the guests with Matisyahu jokes, and trying my best to entertain his monosyllabic cousins—to quote one of the greatest R&B songs of our time, “The Boy is Mine.”

Of course, immediately after changing the status, I worried that I pressured him into it, and had to really make sure I wasn’t acting out of fear or manipulation. I realized I wasn’t, but was worried that finally going public after a good 6-month run would be the kiss of death –you know, like when Marisa Tomei won the supporting actress Oscar for “My Cousin Vinny” and then couldn’t get a job for, like, a decade.

Anyway, things are really good, and I think fasting—although his parents insisted it was not necessary—put me further in everyone’s good graces. I met a lot of people, and it was very strange to be introduced as “my girlfriend,” but, then again, I’m not used to anything remotely normal, so this isn’t surprising. His dad actually said, at dinner, “it’s no secret that we’ve loved you from day one, but we were so glad everyone had a chance to meet you.”
WE’VE GOT SOME SERIOUS FAMILY TIES GOING ON HERE.

Some fun facts I learned during this latest inside trip inside Caucasia :

1. A large dinner of pasta AND a full-sized cupcake won’t do anything to ward off hunger pains the next day. Fasting is fasting, and food doesn’t work like rollover minutes.
2. It doesn’t count as breaking the fast if I take my birth control pill and antidepressant. a. The fact that these are my daily necessities is kind of sad.
3. Sitting in synagogue with an empty stomach is a recipe for inappropriate napping. When you’re a black shiksa, you’ve already got 2 strikes and need to stop the eyelids from drooping!
4. Apparently a strong Jewish woman and a strong black woman are very similar. Jewboo’s mom and I like all the same television shows. A chat about True Blood led to her lending me the entire series of Sookie Stackhouse novels. You know you’re in it for real when mom is giving you literature.
5. Whitefish salad on a bagel is DELICIOUS (who knew?!)
6. Black people still make some White people uncomfortable. (Some folks were not ready for a blacktress up in the synagogue! They hid it fairly well--except for the kid who pointed at me and whispered to his dad during the service)