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)
   

Celebratin' YK 2K10

Hey gang!!

So, I’ve been doing this new thing where I get to the plantation an hour early (and promptly fuck around online), just so I can get a moment’s peace (as my grandmother would say) before the massa and annoying coworkers get here, all up in my George Foreman, demanding my time. The last three weeks have been beyond cray cray, with one of the main editors out because his wife just had twins, our art director transferred to Colorado, and New Massa generally being unpredictable, dramatic, and demanding. I think the highlight was when I got to my desk after Labor Day weekend and saw a postcard on my desk. The picture on the card was of 6 drag queens in a forest on Fire Island. On the back my boss had written:
"Found this card in the local grocery store on the island. Can you guess which one is yours truly?"
Yes, yes I can. The one in light-pink taffeta.
Of course, I love a gay visionary, and if he wasn’t so bitchy and untrustworthy, I’d be in love.

Although the plantation is beating down on me like the hot Mississippi sun, I am pleased to report that things with Jewboo are beyond tender. This past Saturday was our 6 month-aversary, and he took it to the next level by giving me the key to his APARTMENT!!! Um, this is out of control. I have a key to the crib. Granted, a blacktress isn’t liable to be jetting back-and-forth to Greenpoint, Brooklyn, but this means that I can officially be his Urkel, rocking up unexpectedly whenever I want to. This is so perfect for my stalker tendencies.

We look so much alike, y'all. Trust me. It's uncanny.

In addition to giving me the key (a move that is straight out of an episode of Grey’s Anatomy), he’s also making me a mix CD, and rumor has it (from his roommate) that it’s TWO DISCS. Um, I think we all know how I feel about making a mix tape for a lover. It’s so real. And since he’s basically a real-life version of the main character in Nick Hornby’s book “High Fidelity,” I know this is equally important to him.

So, some of you may be thinking, “Um, Sojourner, this is a key and some music—you need to be cool.” To those of you, I say: stop hating on me like Willow Smith; if you’ve been a long-time reader, you know I’ve been through some man hell and we need to praise black Jesus for the little things! And if music and keys don’t move you, how’s about this:

This Friday, at 5:30pm, I board a bus bound for Reading, Pennsylvania, where I will spend the weekend celebrating YOM KIPPUR!!!!

Blacktress is about to Jew it up, y’all!!! For those of you who don’t know, let me copy and paste from good ol’ Wikipedia:
Yom Kippur, also known as the Day of Atonement, is one of the holiest days of the year for Jews. Its central themes are atonement and repentance. Jews traditionally observe this holy day with a 25-hour period of fasting and intensive prayer, often spending most of the day in synagogue services.

Yes, y’all. A lot of my friends are saying this is serious, since Yom Kippur is such a holy day. I must say I’m a bit nervous. According to the Internet, not only can I not eat or drink (not even water!) for 24 hours, I can’t even apply lotions!
Jewboo is about to have a blacktress hungry and ashy up in the suburbs!
I have no idea how I’m supposed to make a good impression under such circumstances. When I don’t eat, I get grumpy as hell, y’all. When I’m dry, I feel unpretty, like TLC. Add to that the fact that I gotta sit up in synagogue for the afternoon and I gotta wonder—are these really the chosen people???

Look at this oil painting from 1878. These peeps look hungry and tired as all get-out. Everyone's leaning on stuff for survival, trying to make it through with their low blood sugar. Matisyahu's standing over the guy with the Talmud (is that what it is? I have no idea), too tired to appropriate hip-hop culture. It's looking bleak.

I’m freaking out about what to wear, and have no idea what food I should bring for dinner on Saturday night, when we break the fast. I even emailed his sister with an SOS, and am waiting for her advice. I’m hoping I can live-tweet the entire experience. Look for the hash tag: #YK2K10 on twitter.com/blacktress!

It’s cool, not trying to put a rush on you…

But I gotta let you know that I got a crush on… well, not you, this other dude.

Guys, I am totes crushin’ like a 14 year old. There’s this actor who was, like, made for me. FOR ME.

He is 6’4”, he has red hair (holla at a genetic anomaly!), and he is so pasty pale that he is damn near translucent.

He is so lacking in pigment that he appears to have no eyebrows or eyelashes – how does he fight off debris?! What about sweat?! He’s a medical marvel, and I must now how he survives. Maybe’s he’s one of the X-Men or something.

His skin is like porcelain, and looks as soft and smooth as vanilla pudding.
His hair is the color of honey and strawberry jam mixed together
His eyes are as blue as the ocean and the sky - no, the horizon line, where the ocean and sky meet

I am going on about his physical appearance because I have yet to speak to him for more than 2 seconds.
I met him through a mutual friend a couple months ago, and he seemed kinda cold, but this could be because our friend put me on blast, mentioning that when he and I first met, I hugged him and proclaimed, “you will be my winter spoon.” It wasn’t quite the impression I’d hoped to make, but I shook it off.

But I couldn’t get him off of my mind.
I think I know how Bella must have felt the first time she saw Edward.

This past weekend, a friend of mine told me she ran into this same redhead at a party and he referred to me as “a beautiful black woman.” HOLY SHIT.

Needless to say, the flame was rekindled.

I saw him last night at a party, and he was looking as good as ever, all pasty and piercing, with those eyes of his. It would have been a great time to walk up and say hello, now that I was armed with the knowledge that he was down with the brown. However, I was held back by the fact that, whenever I’m surrounded by improvisers, actors, and/or comedians, I become mildly autistic, painfully self-conscious, and my tongue turns to lead. Add that the fact that I wasn’t drinking, and you pretty much have me at the age of 13.

So, instead of re-introducing myself, saying hello, or complimenting him on his show like the strong black woman that I am, I just stared at him longingly/mildly creepily at random moments. This didn’t really bother me at first, because I know deep in my heart that I don’t need to date anyone at all right now, and if I never speak to him, he can never fail me (we all know how I emo I get when things don’t go well).

But after a while I realized that I was basically eye-fucking the poor pasty chap without consent, and the ultimate closure would be to speak to him and realize that he’s racist or something equally deal-breaking so I could stop idealizing. So, in an attempt to close the chapter on what was becoming my own personal Twilight, I told my friend about my crush and asked him what I should do. I believe my exact phraseology was, “How can I get in with ___? And by ‘get in with,’ I don’t mean his P in my V as much as a real conversation.” His advice was threefold:
-Mention Guns N Roses
-Tell him you’re Jewish
-Play with his elbow skin.


The last one was a mockery of my personal penchant for pinching elbow skin (weird, I know. Accept it.), and was just another way to set me up for embarrassment. Based on the first two suggestions, however, it would seem that so far my crush and I have absolutely nothing in common. This won’t stop me from an introduction, though. I’m thinking:
“When I was a little girl in Addis Ababa – I’m an Ethiopian Jew – I remember seeing Guns and Roses on the MTV VMA’s in 1992. Slash’s solo…. Am I right?”

I don’t know anything about said solo, but I’ll let him fill in the blank and get the ball rolling. A conversation is, after all, a two-way street… one that you pave over and construct manipulative roadblocks on to lead the driver (your crush) into the tunnel of LOVE.

I mean, whatever. It's just (just) a little crush (crush) - not like I faint every time we touch.
If you don't know what that line is from, let me take you back to the late 90s, friend.