I am Scott Bakula. And Frodo Baggins.

Blacktress' log, star date 21 April 2009.

I am finally back in the blogsphere. I'm sorry it's taken me so long, but seriously, guys, it's been hard getting my energy up. I feel like Quantum Leap's Scott Bakula, having shuttled through time, with a flight at 10am on Wednesday, landing in LA at 6am on Wednesday, and then getting to NYC at 6:20 on....THE SAME WEDNESDAY.
I am from the future.

Okay, maybe I'm not as cool as Scott Bakula--Sam? Can I be Sam?

It is now 12:45am on Tuesday morning and I have more energy than the hyped-up gremlins on my flight from Sydney to NYC.

Seriously. I'd like Qantas to rethink its new "Kids Fly Free" promotion. My plane ride was like a fucking Gymboree.

I'm really quite cracked out. After nice, low-key goodbye drinks Tuesday night in Sydney, I decided the best way to ensure that I slept on the plane (and didn't leave behind any of my stuff) would be to stay up all night. This plan was foolproof, as not sleeping often makes people fatigued. And sitting in an air-o-plane for 15 hours leaves little to do besides sleep.

I forgot that I find it impossible to sleep with a stranger only 2 millimeters away from me.
This left me with ample time to watch such films as: The Changeling, Rachel Getting Married, In Bruges, and Four Christmases.
Yes, Four Christmases.
I'll post some erudite film reviews soon.

I got home Wednesday at 7pm NYC-time to find that my uncle and his 4 children were staying with us until Saturday.
No, no one bothered to tell me in advance.

I wondered if Qantas had some promotion with my house--"kids fly free to Harlem" or something.

I know it's family, but seeing as I'd been on an aircraft for 22 hours and hadn't slept in 2 (maybe 3?) days, I wasn't in the mood for surprise guests.
I was even less in the mood to take all four children to the Museum of Natural History on Friday--which I had to do.
My 12-year-old cousin thought it was hysterical when I fell asleep standing up for a second and almost fell over the railing onto the elephant exhibit below.
The 7-year-old thought it was a great idea to take his dad's digital camera and then make me chase him around the dinosaur skeletons.
At some point during our outing I ducked into the women's restroom and tied my own tubes.

Friday evening, my plans to sleep were broken by the most exciting event ever--a surprise party FOR ME!! Can you imagine? My dreams of mauling my mates like Christian the lion came true, as the small but solid contingent rolled up to everyone's favorite West Village spot, 99 Below, for a "Welcome BLACK" party. I stayed up til 3am, feeling happy to be home for the first time.

My buzz was killed when, on Saturday afternoon, I called up the Weasley twin and learned that he is seeing someone in Canada.
Oh h to the no!
And, the best part--I had to ASK HIM if he was with someone! Can you imagine if I'd rocked up the Canadian tundra with fresh-baked brownies and the cutest outfit ever, only to be introduced to Sarah, boring girl who likes to climb trees?

I played it breezily enough on the phone (after all, I AM a blacktress), but I'm still a bit shaken by the whole thing--mostly feeling embarrassment. I mean, how do you have me come meet your parents, pack your damn suitcase (rollin' up your man-panties and everything!), and within 6 weeks in Canada find someone that you're WITH???
Clearly, he didn't appreciate me. I think I'm starting to understand why New York has her contestants sign a "blood oaf." (more on that here)
And on the phone, he had the nerve to chat like we're friends, even asking me if I met someone on my travels.
Wtf?! Look, mate, we are NOT mates.
I'm trying really hard to break the cycle, but sweet jesus, how many love-corpses must I leave strewn across this globe? This is actually getting to ri-goddamn-diculous!

Sorry. You can tell by my excessive use of italics that the wound is still fresh.

Perhaps, if I truly wanted to maintain the upper-hand and hoped for him to think that it was his loss, I shouldn't have put up this pic of me during my "Lord of the Rings" tour in New Zealand on the interwebs:

Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me????

Answering the Unanswerable Question

And that question is, “Why hasn’t he called me? Why? WHY?!”

This is a question I’ve asked myself many a-time, as I’ve traversed this dangerous NYC dating scene. Some of my favorite reasons have been:

“Maybe he’s in the midst of moving”
– Brandon Welch, aka “The Alabama Slamma”*

“He’s probably just busy doing some charcoal sketches”
– Me, to myself

“Maybe he’s gay.”
– any gay I’ve ever asked.

“Cause he’s a loser, that’s why”
– this response often makes me happy.

“Because he lives in Australia”
– everyone with a brain.

*Note: Only I call him this.

While all of these responses are apt, I must say that I received the best answer yet from one of my soul sisters, just moments ago. As I was plagued by insecurity and self-doubt, her sweet tale filled my inbox--and my heart--with hope. It was lyrical, poignant, and touching—and I think I will make it into a picture book. Here it is:

once upon a time there was a beautiful blacktress who lived in a harsh and unforgiving city. from time to time, the blacktress would wander out in search of not prince charming, but just a decent peasant boy with the gift of height and the inclination to cuddle. but she often lost her way in the illusion of romance, and was scarred by the thorns of love. finally she had had enough, and vowed to renounce her quest for a suitable gentleman. free of the burden of expectations, she frolicked through the meadows happily, singing with the bluebirds. suddenly, she came across a wandering minstrel. "o fair maiden", said he, "please allow me to entertain you with my witty banter and lute-playing." she was charmed, and not unimpressed with his stature. despite her vow, she agreed to spend the evening with the minstrel, where he regaled her with improbable tales of joining the circus and appearing on prime time television. he shared with her food and drink, and there was much merry-making.

This is a black fair maiden. I had to draw one my damn self, cause you KNOW they don't have that on the interweb!

at the end of the evening, she returned to her castle, pleased that she had had such an unexpected and agreeable experience. she woke up the next morning, feeling strangely optimistic about life and love. she couldn't help straining her ears for the soft melody of the lute, but all she heard was the familiar chirping of bluebirds. finally, wondering what had become of her minstrel, she set off to the meadow where they had first met, but alas! there was no sign of him. a cloud passed over the sun and the blacktress suddenly felt a shadow cross over her heart. the lute playing, the circus, the prime time television, had it all been a grand charade, and nothing more? if she couldn't promise her heart to a wandering minstrel, who could possibly be worthy of her love? in a moment, though, the sun reappeared, and she realized her own folly -- he was a wandering minstrel, after all! he had wandered into her life and then wandered out of it. she looked around and realized that she was none the worse off than she had been before she had come across him. the sky was still blue, the bluebirds were singing, and the meadows were calling to her.

EPILOGUE:

as it turned out, the minstrel had gotten picked up by the county sheriff for impersonating a clown in order to touch young children, and was thrown in the deepest darkest dungeon in the land, where he would spend the rest of his days composing odes to the blacktress that no one but the dungeon rats would ever hear. as ye sow, so ye shall reap.

Here is a rough forensic sketch done by olde tyme police of the wandering minstrel in question.

So, gentle readers, the lesson here is clear: The next time you are staring at your celly, willing it to ring or beep with textage, remember that he is probably a wandering minstrel, and has been arrested for pedophilia.

Internet Dating: Not Just for Pedophiles Anymore!

Okay guys, I'm not trying to, like, brag or anything, but I think I may be the hottest thing to hit the internet since the URL. Apparently, the gentlemen want to handle the truth, the whole truth, and nothing BUT the Sojourner Truth-- and they want to HANDLE WITH CARE!!

I have not had any real love connections, but after every encounter I have left young gentlemen callers feeling like smitten kittens-- and not once has anyone attempted to fondle or impregnate me! I consider this a success, seeing as the chances of meeting a crazy on the internet in New York are as likely as finding a piece of hay in a... haystack.

(We won't go into the awkward date with the 33-year-old Russian radiologist who read my palm and told me I was "passionate lover" and when discussing our love of desserts-- specifically chocolate brownies and vanilla ice cream-- he said "It's a dessert that represents you and me."

You may not past go. You may not collect 200 dollars. Only Sojo can make racially charged food-related puns.)

After my 3 dates over the last 2 days, I urge the world to surf the interweb of love (i think that's going to be the title of my first album), and offer some advice and tips.

MASTER THE LINGO

OMG, I'm LOL'ing so much I have to BRB!!!

There are even more abbreviations when it comes to electronic love searches. Here are some I've learned:

LTR = Long Term Relationship
(unfortunately, my initial confusion led to me sending alot of emails about Frodo Baggins and the shire)

BBW= Big-Boned Women
Let's be real, big girls need love, too!

SBF= Single Black Female
(this is often seen preceded by the phrase "SWM seeks..." Holla!)

WTF, D?!= What The Fuck, Dude?!
This isn't particular to internet dating posts. This is just something I write to fellows who send me nude photographs.

Obviously I'm all about the truth, so I don't support putting up a fake picture, lying about your interests, or living a gender lie. I know we all want to seem "open-minded" and "laid-back," but there's one thing positive thing I've learned from racists: it's best to lay your cards out on the table, so people know what you're about. If you tell me you don't get why black women are always snapping their fingers, I will know you're insane and never speak to you again.

Things I told potential suitors I was "about": writing, reading (because I can), red wine, the mingling of the races, ghetto booties, offensive humor, and apple pie.

As a result of my candor, anyone who lacks an interest in miscegenation, baked goods, female literacy, or trunks filled with junk will not write me. I have saved everyone time.

DOs and DON'Ts

DO NOT try to hold my hand 10 minutes into our date like you're trying to recreate that Boys and Girls Club logo.

DO dress like the kind of gal who'd be a lady on the street, but a freak in the bed. (Ludacris is a misunderstood poet. I call his the real Songs of Innocence and Experience)

DO NOT send a photo taken 7 years earlier at your sister's wedding, where you're in fancy clothes you never wear and lack the 20 pounds of beer belly you currently possess. You are not telling the Sojourner Truth.

DO have a list of questions handy. You will find that many internet lovers are kind and gentle, but they lack the social skills to hold a conversation for multiple minutes. Be prepared with tidbits and fun facts. I suggest bringing Snapple caps.

DO avoid back alleys, underpasses, and any other darkened crevices. There could be dementors lurking about.... OR HE COULD TRY TO KILL YOU!

DO NOT get physical with your internet lover too soon, no matter how hot he/she/ze may be.
Trust me, I know it can be difficult (especially when you're feeling hornier than a boy scout at camp after lights out..... I mean, that's not how I feel or anything..... um.... LOOK OVER THERE!)

DO NOT, no matter how desperate for traffic you are, mention the title of your blog or your blogging alias to an internet suitor. This will prevent you from writing with candor ever again. Seriously, ask Mr. W.