I came home from meeting idol/future life partner Augusten Burroughs last night and was semi-bummed out and also very hungry. I figured I could cure both of these ailments by purchasing ice cream and cookies, and then consuming them. As I headed to my crib from the store, a random on a bicycle said hello. Being a bitter New York City born-and-bred hag, clearly I ignored him. Moments later, he reappeared.
Random On Bicycle: Did my saying hello offend you?
Blacktress (rolling eyes): No, but you following me is now creeping me out.
ROB: I'm sorry. Can I get your name?
Blacktress: No.
ROB: Why not?
Blacktress (sighing): Please, leave me alone. I am not in the mood.
ROB: I just want to say hi.
Blacktress: Don't. I'm mean.
ROB: Mean people don't usually say they're mean.
Blacktress: I'm very self-aware.
ROB: Self-aware of what?
Blacktress: Um, myself.
ROB: You're not from New York, are you?
Blacktress: Yes, I am.
ROB: Harlem? You don't seem like it.
Blacktress: Um...
ROB: I'm from Harlem, too, on the East Side. I'm going over there now, to my aunt's house.
Blacktress: Well, you should get there now.
ROB: I'm gonna put up her curtains. Or drapes. One of those.
Blacktress: Well, you should hurry up.
ROB: With this thing [he gestures towards his bike.] it doesn't take any time.
There is a pause. Dude is still following me and we're mere steps from my door. I can't have him know where I live. My patience is beyond thin.
Blacktress: WHAT DO YOU WANT?
ROB: How about I give you my facebook or my information, and you can contact me.
Blacktress: No, I'm not going to do that.
ROB: Is because of how we're meeting.
Blacktress: Among other things, yes. But mostly cause I don't want to be bothered. I'm not in the mood for this foolishness.
ROB: Well then, why don't you let me contact you. Can I have your facebook?
Blacktress: NO!
[For some reason he finds my shouting endearing, and I'm getting more and more annoyed]
Blacktress: Look, I'm almost home, and I'd like you to stop following me. What can I do to get you to leave me alone?
ROB: Why don't you take my information.
Blacktress: Fine.
He gets off the bike, searches in his FANNY PACK for his business card. He then finds a pen. He flips the card over and begins to write.
Blacktress: This is taking too long. I've got ice cream in this bag and it's not going to eat itself.
ROB: I'm giving you my personal email. [beat] That's funny. I got ice cream at home, too. It's Tofutti.
Blacktress: Oh god, stop writing, I'm done.
ROB: It's dairy free.
Blacktress: I know what Tofutti is.
ROB: Did you have braces, or are your teeth naturally like that?
Blacktress: I had braces twice.
He laughs, as though I just said something hilarious.
ROB: I like your glasses, they're cute.
He hands me the card.
Blacktress: OK.
ROB: Can I get your name?
Blacktress: No.
ROB extends his hand for a handshake.
Blacktress: No.
ROB: No?
Blacktress: It's swine flu season. Can you please go now?
ROB: Ok. Looking forward to hearing from you.
He bikes away and I continue walking forward. I look back and see he's still going, going, gone, so I double back and head in my door.
Good lord, can't a blacktress just come home on a cold night and not be bothered by a man on a bicycle? I think you all know his business card is in the trash right now. Of course, I'm dying to hyperlink you to his website, but I can't risk him finding the site and then NEVER LEAVING ME ALONE!
Showing posts with label Potential Stalking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Potential Stalking. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
The Hunter Becomes the Hunted
I am on a search for Bindi Irwin.
As I work to warm up mamadukes to the idea of Australia and convince my bros and hos that I’m not making a foolish move for a guy, I’ve been answering a lot of questions for myself. Yesterday, while procrastinating on the plantation via g-chat, I spoke with one soul sister from another mister, who urged me to leave this hemisphere. Our convo went something like this:
L: You could hang out with Bindi. That could be fun.
Me: Po’ Bindi—she’s had to grow up so fast.
L: I like how the family didn’t miss a beat.
Dad’s dead.
I got my own show.
I rap about reptiles.
She’s a G.
I mean, if that’s not the Sojourner Truth, I don’t know what is! Bindi is gangsta to the maxxxxxx! I mean, check out homegirl on the Today Show rapping Trouble in the Jungle. She was just like, “Having a dead daddy doesn’t mean I can’t dance!” Homegirl is my new (Australian) idol—I think she may be a young strong black woman in the making.
I must go to her and fortify myself.
This is my plan: I will go down under and comb the continent for the tiny Caucasian imp, focusing my search around animal sanctuaries and stagnant lakes where reptiles make their home. I will brush up on my dance moves and wear only khaki-colored ensembles, in hopes that she will hire me as a b(l)ack-up dancer. Following such great back-up dancers as K-Fed and J-Lo’s ex (what was his name?), I will work my way into Bindi’s inner circle, becoming a fixture at her side during all major promotional appearances. I will turn her pigtails into cornrows and soon people will wonder where her mother went.
The mother will be silenced.
Bindi and I will sharpen her rap skills (baby’s kinda a hot mess, as you can see in the clip above), and we will record a duet—the follow-up to “Trouble in the Jungle,” it will be a remix of “Jungle Fever,” which plays on her love of animals, our interracial friendship, and the inevitable yellow fever outbreak of 2011. Stevie Wonder will appear in the video.
As I work to warm up mamadukes to the idea of Australia and convince my bros and hos that I’m not making a foolish move for a guy, I’ve been answering a lot of questions for myself. Yesterday, while procrastinating on the plantation via g-chat, I spoke with one soul sister from another mister, who urged me to leave this hemisphere. Our convo went something like this:
L: You could hang out with Bindi. That could be fun.
Me: Po’ Bindi—she’s had to grow up so fast.
L: I like how the family didn’t miss a beat.
Dad’s dead.
I got my own show.
I rap about reptiles.
She’s a G.
I mean, if that’s not the Sojourner Truth, I don’t know what is! Bindi is gangsta to the maxxxxxx! I mean, check out homegirl on the Today Show rapping Trouble in the Jungle. She was just like, “Having a dead daddy doesn’t mean I can’t dance!” Homegirl is my new (Australian) idol—I think she may be a young strong black woman in the making.
I must go to her and fortify myself.
This is my plan: I will go down under and comb the continent for the tiny Caucasian imp, focusing my search around animal sanctuaries and stagnant lakes where reptiles make their home. I will brush up on my dance moves and wear only khaki-colored ensembles, in hopes that she will hire me as a b(l)ack-up dancer. Following such great back-up dancers as K-Fed and J-Lo’s ex (what was his name?), I will work my way into Bindi’s inner circle, becoming a fixture at her side during all major promotional appearances. I will turn her pigtails into cornrows and soon people will wonder where her mother went.
The mother will be silenced.
Bindi and I will sharpen her rap skills (baby’s kinda a hot mess, as you can see in the clip above), and we will record a duet—the follow-up to “Trouble in the Jungle,” it will be a remix of “Jungle Fever,” which plays on her love of animals, our interracial friendship, and the inevitable yellow fever outbreak of 2011. Stevie Wonder will appear in the video.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
I'm SPRUNG, y'all!
Oh my god guys, it's been, like, forever and a day.
Which, if you were wondering, is 11 days. So when someone says they'll "love you forever," they really mean "a week and a half."
Anyway, here's a nice long post, complete with interactive games! YAY!
Speaking of 10 days and loving forever, I was unable to blog due to an all-consuming love affair I had with an Australian fellow. Yes, folks, I went down under and got me a crocodile hunter! (RIP, Steve Irwin)
For serious, though-- I am swooning and wishing I was spooning with a burly, bald Aussie. Let me tell you why:
1. A foreign man will do anything for a green card-- and I will do anything for a foreign man!
(If you know what I mean... and I think you do.)
2. The foreign men love the blacktress. He seriously asked me if I'd tried modeling. Um, okay, maybe you don't all know me, but I'm not that fine. It's just that they don't get this flavor of ice cream down under and they all want a taste!
3. He is a creative soul with a heavily metrosexual side. This is, of course, very important to me as someone who is deeply influenced by the gays. They even named a pair of shorts after him!
4. The accent. Obvi. Even when he said "fuck!" he sounded intelligent and kind of sexy.
5. He also works as a web designer and owns his own company (you know I love a can-do man!). Note how he refers to himself as a "freedom fighter"! Um, hello-- I'm a freedom writer! Talk about meant to be. Besides, any White man who's down with freedom is down with Sojo.
Okay, so, on a scale from 1 to crazy, how wrong is it for me to arrive on the doorstep of Australia all romantic comedy-style and propose to him?
What I liked the most about this foreign man was his forthrightness and honesty. As you know, I'm all about the TRUTH. But no matter how militant I am, I know I'm not the first freed slave who can read or write. However, every guy with a semi-formed brain expects kudos for correctly identifying an emotion! What is that about?! Sorry, dude, but I've been saying how I felt since I was 2 years old: "Mommy, me hungry. Me potty. Sleep-time." I didn't get a damn cookie every time I didn't crap my pants--why should you?!
But have you ever noticed that when a guy "tells you what's up," he's not actually saying anything? I realized this last week when hanging out with my newest grown and sexy friend, Litsa. We played this fun game where she spoke Heteromanese, and I translated in standard English. Here's how it goes:
HE SAYS:
Sorry I haven’t called, shit’s been crazy.
IT MEANS:
I have AIDS.
OR
I’m moving.
HE SAYS:
Yeah, I’ll call you later.
IT MEANS:
I don’t like you but I have to end this conversation so I can go play beer pong.
HE SAYS (in the middle of a serious conversation over dinner):
Here, have a shrimp.
IT MEANS:
Please don’t start crying.
HE SAYS:
I’ve had a lot of crap going on.
IT MEANS:
I just found out my ex is pregnant.
OR
I’ve had diarrhea for a week.
HE SAYS:
Like, I really like you, but I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.
IT MEANS:
I am incapable of wiping my ass and whistling a jaunty tune simultaneously, let alone balancing a relationship and a social life.
(Why this is so hard is beyond me. I mean, even in the caveman days the Neanderthal went out, clubbed the mammoth, dragged it back home for dinner, and then made sweet love to his hairy woman!)
NOW YOU PLAY!!!!
Fill in the blanks by posting comments on my wall. Winners will get a dinner with me that they get to cook at their home. YAY! Reversals on slavery!
HE SAYS:
I’ll talk to you later, okay?
IT MEANS:
?
HE SAYS:
I really want to be friends with you.
IT MEANS:
?
HE SAYS:
I’m sorry you’re upset. I didn’t know you felt that way.
IT MEANS:
?
HE SAYS:
You know how I get, babe.
IT MEANS:
?
As you can imagine, when I was cuddling with the Australian and he said, "I wish I wasn't leaving," I fell in deep.
I am currently planning a telethon, where I will put on a minstrel show in exchange for $1 donations to pay for a plane ticket Australia. I will need approximately 1500 donations. Let's get started, people! I'll bring the shoe polish if you help me get my true love.
Which, if you were wondering, is 11 days. So when someone says they'll "love you forever," they really mean "a week and a half."
Anyway, here's a nice long post, complete with interactive games! YAY!
Speaking of 10 days and loving forever, I was unable to blog due to an all-consuming love affair I had with an Australian fellow. Yes, folks, I went down under and got me a crocodile hunter! (RIP, Steve Irwin)
For serious, though-- I am swooning and wishing I was spooning with a burly, bald Aussie. Let me tell you why:
1. A foreign man will do anything for a green card-- and I will do anything for a foreign man!
(If you know what I mean... and I think you do.)
2. The foreign men love the blacktress. He seriously asked me if I'd tried modeling. Um, okay, maybe you don't all know me, but I'm not that fine. It's just that they don't get this flavor of ice cream down under and they all want a taste!
3. He is a creative soul with a heavily metrosexual side. This is, of course, very important to me as someone who is deeply influenced by the gays. They even named a pair of shorts after him!
4. The accent. Obvi. Even when he said "fuck!" he sounded intelligent and kind of sexy.
5. He also works as a web designer and owns his own company (you know I love a can-do man!). Note how he refers to himself as a "freedom fighter"! Um, hello-- I'm a freedom writer! Talk about meant to be. Besides, any White man who's down with freedom is down with Sojo.
Okay, so, on a scale from 1 to crazy, how wrong is it for me to arrive on the doorstep of Australia all romantic comedy-style and propose to him?
What I liked the most about this foreign man was his forthrightness and honesty. As you know, I'm all about the TRUTH. But no matter how militant I am, I know I'm not the first freed slave who can read or write. However, every guy with a semi-formed brain expects kudos for correctly identifying an emotion! What is that about?! Sorry, dude, but I've been saying how I felt since I was 2 years old: "Mommy, me hungry. Me potty. Sleep-time." I didn't get a damn cookie every time I didn't crap my pants--why should you?!
But have you ever noticed that when a guy "tells you what's up," he's not actually saying anything? I realized this last week when hanging out with my newest grown and sexy friend, Litsa. We played this fun game where she spoke Heteromanese, and I translated in standard English. Here's how it goes:
HE SAYS:
Sorry I haven’t called, shit’s been crazy.
IT MEANS:
I have AIDS.
OR
I’m moving.
HE SAYS:
Yeah, I’ll call you later.
IT MEANS:
I don’t like you but I have to end this conversation so I can go play beer pong.
HE SAYS (in the middle of a serious conversation over dinner):
Here, have a shrimp.
IT MEANS:
Please don’t start crying.
HE SAYS:
I’ve had a lot of crap going on.
IT MEANS:
I just found out my ex is pregnant.
OR
I’ve had diarrhea for a week.
HE SAYS:
Like, I really like you, but I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.
IT MEANS:
I am incapable of wiping my ass and whistling a jaunty tune simultaneously, let alone balancing a relationship and a social life.
(Why this is so hard is beyond me. I mean, even in the caveman days the Neanderthal went out, clubbed the mammoth, dragged it back home for dinner, and then made sweet love to his hairy woman!)
NOW YOU PLAY!!!!
Fill in the blanks by posting comments on my wall. Winners will get a dinner with me that they get to cook at their home. YAY! Reversals on slavery!
HE SAYS:
I’ll talk to you later, okay?
IT MEANS:
?
HE SAYS:
I really want to be friends with you.
IT MEANS:
?
HE SAYS:
I’m sorry you’re upset. I didn’t know you felt that way.
IT MEANS:
?
HE SAYS:
You know how I get, babe.
IT MEANS:
?
As you can imagine, when I was cuddling with the Australian and he said, "I wish I wasn't leaving," I fell in deep.
I am currently planning a telethon, where I will put on a minstrel show in exchange for $1 donations to pay for a plane ticket Australia. I will need approximately 1500 donations. Let's get started, people! I'll bring the shoe polish if you help me get my true love.
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