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????

I've Reached Down Under!!!!!

Blacktress' Log, Star Date 13/10/2008. 

I am writing to you from the future.

Saturday, October 11, 2008, at 10:00 pm, I boarded Quantas Flight 74 to Sydney, Australia. 

I arrive this morning--Monday, October 13, 2008-- at 8:00 am. 

I don't even know what's happening. 

I write to you from the main office of the IEP Program that's helping me make this all happen. I can barely lift my shoulders from carrying over 140 pounds of luggage, but enjoyed the hostel shower far more than I expected to. I'm in a 4-person room, and so far, the only person I've met is a Dutch hippie named Sonya who had dreadlocks and an open heart. She lent me her nail scissors so I could open the plastic that kept me from reaching my padlock.

So, I already managed to lose my IEP program files--luckily I had copies made and hidden in another folder. The Australian SIM card I purchased is not hooking up to my Nokia as planned, and I'm hungry, but unsure of what to eat. But I'm feeling oddly relaxed--perhaps it's because I didn't sleep on the 15-hour flight, and am in a state of delirium. 

I initially had a whole row to myself and thought things were looking up until the flight attendant told me some old broad across the aisle was going to sit in my row, because she'd just had foot surgery. I thought maybe she'd forget, but as soon as that fasten-seat-belt sign went off, she came right over. She quickly removed her boot and put her old-lady foot up on the seat between us.  I tried to make the most of it, and watched Iron Man, Get Smart, and even Arj Barker stand up performance. I even managed to drown out the TWO crying babies sitting parallel to me. After all, it's all in your outlook, you know?

The granny went to sleep for most of the flight, but when she awoke, she wanted to talk to me about the election. Turns out she's a geriatric playa supporting Obama (holla!) and proceeded to tell me about an organization she's a part of that is "all about peace." 

"Are you about peace?" she asked.

"Yes, of course," I said, as though she'd caught me brandishing a firearm and I was caught sheepishly.

"Well, so are we. We go to the conventions, go to DC, make sure maintaining and promoting peace stays on people's minds!" 

She then proceeded to sing me a song she and her group had made up about Sarah Palin. 

If I wasn't so loopy right now, I'd be able to remember it. 

She also told me the name of her organization--and was also very careful to tell me to add the word "Alert" when I was searching for it, or else I'd be brought to a porn site.

"Oh no!" I said, pretending to care.

"Well, it's not so bad, depending on what you like," she said matter-of-factly.

So true, granny--so true. 

Please note, guys: This is the beginning of the blacktress's blog down under. If you don't see a post at least every 4 days, call the authorities--lord knows what could have happened to me down here all alone with no one to care about my whereabouts.

My Baggage: INXS

Greetings from California, gang!
I got in yesterday, and boy are my arms tired!
(Has that joke ever been funny?)

Traveling is always jarring to me, especially when there's a time difference involved. I woke up at the ass-crack of dawn and my mom and I headed to JFK for me to catch my flight to SFO. Seeing as this is a stop on the way to Oz, I had two huge bags to check. I was worried about the weight limits, but thought that since I was only packing my cutest outfits, there was no way I could have more than 70 pounds in my bag. You can imagine my surprise when my spring/summer bag was placed on the scale and came in at 82.5 pounds!

Luckily, the lady at the check-in desk was feeling generous. The name on her tag read "Glo," and she kept calling me "Darling" and "Sweetheart." As my mother and I lamented the $100 fee, Glo covertly whispered, "Oh, just go ahead," all full of tenderness!

Upon arrival in SF, I was lucky enough to have my friend the Elite Gay Visionary pick me up in his ride. As we maneuvered my bags, we realized the first stop would have to be finding a third suitcase. Luckily, my former freshman year roommate came to fetch me and we roamed the streets in search of a duffel/sports bag.

NO LUCK.
As we climbed up treacherous hills, I started to freak out about this whole thing. Why am I going to Australia? I can't even pack properly! I'm certainly not cut out for a nomadic, backpacking, hippie lifestyle. As I started to feel tears well up (seriously), I realized that I had way more emotional baggage than clothing!

Would Qantas airlines refuse to let me on because my emotional baggage was too much? Would I tip the plane in unsavory directions with my worrying and freaking out?

Then, the following Australian tourism ad was brought to my attention last night.



I mean, racist leanings aside (what is with the barefoot Aboriginal youth coming to the confused white lady and showing her the way?), I guess I could find a boost from this ad. Perhaps I, too, will push my madness aside and jump into clear waters that got Nicole Kidman pregnant.

As I wait for my third bag to arrive, I shake off the annoyance of having to pay extra, and fight the urge to curse out Qantas representatives (how can I move to a foreign land for a year and NOT bring everything but the kitchen sink?!), and remember that soon I, too, will be finding myself through the help of a native.

For more on that cray cray commercial, check this out.

Thanks For the Boost, Guys

Most of my friends are quite happy and excited for my impending journey to Oz—they support my desire to pose as Michelle Obama, and I think some of them may even respond to the emails I’ll send once I’m in a foreign land away from everyone I know. What’s been funny, though, is the way in which they choose to show their support. Often, it comes in the form of an email or Facebook wall post containing a link to some crazy and/or dangerous Australian happening.

For example:

Qantas Faces Special Safety Probe
Oh, cool. The airline I’m flying has safety issues. I think the best part of this tidbit was that it was preceded by, “Just looking out for you…” Girl, unless you got a parachute or a private jet, I have no alternative but to hop on my unsafe Qantas jalopy and hope for the best!

Then, of course, came the harrowing news of the Man Drought—which was sent to me by three different people.

We all know I didn’t take this information well. However, dear Eli Reed informed me that she and her homegirls were doing just fine with the menfolk, so my fears have been temporarily assuaged.

The news that the Mayor of Mt. Isa seeks ugly women to help the rugged men find love also gave me a bit of a boost.


This latest tidbit of Ozzie info, sent to me from my homegirl in LDN, just makes me terrified:
Monster Pig Traps Aussie Woman in Home


I cannot leave the confines of the city center. My favorite line from the article is, "It's a beautiful male pig but he's just so big and so pushy," she told the Australian Broadcasting Corporation.

Lady, if I had a nickel for every time a beautiful male pig was big and pushy, I’d have $2.15.