Back Back from Cali Cali

[ok, guys, I have to be honest. I have been working on this post for about 3 days. I still don't have all of the vids and embeds I'd hoped, but this is getting ri-goddamn-diculous, so let's just put it up.]

Hey friends!

I really should have blogged by now, since I got back on Monday afternoon and all, but I’ve been so tired that even typing is a Sisyphean task. I got back to the plantation Tuesday and am just coming up for air. It’s amazing how three little hours can impact one’s cycle—no, I don’t mean menstrual. I wasn’t able to sleep until my last night in SF, and since coming home I’ve been up all night like an unemployed stoner with a penchant for QVC. I’m going to power through today, though, and hope to hit the hay at a respectable hour tonight.

Anyway, San Francisco was fun! I forgot that I have friends who don’t do comedy/aren’t self-involved and actually want to learn things. I've known a lot of them since before 9/11, so we've really been through a lot. These same friends are also willing to pay to see a blacktress perform and give her a bed to sleep in, which is even more tender. (Microsoft Word is telling me that I should change that to ‘tenderer’ but I just think that sounds too awkward and I won’t dignify it with a spell check.)

I was beyond nervous on Friday, primarily because I was the opening act, but that set was way better than Saturday's. I wasn't awful, mind you, but not as high energy and focused as usual.
But enough about the awkwardness--let's talk about the amazingness.
There were so many funny female comics and it was great to befriend and network. I have come home with several friend crushes, and I'm trying to reign in the internet stalking. One such victim is Chris Burns, a HILARIOUS stand-up and actor from SF. She's a social worker by day, and she speaks truth to power. Showtime won't let me embed it, but you really should check out this clip of her as the social worker on a recent episode of Shameless

I also got to feel really useful by sitting down with the PhD candidate. It was cool to talk about comedy in a serious way and it also got me thinking about what I hope to do. Granted, there were a lot of awkward 'ums' and grasping at straws as I tried to codify something I pretend to do effortlessly. But mostly, it was just great to sit down and talk with a black lesbian who didn't hate me. She asked a few questions that I was able to answer with rapid-fire precision, though, such as:

Who would you compare yourself to, as a comic?

If Kathy Griffin and Chris Rock hate-fucked and she carried the baby to term, that'd be me.

What's your target audience?

18-65, liberal, savvy, educated, and gay.

Do you think a black audience would like your stand-up?

Um......

We totally got along and talked about Jewboos! It's always good to know I'm not the only one miscgenating.*

After meeting up with her, I appeared on a radio show.

Yes, real radio.

Well, ok, it's free radio, but still--people listen to it.

The show was called "The Edge of Insanity," and they were not exaggerating. I had sent an inquiry in advance, just looking to maximize my SF time, and was surprised to get a response. I was even more surprised to find out that the show's host/producer was going to be working the door at the Friday night show. He'd get a chance to see my act and know if I was truly on "the edge."

Obvs, I was. I talked about gentrifying vaginas and how I don't want children. Clearly he was ready for me.

Turned out I'd just gotten myself on the set of Revenge of the Nerds VII: Half-Baked Nerds With Children. It was me and four stoned dudes sitting in a smoky room and shooting the shit. The co-host was this middle-aged black dude--I'd call him the Robin to the producer's Howard Stern, but he was nowhere near as classy as Robin. The entire time he made sexual comments about me and it just got gross--especially when we weren't on the air. For example, when I was alerted to the potential lack of toilet paper in the bathroom, he responded with:

"Girl, if you need help wipin' yo' ass, just let me know. My tongue has been all kinds of places."

Was that supposed to turn me on or clue me in to his mouth syphillis?

It definitely got "to catch a predator-y"and I wished I'd had Chris Hansen in my phonebook. Instead, I had to alert my elite gay visionary:

If you don't hear from me by 6:05pm PST, call the po-po. I've been sex trafficked.

You can listen to the madness here.

There was a call-in number, but it seems the only people who called were friends of the show. One of whom was an elderly woman named "Sweet Gail," who kept saying that she wanted to "be exploited."

I saw a photo of Sweet Gail which showed her in a home-made Viking-style helmet and a brassiere, onto which she'd sewn bullseyes.

Clearly, she's on her way to living her dream.

It's a two-hour show, but if you get to about halfway, Sweet Gail will blow your mind.

I will have a YouTube clip of my set as soon as Windows Movie Maker stops being lame. I mean, is it too much for a blacktress to add a fade in and a fade out? I'm a fucking professional!

Miss you guys! I will be back much, much sooner to share the brilliant writing of Charlaine Harris (creator of the novels on which "True Blood" is based) as well as my treatise on why everyone should go to Pennsylvania to find a monogamous man.

LYLAS!

-Blacktress

*Speaking of, I'm designing a new line of clothing:

What do you think?

I am a Funny Female!

Which I hope you already know. But, like, this is for real, guys! I’m not just funny in my head or on the internet—I have been deemed funny and added to a roster that includes the dopest lady comics in the country!!!!

I'm the first one on Friday at 8pm, and second on Saturday!

Tomorrow afternoon I head for San Francisco and I must say, I am nervous as all get-out. What began as California Dreams have become California nightmares. What if the crowd has no California Love for me? What if the California “Gurls” spew whipped cream from their boobies whenever they don’t like one of my punchlines? Will I ever want to go Back, Back to Cali, Cali?

I just have no idea what I’m in for—I just found out two days ago that the current high temp in SF is 62 degrees, and my mind is officially blown. There is no certainty in this life; all bets are fucking OFF. If I can’t even count on some semblance of summer weather, how can I make any assumptions about the audience? Will the crowd be full of supportive gays or crunchy hippies? What about people who aren’t stereotypes??? I won’t even know how to cope!

My whole bit about not wanting children better not get me boo’d off stage.

I’ve been hitting open mics over the last couple weeks, but I haven’t had a booked show in a while. Plus, I don’t even know what the venue’s going to be like. Is the stage wide or narrow, deep or shallow? How bright are the lights—are we talking ‘get out of the light, Carol Ann’ type of bright or an ‘Are you afraid of the dark?’ type of spotlight? I was all set to wear cute dresses on stage, but now that it’s gonna be about 50 degrees by showtime, I’ve gotta find something that’s both cute and warm—The shows are being filmed, streamed, and circulated—and I’ve got some new folks to meet!

Yesterday I got an email from a graduate student from an SF university, asking if she could interview me for her dissertation. I kid you not, gentle readers. I have been found and sought out for my blackting and comedy skillz. Hours before that request, I got a (far less sketchy) facebook message from a comic who said he saw me on the internets and “Just wanted to let you know that I am a big fan of your work. I would love to be added as one of your friends.”
A FAN OF MY WORK? If this is a sketchy spambot, I’ll take it!

Now that I officially have fans, I’ve got to buck up. I can’t let them down with a sub-par performance. The PhD student must devote at least a full chapter of her dissertation to the history of Sojourner ‘You Can’t Handle the’ Truth.

I’ve gotta find a way to fit chunky sweaters into my carry-on suitcase! I’ve gotta hope that Delta Airlines doesn’t do me dirty again, and hasn’t taken a page from the American Airlines handbook of fuckery.

I’ve gotta hope that I can get my hair did bright and early tomorrow and make it to JFK by 1pm.

I’m taking a lot of risks, and to top it off, I’ve been writing like a demon for the 25th anniversary issue of my magazine, which ships next week. Sure, I could have not decided to do a show across the country a week before my press date. But then I would have cut a bitch. I can’t let these artists stop me from having dreams, y'all—especially not my California Dreams.

Wish me luck!

Overheard In San Francisco

I'm moments away from heading to the SF International Airport, and had the pleasure of having my final American meal with my life partner/wifey. As we walked back to fetch my baggage, we overheard two fabulous gay men chatting in the Castro.

Guy 1 (matter-of-factly): Just text him and say "What is your penis doing tonight? Does it want to be inside of me?"

Naturally, my gut reaction was to fall to one knee and propose to this man. Unfortunately, I have a flight to catch and a long-distance marriage to a homosexual is just more baggage that qantas surely wouldn't let me have on board.


Okay, gang, that's all for now. The next time I write you, it will be from Sydney, Australia--14 hours head of NYC. I'll be writing from....THE FUTURE.

Wish me luck-- I don't want to end up re-enacting scenes from LOST.