Run, run, as fast as you can from the gingerbread man!

So, remember that redheaded Aussie from back in the day (you know, two months ago)?

Well, he's headed for NYC in about 6 days.

He'd first alerted me to his visit nearly 6 weeks ago, when I was INSIDE CAUCASIA (in Sweden). I shrugged it off at the time, only to learn from a mutual friend that he'd be bringing his girlfriend with him.

Um, hello?! How could he not mention her in the email? I mean, I know he's got a gf, there is not a single part of me that wants to get with him, so why not put it out there? I also know that there's not a single part of me that wants to meet her, so if I get blindsided with a gf-bomb, I will die. Cause that's what bombs do. They make you die.

Anyway, the last time he was here (when I was down under), I told him tons of stuff to do, got him discounts to comedy shows, etc. I hope he does not come to me asking for ways to entertain him and his lover. My top suggestions would be:

1. Climb to the top of the Empire State Building, hand in hand. Look out over the edge, and then jump.

2. Walk down a deserted back alley on 11th avenue, counting your American currency. Wait to be stuck with a shiv. (Do people use shivs outside of prison?)

3. S a D, cause I hate your face.

Ugh, whatever. He asked if I wanted to meet up and I was evasive. While I know I can get through a quick drink, since it'll mostly involve catching up and pleasantries, I don't think seeing him will enrich my life in any way. The only Weasley I want to see is Ronald, on screen July 15!
If I go to drinks, I will be too worried about looking cute, seeming carefree, and touting accomplishments I have not... accomplished. I won't want to hear a word about how happy and put together his Canadian life is, and I'll be resentful. And we all know how loud and inappropriate I get after some dranks.

Sorry, I'm being grumpy. I've decided that I'm not good at stand-up comedy, and this requires a major restructuring of life goals. This ginger situation is not helping.

I'm gonna go watch "16 and Pregnant."

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????

Is Sojo gonna have to cut a (Pagan) Bitch?

Okay, so here's the latest with the Weasley:

I sent him an email damn near 2 weeks ago and didn't get a response. Of course I've gone through the range of emotions: anger, denial, and now acceptance. Of course, running into his momface was a bit of a setback, and although I was trying to play it cool, I had to write on his f-book wall. I mean, I saw his mother. How do you not discuss this?

So, after my pithy and witty wall post, I awake to a long email in my inbox, filling me in on his life thus far. Sounds all well and good, until I get caught on this little tidbit:
am staying with two really interesting college girls....very "spiritual" one is a budhist and the other is the president of the Pagan society, needless to stay we have a whole lot of candles, they both had wicked tats tho, unreal...yesterday we had a really fun day together...
Notice the ellipsis after the "really fun day together"

AAHHH!!!! He's so having threeways with experimental college hippies!!!
Threeways by candlelight!
Threeways for breakfast!

Threeways for lunch!

And then a sensible dinner!

I kind of want to vomit and never get out of bed.

President of the Pagan Society?! Like, wtf?! I bet her name is Moonbeam and she makes him gluten-free muffins.

Am I overreacting?

I've gotta hit the road and distract myself. This is going to a dark place.

Note to Self

It is hard to not think about a certain redhaired man when you run into his mother while walking down the street in a neighborhood an hour away from where she lives.

Just, you know, FYI.

I just want her to like me.........