Showing posts with label comedy shows. Show all posts
Showing posts with label comedy shows. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Here I Am!
Happy Back to School, friends!
Here's a clip from a summer set I did at the People's Improv Theater. Give it a view and forward it widely--preferably to any agents or managers you may know.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Friday Fun! (Post 1 of 2....or 3?)
My apologies for the radio silence (or computer silence, or whatever—you know what I mean). Of course, I’m probably the first website you checked upon hearing the news of Whitney’s death. I’m sorry I failed you. I found out just minutes before going on stage and had to struggle to bring my A game. I actually have a visceral reaction to her death and am trying not to think about it. Whitney Houston was a crucial part of my upbringing and my desire to be a blacktress. I honed my singing chops by singing along to every one of her tapes—yes, I said tapes—from the age of 9 on. I think The Bodyguard was my first exposure to interracial love.
Whitney changed me.
I've been coping with the loss by watching YouTubes of THE VOICE, like this amazing medley she did at the Grammy Awards back in 1994. She is amazing.
I'm also learning to Distract, Relax, and Cope, as my therapist recommends, with the help of Toddlers & Tiaras--or, as I like to call it, 16 & Pregnant: The Later Years.
Look at this photo of coked-out Honey Boo Boo Chile Alana and her mom on Anderson Cooper.
In other news: It's funny how you can not sleep at all, finally get out of bed at 7:23am, and still get to work an hour late. It just keeps happening! I probably couldn't sleep because I was anxious for a set I'm doing at THE UNITED NATIONS tonight.
Yes, the real United Nations.
I’m doing a set at a charity gala organized by the UN and GLAAD to support the human rights of the global LGBTQ community!
I’m so nervous. I’ve been told that I have to do a 10-minute set and to “Please keep it clean and just letting you know that the crowd is very politically correct and very international. So please try not to have any offensive material.”
Of course, I needed clarification. I mean, there are going to be people from all over the world and all across the gender spectrum—there’s no way I’m going to talk for 10 minutes without making someone want to throw their crudite. The PR woman explained:
I would just ask that you don't use the word bitch because people in my office are very sensitive to that word. Also, if you could limit the cursing, and don't use material that is overly sexual or racial (For example: No wintercourse bit)
Overly sexual and overly racial is my middle name!
Well, we'll see. Maybe I can do a tight-10 on The Channel Islands or Burma or something.
I'm composing another post right now! #whenitrainsitpours
Whitney changed me.
I've been coping with the loss by watching YouTubes of THE VOICE, like this amazing medley she did at the Grammy Awards back in 1994. She is amazing.
I'm also learning to Distract, Relax, and Cope, as my therapist recommends, with the help of Toddlers & Tiaras--or, as I like to call it, 16 & Pregnant: The Later Years.
Look at this photo of coked-out Honey Boo Boo Chile Alana and her mom on Anderson Cooper.
THEY ARE BOTH TERRIFYING!!!!
ALANA LOOKS LIKE A CHUCKY DOLL. For those of you who can't see the full effect, I am offering a close-up.
There but for the grace of god go I.
In other news: It's funny how you can not sleep at all, finally get out of bed at 7:23am, and still get to work an hour late. It just keeps happening! I probably couldn't sleep because I was anxious for a set I'm doing at THE UNITED NATIONS tonight.
Yes, the real United Nations.
I’m doing a set at a charity gala organized by the UN and GLAAD to support the human rights of the global LGBTQ community!
I’m so nervous. I’ve been told that I have to do a 10-minute set and to “Please keep it clean and just letting you know that the crowd is very politically correct and very international. So please try not to have any offensive material.”
Of course, I needed clarification. I mean, there are going to be people from all over the world and all across the gender spectrum—there’s no way I’m going to talk for 10 minutes without making someone want to throw their crudite. The PR woman explained:
I would just ask that you don't use the word bitch because people in my office are very sensitive to that word. Also, if you could limit the cursing, and don't use material that is overly sexual or racial (For example: No wintercourse bit)
Overly sexual and overly racial is my middle name!
Well, we'll see. Maybe I can do a tight-10 on The Channel Islands or Burma or something.
I'm composing another post right now! #whenitrainsitpours
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
How I'll Meet My Lover
Hey friends!
I've been hemming and hawing about what to blog about this week, fearful that I'd end up sued for libel and/or dumped on the streets of Harlem. I realize that the only fair game is celebrities and myself, as well as anyone who won't assume the worst of me. With that, I must share this juicy bit of info I got from a comedy-club booker just moments ago.
Neil Patrick Harris—or, as I like to call him, Heterosexuality's Greatest Loss—lives in Harlem.
Yes, y'all! NPH/HGL was one of our earliest gentrifiers. I knew we had a connection that extended beyond my brain’s fantasyworld.
(Note to self: I'll have to write him a letter and thank him for bringing black folks brunch.)
How did I get this info, you ask? Well, the booker called me about a showcase his club is doing for an NBC casting person. We got to chatting a bit and discovered we lived in the same neighborhood. My response:
“Oh, you’re one of the ones who jacked up our prices!”
Booker: Yup. I’ve been here about 10 years. Doogie Howser is here, too.
Me: Wait, what? SHUT UP. NPH lives in your building?
Booker: Huh?
Me: Neil. Patrick. Harris.
Booker: Yeah.
Me: You are my new best friend. I hope you don’t mind if I stalk you now.
I’m sure I’ve already blogged about my goal to become NPH’s au pair, so I won’t bother outlining that fantasy again. But guys, the fact that NPH is regularly within a mile of me brings me one step closer to achieving my dream! Can you imagine me with the twins?!
I don’t know how I’ll make this happen. I’m thinking my best bet is through his partner, as he can likely travel incognito and just walks around the neighborhood. I am willing to take my time to befriend him, as it will allow me to know NPH through his lifemate. When we finally meet—hopefully at a bourgie Harlem restaurant offering “Haute Soul Cuisine” or some crap—it will be like we’ve know each other all our lives. The babies will reach for me as if they already know I’m the Corinna Corinna to their Molly Singer.
The whole fam will come to my stand-up shows, and I’ll have to make sure my friends don’t embarrass me in front of NPH, but he’ll be so cool and down to earth, it won’t even be a big deal. We’ll regularly “do brunch” and they’ll call me when the twins are finicky and they don’t know what to do. I bet they’ll even start celebrating Kwanzaa!!!
A gal can dream, right?
Oh, and by the way—I got a slot on the showcase. Hopefully you’ll get to see Blacktress on 30 Rock -- It's about time Tracy Morgan got some competition.
*If you understand this reference, I heart you. Please come to my aid the next time my negrosity is questioned.
I've been hemming and hawing about what to blog about this week, fearful that I'd end up sued for libel and/or dumped on the streets of Harlem. I realize that the only fair game is celebrities and myself, as well as anyone who won't assume the worst of me. With that, I must share this juicy bit of info I got from a comedy-club booker just moments ago.
Neil Patrick Harris—or, as I like to call him, Heterosexuality's Greatest Loss—lives in Harlem.
Yes, y'all! NPH/HGL was one of our earliest gentrifiers. I knew we had a connection that extended beyond my brain’s fantasyworld.
(Note to self: I'll have to write him a letter and thank him for bringing black folks brunch.)
How did I get this info, you ask? Well, the booker called me about a showcase his club is doing for an NBC casting person. We got to chatting a bit and discovered we lived in the same neighborhood. My response:
“Oh, you’re one of the ones who jacked up our prices!”
Booker: Yup. I’ve been here about 10 years. Doogie Howser is here, too.
Me: Wait, what? SHUT UP. NPH lives in your building?
Booker: Huh?
Me: Neil. Patrick. Harris.
Booker: Yeah.
Me: You are my new best friend. I hope you don’t mind if I stalk you now.
He then goes on to tell me that, although NPH/HGL has a hip pad downtown, he uses his Harlem apartment “as a homebase.” When he was hosting the Tony Awards this year, he had the extended fam staying there, away from the limelight and the paps!
Apparently, he’s lived uptown since his post-Doogie days. Guys, what if NPH was right behind me in line at the Uptown Juice Bar? What if he also bought quarter waters at the bodega?* What if he, too, used to enjoyed a good Jamaican beef patty after a long day? And, most important—has he been to the iHop that opened on 135th street?????
I’ve always felt a kinship with him—like Dr. Howser, I enjoy unwinding at the end of a long day with a good ol’ recap on my computer. Like Barney Stinson, I have a slutty history and daddy issues. And, as a host, NPH and I will go to any length’s to wow the crowd—including rapping.
Apparently, he’s lived uptown since his post-Doogie days. Guys, what if NPH was right behind me in line at the Uptown Juice Bar? What if he also bought quarter waters at the bodega?* What if he, too, used to enjoyed a good Jamaican beef patty after a long day? And, most important—has he been to the iHop that opened on 135th street?????
I’ve always felt a kinship with him—like Dr. Howser, I enjoy unwinding at the end of a long day with a good ol’ recap on my computer. Like Barney Stinson, I have a slutty history and daddy issues. And, as a host, NPH and I will go to any length’s to wow the crowd—including rapping.
He did this with zero preparation. It was written on the spot after all the winners were announced. The man is a true professional.
I’m sure I’ve already blogged about my goal to become NPH’s au pair, so I won’t bother outlining that fantasy again. But guys, the fact that NPH is regularly within a mile of me brings me one step closer to achieving my dream! Can you imagine me with the twins?!
Photo courtesy JJSiii
I don’t know how I’ll make this happen. I’m thinking my best bet is through his partner, as he can likely travel incognito and just walks around the neighborhood. I am willing to take my time to befriend him, as it will allow me to know NPH through his lifemate. When we finally meet—hopefully at a bourgie Harlem restaurant offering “Haute Soul Cuisine” or some crap—it will be like we’ve know each other all our lives. The babies will reach for me as if they already know I’m the Corinna Corinna to their Molly Singer.
The whole fam will come to my stand-up shows, and I’ll have to make sure my friends don’t embarrass me in front of NPH, but he’ll be so cool and down to earth, it won’t even be a big deal. We’ll regularly “do brunch” and they’ll call me when the twins are finicky and they don’t know what to do. I bet they’ll even start celebrating Kwanzaa!!!
A gal can dream, right?
Oh, and by the way—I got a slot on the showcase. Hopefully you’ll get to see Blacktress on 30 Rock -- It's about time Tracy Morgan got some competition.
*If you understand this reference, I heart you. Please come to my aid the next time my negrosity is questioned.
Monday, February 14, 2011
From Blacktress, With Love!
Hey Gang,
Sorry for my lack of bloggery of late—it’s been a busy black history month. In the last 7 days I’ve written 4 articles, put together a 96-page magazine, gone on my first commercial audition, hosted a Black History Month-themed sketch show, shared my tales of OKCupid dating with the hippest of hipsters, told an embarrassing story in Williamsburg, and finally performed with some black people. I decided it was time to blog when my boss came up to me on Friday and said I looked like Black Barbie (remember, massa’s a former drag queen). I believe his exact words were:
“Look at you in this sparkly sweater, it’s so Black Barbie. With the bangs and the pony. You are just cute today.”
I was ready to break it down and then got bombarded with actual work and am only now just resuming this post!!! I hope that you’ll forgive me on this day of lovers.
Oh, and I also got an e-mail from a stand-up booker asking, “Can you do a clean set with some Christian material for a March 19th gig?”
Um, what? Is he looking for something Tyler Perry-esque? I have nothing of the sort. But for reals—I don’t know even think I have a clean set. The last time I had to do something clean was at an office party in Australia, and I left known as the woman who said “Vagina” in the workplace.
I’ve been at work less than an hour and am already looking for ways to procrastinate. Perhaps it’s because the one toilet that the 10 of us share is clogged, and our “doorman” is plunging it as we speak. I feel like I’m in a late-80s sitcom.
It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’m actually not all that excited—weird, right? Jewboo has an improv show tonight, and we’re going to make dinner afterwards, which will be cute and domestic. I think that after years of being single, I have drained the power out of this godforsaken “holiday”. It no longer takes me over and makes me feel bad about myself. I mean, after all:
I choose to focus instead on the African-American struggle and perseverance all month long, and make February 15 my new day of celebration, as I rejoice in the discounting of all heart-shaped chocolate items.
For those of you with lovers, here are some fun V-Day Suggestions from Women’s Magazines:
CosmoGirl on gifts:
You Should Get Him A Teddy Bear!
Your guy is sweet and cuddly, just like the little fuzzy creature you should suprise him with! No need to get your down-to-earth dude something over the top- stick with a present that can join in on the cuddling and that will remind him of you whenever you're apart.
Glamour on dates:
DO Plan a Date That’s Outside the Box
Remember when Dylan took Brenda to donate blood in the original 90210? Now that was a heartfelt idea.
[what?]
Marie Claire on finding love in unexpected places:
Feature article: I Fell in Love With a Terrorist
[Who hasn’t been there, girls??]
For those without:
Read the list above and remember that this whole thing is a sham!
Sorry for my lack of bloggery of late—it’s been a busy black history month. In the last 7 days I’ve written 4 articles, put together a 96-page magazine, gone on my first commercial audition, hosted a Black History Month-themed sketch show, shared my tales of OKCupid dating with the hippest of hipsters, told an embarrassing story in Williamsburg, and finally performed with some black people. I decided it was time to blog when my boss came up to me on Friday and said I looked like Black Barbie (remember, massa’s a former drag queen). I believe his exact words were:
“Look at you in this sparkly sweater, it’s so Black Barbie. With the bangs and the pony. You are just cute today.”
I was ready to break it down and then got bombarded with actual work and am only now just resuming this post!!! I hope that you’ll forgive me on this day of lovers.
Oh, and I also got an e-mail from a stand-up booker asking, “Can you do a clean set with some Christian material for a March 19th gig?”
Um, what? Is he looking for something Tyler Perry-esque? I have nothing of the sort. But for reals—I don’t know even think I have a clean set. The last time I had to do something clean was at an office party in Australia, and I left known as the woman who said “Vagina” in the workplace.
I’ve been at work less than an hour and am already looking for ways to procrastinate. Perhaps it’s because the one toilet that the 10 of us share is clogged, and our “doorman” is plunging it as we speak. I feel like I’m in a late-80s sitcom.
It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’m actually not all that excited—weird, right? Jewboo has an improv show tonight, and we’re going to make dinner afterwards, which will be cute and domestic. I think that after years of being single, I have drained the power out of this godforsaken “holiday”. It no longer takes me over and makes me feel bad about myself. I mean, after all:
I choose to focus instead on the African-American struggle and perseverance all month long, and make February 15 my new day of celebration, as I rejoice in the discounting of all heart-shaped chocolate items.
For those of you with lovers, here are some fun V-Day Suggestions from Women’s Magazines:
CosmoGirl on gifts:
You Should Get Him A Teddy Bear!
Your guy is sweet and cuddly, just like the little fuzzy creature you should suprise him with! No need to get your down-to-earth dude something over the top- stick with a present that can join in on the cuddling and that will remind him of you whenever you're apart.
Glamour on dates:
DO Plan a Date That’s Outside the Box
Remember when Dylan took Brenda to donate blood in the original 90210? Now that was a heartfelt idea.
[what?]
Marie Claire on finding love in unexpected places:
Feature article: I Fell in Love With a Terrorist
[Who hasn’t been there, girls??]
For those without:
Read the list above and remember that this whole thing is a sham!
Saturday, January 29, 2011
My Man Knows All About Slavery!
Here's a bonus clip from the taping of my (imaginary) Jewboo Nick Kroll's upcoming Comedy Central stand-up special that I simply had to share. Watch it all the way through and you'll know why:
If you want to see more hilarity, holla at Comedy Central's site, or watch the special tonight at 10pm on Comedy Central!
Or, you know, if you like to run the streets like Bobby Bottleservice, just DVR it.
No, I did not intend to sound like a tacky publicist.
xoxo,
blacktress!
If you want to see more hilarity, holla at Comedy Central's site, or watch the special tonight at 10pm on Comedy Central!
Or, you know, if you like to run the streets like Bobby Bottleservice, just DVR it.
No, I did not intend to sound like a tacky publicist.
xoxo,
blacktress!
Friday, August 13, 2010
Who Says the 13th is Unlucky?
Today is turning out to be amazing, guys!!!
Not only do I have a stand-up show tonight at 8pm in Williamsburg (The Cove, 106 N. 6th Street!), but the VH1 show I filmed an interview for back in April airs TONIGHT AT 9PM!!
The producer told me that the last time he saw a rough cut, I was in 2 segments, which could total a whole 30 seconds!!! Guys, this is the beginning. Let's make a note for my E! True Hollywood Story. Title: The TRUTH Behind Sojourner.
Of course, I tossed and turned all night, like a kid amped for the first day of school. Will I be on tv? What bits should I do tonight for the show? My mind was all in a tizzy!
(It could also have something to do with the fact that I need to get some action from Jewboo--he's soooo classy, not "just using me for my body," and being perfectly content to talk on the phone for an hour when we can't see each other.)
As I sat at in my veal pen (cubicle) jotting down notes for tonight's set, I received the most amazing email from elite gay visionary JJSiii. Just when I thought this day could get no better, I read:
Jennifer Love Hewitt is back at CBS -- and she's bringing along media superstar Betty White.
Hewitt and White are set to star in the "Hallmark Hall of Fame" movie "The Lost Valentine," set to air in early 2011 (if the title's any indication, perhaps in February). Hewitt will also exec produce the movie, which will shoot in Atlanta this fall.
Based on the novel by James Michael Pratt, "The Lost Valentine" will star Hewitt as a journalist working on a profile of a woman (White) whose husband was declared MIA during WWII.
Darnell Martin ("Their Eyes Were Watching God") will direct the longform; scribes Ernest Thompson and Jenny Wingfield are adapting for TV. Joining Hewitt as exec producer is Brent Shields; Andy Gottlieb and Barbara Gangi are producers.
For those who also think this is too good to be true, here's the source.
You know how I feel about JLH and Lifetime. Clearly, the success of The Client List was so great that they had to have her back for yet another picture.
I have no problem with this at all.
Anyone who can handle Zora Neale Hurston is way too qualified for a Lifetime joint starring JLH. This means it will be over the top, super-emo, and there will be intense racial moments. I hope Aisha Tyle pairs up with JLH (you know, like they did back on season 1 of The Ghost Whisperer) to keep her in check when she starts going back in time to WW2.
Betty White can do no wrong.
Happy Friday, y'all!! I gotta go back to procrastinating!
Not only do I have a stand-up show tonight at 8pm in Williamsburg (The Cove, 106 N. 6th Street!), but the VH1 show I filmed an interview for back in April airs TONIGHT AT 9PM!!
The producer told me that the last time he saw a rough cut, I was in 2 segments, which could total a whole 30 seconds!!! Guys, this is the beginning. Let's make a note for my E! True Hollywood Story. Title: The TRUTH Behind Sojourner.
Of course, I tossed and turned all night, like a kid amped for the first day of school. Will I be on tv? What bits should I do tonight for the show? My mind was all in a tizzy!
(It could also have something to do with the fact that I need to get some action from Jewboo--he's soooo classy, not "just using me for my body," and being perfectly content to talk on the phone for an hour when we can't see each other.)
As I sat at in my veal pen (cubicle) jotting down notes for tonight's set, I received the most amazing email from elite gay visionary JJSiii. Just when I thought this day could get no better, I read:
Jennifer Love Hewitt is back at CBS -- and she's bringing along media superstar Betty White.
Hewitt and White are set to star in the "Hallmark Hall of Fame" movie "The Lost Valentine," set to air in early 2011 (if the title's any indication, perhaps in February). Hewitt will also exec produce the movie, which will shoot in Atlanta this fall.
Based on the novel by James Michael Pratt, "The Lost Valentine" will star Hewitt as a journalist working on a profile of a woman (White) whose husband was declared MIA during WWII.
Darnell Martin ("Their Eyes Were Watching God") will direct the longform; scribes Ernest Thompson and Jenny Wingfield are adapting for TV. Joining Hewitt as exec producer is Brent Shields; Andy Gottlieb and Barbara Gangi are producers.
For those who also think this is too good to be true, here's the source.
You know how I feel about JLH and Lifetime. Clearly, the success of The Client List was so great that they had to have her back for yet another picture.
I have no problem with this at all.
Anyone who can handle Zora Neale Hurston is way too qualified for a Lifetime joint starring JLH. This means it will be over the top, super-emo, and there will be intense racial moments. I hope Aisha Tyle pairs up with JLH (you know, like they did back on season 1 of The Ghost Whisperer) to keep her in check when she starts going back in time to WW2.
Betty White can do no wrong.
Happy Friday, y'all!! I gotta go back to procrastinating!
Friday, June 19, 2009
Mystery Science Theater
Guys, I'm in a bit of a pickle.
So, Wednesday night I had a "date" with a dude. Here are his vitals:
- 28 years old
- stand-up comedian
- former US Marine
- and a dating coach ("yes, like Hitch," he said in his email)
You see why I had to go out with this man. He's a total unicorn. No, wait, he's like a chimera. Or the Easter Bunny--he's fucking mythical and mystical and I can't handle it.
I went into it differently than I used to go into dates. Instead of thinking, "oh god, is he going to like me? oh god, what if he's disappointed?" the loop in my head was, "please don't let him be lame, please don't let him be lame, please don't let him be lame." I liked this feeling. I had no doubt that I could hold up my end of the conversation, and that my baby blue Banana Republic top was working for me, but I couldn't vouch for this character. I was even quite annoyed, seeing as the plan was to check out his comedy show, then grab a drink afterwards. Was I really going to spend money to see this character? Luckily, the fee was nominal, and as a stand-up comedian myself, judging other comics brings me great joy.
I showed up, got my ticket, and sat inside the club, which was packed to the rafters with a total of 12 people.
Welcome to Awkward Town, population: ME.
He went on fairly early, and was actually pretty funny. After he performed, the next comedian came up and was like, "doesn't he look like Chandler Bing [Matthew Perry from Friends]?" I made a "wtf? no, not at all" face, and the comedian goes, "Dude, I'm about to get you laid by a hot black chick."
Shoot me now. Way to rock out on Date 1.
Unfortch, I had to sit through another 8 comics, only 2 of whom made me laugh out loud. One was a girl, and I sorta developed a friend-crush on her. After the show, I saw my "date" outside and the plan was to head to a bar with a few of the other comics (luckily my girl-crush was there). It was very casual, which actually made me feel more comfortable. As we walked to the bar, I demanded he tell me everything about dating coaching.
It turns out he was recruited by Mystery. THE Mystery, from VH1's "The Pick-Up Artist." Tell me you remember this show? Just in case, why don't I take your memory for a jog:
So, Wednesday night I had a "date" with a dude. Here are his vitals:
- 28 years old
- stand-up comedian
- former US Marine
- and a dating coach ("yes, like Hitch," he said in his email)
You see why I had to go out with this man. He's a total unicorn. No, wait, he's like a chimera. Or the Easter Bunny--he's fucking mythical and mystical and I can't handle it.
I went into it differently than I used to go into dates. Instead of thinking, "oh god, is he going to like me? oh god, what if he's disappointed?" the loop in my head was, "please don't let him be lame, please don't let him be lame, please don't let him be lame." I liked this feeling. I had no doubt that I could hold up my end of the conversation, and that my baby blue Banana Republic top was working for me, but I couldn't vouch for this character. I was even quite annoyed, seeing as the plan was to check out his comedy show, then grab a drink afterwards. Was I really going to spend money to see this character? Luckily, the fee was nominal, and as a stand-up comedian myself, judging other comics brings me great joy.
I showed up, got my ticket, and sat inside the club, which was packed to the rafters with a total of 12 people.
Welcome to Awkward Town, population: ME.
He went on fairly early, and was actually pretty funny. After he performed, the next comedian came up and was like, "doesn't he look like Chandler Bing [Matthew Perry from Friends]?" I made a "wtf? no, not at all" face, and the comedian goes, "Dude, I'm about to get you laid by a hot black chick."
Shoot me now. Way to rock out on Date 1.
Unfortch, I had to sit through another 8 comics, only 2 of whom made me laugh out loud. One was a girl, and I sorta developed a friend-crush on her. After the show, I saw my "date" outside and the plan was to head to a bar with a few of the other comics (luckily my girl-crush was there). It was very casual, which actually made me feel more comfortable. As we walked to the bar, I demanded he tell me everything about dating coaching.
It turns out he was recruited by Mystery. THE Mystery, from VH1's "The Pick-Up Artist." Tell me you remember this show? Just in case, why don't I take your memory for a jog:
Mystery is a 6-foot-5-inch Canadian magician/illusionist who has perfected the art of bedding women. It involves alot of acronyms and inside phrases. Here's a bit of Mystery in action:
The man is an evil egomaniacal genius, and I am kind of obsessed with him.
I think he may have herpes--the gift that keeps on giving.
So, I was slightly giddy and starstruck, trying to get my "date" to tell me everything about Mystery and the process. As this is all happening, we're alternating between chatting with his comedy friends and doing our own thing. He keeps telling me how pretty I am and we're trading banter and being ridiculous. I don't like the idea of dating comedians, and found that to initially be more of a turn off than the dating coaching, because I feel like it's too much manic energy and neuroses put together. I also think that nothing could be worse than running into a guy who you dumped, or who dumped you, all around Manhattan in performance settings. Especially when your performance largely involves true stories of your own dating life.
This is one of the reasons I only date men in outer boroughs.
On the other hand, it's the ability to laugh for 4 hours straight and his ability to roll with every punch I throw (both literally and conversationally) that makes comics fun to hang out with and easy to crush on. I'm on the fence with this whole situation, and it's something I'm still sorting out, and I know that there are exceptions to every rule.
Anyway, throughout our good fun time, I couldn't help but think, "Shit, is he playing me Mystery-style?" I mean, I was actually nervous before we kissed--there were veritable butterflies, I tell you! That's crazy town. I mean, he doesn't even have red hair. How did he get me all in a tizzy?
When I got home, I was disheartened to get no "hope you got home safe/i had fun tonight" text message, and began to write him off. Yesterday afternoon I got a text that hinted at a second meeting. After waiting a cool, hip 30 minutes to reply, I AM STILL WAITING FOR A RESPONSE FROM HIM!!
Damn you, Mystery!!!
As I psychoanalyzed this via gchat with my one heterosexual male friend, he said, "Sojourner, you can't make him like you. You may be a blacktress, but you can't control every situation."
But the thing is, HE can make ME like HIM. This is the problem. He is a trained professional in the art of getting me to drop my panties. How do I handle this?!
Although he told me all about how he doesn't teach the same method with all those acronyms, and says he's looking for something more than a bar shag, how do I not know that's not more Mystery-approved dialogue?! Although we had a great time and he's super fun and I totes want to hang out again, will showing my interest simply make him think he has me? I feel like I have to play harder to get than I normally would just to put him in his place. According to Mystery, if all goes well, I should be naked by date 2 or 3. Clearly, I will not fall for these tricks.
Or will I????
I can't decide if I'm buying myself a ticket to the Shit Show, or to Ringling Brothers--The Greatest Show on Earth!
Am I getting a one-way ticket to Sadtown or Idiot Village? What about Unexpected Pregnancy Township? Maybe I'm getting a roundtrip ticket from Sanity City to Hot Mess Country, but I'll make it back to Sanity City before too much damage is done.
Who AM I and how do I find these people?
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Tales From a Table For One
WARNING: The following post is totally random and makes no sense. Hopefully I'll have better stuff when I get to Melbourne.
Yesterday I walked about ¾ of a mile to get to Norton Street, the closest strip of activities to my new place in Lilyfield. Technically, Norton Street is in Leichhardt, a neighboring suburb known for its Italian restaurants and dubbed “Little Italy” in all my aussie guidebooks. Being a foodie, I am dying to try one of these fine establishments, but also being a solo diner, I prefer to attend eateries with the fewest amount of people. So there I was, en route to Bombay Grill, the only Indian restaurant in Little Italy. And it was 4:15pm Sure enough, there was no one inside. In fact, the only staff member to be seen was mopping the floor, and I wondered if this was one of those quaint places that closed between lunch and dinner hours to “prepare.” Frankly, those types of places annoy me, as I don’t think a restaurant’s responsibilities should involve telling me when I can and cannot be hungry and decide to satiate that hunger. As I hesitantly crossed the threshold, he waved me in, but warned me to be careful of the wet floor. There was a row of several hot options already prepared, which often turns me off--I mean, how long has that daal been simmering, and is it even fresh? However, in this lonely awkward state, I appreciated having my food immediately ready, avoiding the awkward wait for my entrée that sometimes makes me so nervous that I lose my appetite. I took a seat facing away from the street so that I wouldn't have to endure looks of pity from passersby.
Not content to simply eat my food, I immediately took out my latest book—one of the many I’d brought with me for moments such as this. As I re-read David Sedaris for the umpteenth time (he helps puts my own insecurities in perspective), I start cutting my chicken tikka massala with one hand while holding my paperback with the other. Suddenly, my fork decided I was not going to sit in peace, but rather embarrass myself completely. It was as if it was fighting my direction and said, “you know, you may want to appear nonchalant and comfortable being alone, but I know the truth, and I am going to out you.” My fork slipped from my hand, fell into my plate, which was piled high with rice and sauce, causing some of my meal to splatter onto my lap, shirt, and even my glasses.As I began to wipe myself up, I thought, Thank god this place is empty and I’m alone. At least I can suffer shame in peace. I then look up and see that the waiter, who I thought was in the kitchen, was actually staring at me from the back of the restaurant. Apparently, I’d caused quite a commotion, with the clatter of cutlery and all. Great. Not only did I look like a toddler who’d just thrown a tantrum, but my klutziness was now real, having been seen by another party. He brought me over new cutlery and napkins, and I thanked him sheepishly. Sometimes, I feel about as awkward as a middle school dance.
******************************************************************
Today, an aussie friend of mine called me and asked if I wanted to see some stand-up comedy at a pub close to where I live. Even though I'd just gotten home, I raced back out the door to try to catch the next bus so that I could make the 7pm start time.
I end up arriving 30 minutes early.
I'm sitting at the bar, enjoying the rare chance to actually chat with the bartender (they don't do barstools in Oz--I think by making it unpleasant and awkward to sit alone, they're doing what they can to curb alcoholism). I'm not too worried about my friend and her BF showing up, and just grab a drink and chill. At 10 minutes to 7pm, I order food, so that it's ready by the time they arrive.
At 7:05, I get my meal and go to the back room where the performance is to take place.
I am still alone.
At 7:10, the show starts, and I'm sitting at my 4-person table, trying to eat my sandwich and provide moral support to the comedians. For some reason, when it comes to watching stand up comedy, I'm a total mom, smiling and nodding intently at each performer as though they're performing in their school's production of A Christmas Carol.
At 7:24, my friend and her bf arrive. I do not hide my annoyance, but I shake it off and proceed to watch the insane shitshow that was the Sunday night open mic at the Roxbury. Her bf takes a seat on the couch behind us, which I think is odd, but try not to overanalyze. My friend sits next to me for a few minutes, and then she gets up and joins her boyfriend on the couch.
I am confused.
I stay at my table for 4, which also happens to be under a glaring light, and finish my tofu burger.
Yes, tofu burger.
During moments of hilarity, I crane my neck in an almost Exorcist-like turn to make faces at the two people who had asked me to attend this event, but at some point on the way over decided that sitting with me wasn't part of the bargain. It seems, even when I am with friends, I am still at a table for one.
At 7:48, I left. The show sucked, and if I wanted to sit alone, I would have stayed in my room in Lilyfield. You that old saying, "I can do bad all by myself"? Well, quite frankly, the blacktress can do awkward all by her lonesome--even in an Indian restaurant while having an early-bird special.
Yesterday I walked about ¾ of a mile to get to Norton Street, the closest strip of activities to my new place in Lilyfield. Technically, Norton Street is in Leichhardt, a neighboring suburb known for its Italian restaurants and dubbed “Little Italy” in all my aussie guidebooks. Being a foodie, I am dying to try one of these fine establishments, but also being a solo diner, I prefer to attend eateries with the fewest amount of people. So there I was, en route to Bombay Grill, the only Indian restaurant in Little Italy. And it was 4:15pm Sure enough, there was no one inside. In fact, the only staff member to be seen was mopping the floor, and I wondered if this was one of those quaint places that closed between lunch and dinner hours to “prepare.” Frankly, those types of places annoy me, as I don’t think a restaurant’s responsibilities should involve telling me when I can and cannot be hungry and decide to satiate that hunger. As I hesitantly crossed the threshold, he waved me in, but warned me to be careful of the wet floor. There was a row of several hot options already prepared, which often turns me off--I mean, how long has that daal been simmering, and is it even fresh? However, in this lonely awkward state, I appreciated having my food immediately ready, avoiding the awkward wait for my entrée that sometimes makes me so nervous that I lose my appetite. I took a seat facing away from the street so that I wouldn't have to endure looks of pity from passersby.
Not content to simply eat my food, I immediately took out my latest book—one of the many I’d brought with me for moments such as this. As I re-read David Sedaris for the umpteenth time (he helps puts my own insecurities in perspective), I start cutting my chicken tikka massala with one hand while holding my paperback with the other. Suddenly, my fork decided I was not going to sit in peace, but rather embarrass myself completely. It was as if it was fighting my direction and said, “you know, you may want to appear nonchalant and comfortable being alone, but I know the truth, and I am going to out you.” My fork slipped from my hand, fell into my plate, which was piled high with rice and sauce, causing some of my meal to splatter onto my lap, shirt, and even my glasses.As I began to wipe myself up, I thought, Thank god this place is empty and I’m alone. At least I can suffer shame in peace. I then look up and see that the waiter, who I thought was in the kitchen, was actually staring at me from the back of the restaurant. Apparently, I’d caused quite a commotion, with the clatter of cutlery and all. Great. Not only did I look like a toddler who’d just thrown a tantrum, but my klutziness was now real, having been seen by another party. He brought me over new cutlery and napkins, and I thanked him sheepishly. Sometimes, I feel about as awkward as a middle school dance.
******************************************************************
Today, an aussie friend of mine called me and asked if I wanted to see some stand-up comedy at a pub close to where I live. Even though I'd just gotten home, I raced back out the door to try to catch the next bus so that I could make the 7pm start time.
I end up arriving 30 minutes early.
I'm sitting at the bar, enjoying the rare chance to actually chat with the bartender (they don't do barstools in Oz--I think by making it unpleasant and awkward to sit alone, they're doing what they can to curb alcoholism). I'm not too worried about my friend and her BF showing up, and just grab a drink and chill. At 10 minutes to 7pm, I order food, so that it's ready by the time they arrive.
At 7:05, I get my meal and go to the back room where the performance is to take place.
I am still alone.
At 7:10, the show starts, and I'm sitting at my 4-person table, trying to eat my sandwich and provide moral support to the comedians. For some reason, when it comes to watching stand up comedy, I'm a total mom, smiling and nodding intently at each performer as though they're performing in their school's production of A Christmas Carol.
At 7:24, my friend and her bf arrive. I do not hide my annoyance, but I shake it off and proceed to watch the insane shitshow that was the Sunday night open mic at the Roxbury. Her bf takes a seat on the couch behind us, which I think is odd, but try not to overanalyze. My friend sits next to me for a few minutes, and then she gets up and joins her boyfriend on the couch.
I am confused.
I stay at my table for 4, which also happens to be under a glaring light, and finish my tofu burger.
Yes, tofu burger.
During moments of hilarity, I crane my neck in an almost Exorcist-like turn to make faces at the two people who had asked me to attend this event, but at some point on the way over decided that sitting with me wasn't part of the bargain. It seems, even when I am with friends, I am still at a table for one.
At 7:48, I left. The show sucked, and if I wanted to sit alone, I would have stayed in my room in Lilyfield. You that old saying, "I can do bad all by myself"? Well, quite frankly, the blacktress can do awkward all by her lonesome--even in an Indian restaurant while having an early-bird special.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Random Bloggery
Forgive me readers, for I have sinned.
It has been nearly a week since my last blogged confession.
I’ve been a bit all over the place and unsure of where the nuggets of gold are. So, as I usually do when I don’t know what’s good, I’ve just written some snippets of the latest randomness. Happy Monday!
Little Jackie
When I first heard the Little Jackie song “The World Should Revolve Around Me,” my ears instantly perked up, for I, too, believe it should always be about Sojo. As I listened closer, each line seemed to speak to my soul as a blacktress: “I’ve had a lot of failed relationships / I don’t get involved ‘cause I’m not equipped …” Don’t I know it! I was instantly hooked on this single, and needed to know more. As my internet stalking began, I discovered that Little Jackie is also the genius responsible for “Black Barbie,” one of the finest songs of the 21st century. Imani Coppola is sharp, funny, cheeky, and chill on this album, and I’m totally addicted. I think my favorite jam is “28 Butts.” Sample lyric: “I wanna save a kangaroo from a life in a zoo / I wanna own a llama/ I want less drama in my life / I think I really want to be a happy housewife.”
While I could go on and on expounding her virtues, I know what you all want—Black Barbie. Here it is, for your viewing pleasure:
Can Sojourner Handle his Truth??
I went out on a date with a comedian on Friday night, after meeting him Tuesday night at the Village Lantern. He is really fresh-faced and could be on a CW drama, but has decided to make his way in comedy. He’s pretty funny (he’s no blacktress, but he can hold his own), and I saw him perform again last night. As those who have seen my stand up can attest, I put the whole truth out there on stage. It’s a no-holds-barred, adrenaline-fueled thrill ride—much like Bad Boys or Point Break. I appreciate a funny slice-of-life story, so when this new boy made some joke about how he meets so many girls after his shows, I found myself surprisingly nervous, unable to separate the gag from the TRUTH. Should I really be surprised if that is true (Did I forget to mention he’s fresh-faced)? Should I really be taken aback if he decides to put that truth on stage even if I’m in the audience? It may be that Sojourner can dish it, but can’t take it!
Celebrity Has-Been Sighting
Last night, before supporting the new gentleman caller’s comedy, I hung out at 99 Below, a west village bar with cheap dranks and a bartender who is destined to be my baby’s daddy. Here’s why: he’s Irish, 6’5”, gay as the day is long, and cute as a button on a baby’s blouse! He is, to me, heterosexuality’s greatest loss. But, what he lacks in the desire to procreate with me, he makes up for in the desire to get me wasted on the Lord’s Day (Sunday FUNday!). It was just a few regulars/alkies in the underground bar, and we all turned judgmentally when new people entered. One blondie looking for shots comes in, followed by two middle-aged dudes. Just when it couldn’t get any more random, in walks ANDREW KEEGAN, who joins the girl with the elderly!!!
Yes, folks, Andrew Keegan, the middle school crush of so many. He often played the snotty hot guy in such films as Ten Things I Hate About You, O, and, my personal favorite, Camp Nowhere. Tell me you remember this man:
He looks exactly the same as back in the day, only he’s much greasier. He was wearing a shiny black vest and pinstripe pants, and he is not giving up his signature shaggy hair for nothing. They only came in for a minute, then headed out—I guess, in search of a hipper scene, perhaps one where someone would pay attention to him. Nonetheless, it made my day.
Guess Who’s Going to Dinner?
My boss invited me to dinner at his home, with his wife and kid!! This happens tomorrow! I’m totes freaking out. First of all, I have really serious rules about mingling with work people outside of the office. I feel like I can’t really be myself or discuss most topics because my sheer hatred for the workplace will somehow be accidentally revealed. I don’t know what questions to ask or how to keep up a conversation that’s both interesting and non-incriminating. Even though I only have 8 days of work left (holla!), I feel like I should still be on my best behavior and not burn bridges. What should I bring as a gift? Will a bottle of wine simply reveal my budding alcoholism? I’m thinking a bottle of wine for the adults, and a 6-pack of juice boxes for the youngster. Yes? No? Obviously I will fill you in on how it all goes down.
It has been nearly a week since my last blogged confession.
I’ve been a bit all over the place and unsure of where the nuggets of gold are. So, as I usually do when I don’t know what’s good, I’ve just written some snippets of the latest randomness. Happy Monday!
Little Jackie
When I first heard the Little Jackie song “The World Should Revolve Around Me,” my ears instantly perked up, for I, too, believe it should always be about Sojo. As I listened closer, each line seemed to speak to my soul as a blacktress: “I’ve had a lot of failed relationships / I don’t get involved ‘cause I’m not equipped …” Don’t I know it! I was instantly hooked on this single, and needed to know more. As my internet stalking began, I discovered that Little Jackie is also the genius responsible for “Black Barbie,” one of the finest songs of the 21st century. Imani Coppola is sharp, funny, cheeky, and chill on this album, and I’m totally addicted. I think my favorite jam is “28 Butts.” Sample lyric: “I wanna save a kangaroo from a life in a zoo / I wanna own a llama/ I want less drama in my life / I think I really want to be a happy housewife.”
While I could go on and on expounding her virtues, I know what you all want—Black Barbie. Here it is, for your viewing pleasure:
Can Sojourner Handle his Truth??
I went out on a date with a comedian on Friday night, after meeting him Tuesday night at the Village Lantern. He is really fresh-faced and could be on a CW drama, but has decided to make his way in comedy. He’s pretty funny (he’s no blacktress, but he can hold his own), and I saw him perform again last night. As those who have seen my stand up can attest, I put the whole truth out there on stage. It’s a no-holds-barred, adrenaline-fueled thrill ride—much like Bad Boys or Point Break. I appreciate a funny slice-of-life story, so when this new boy made some joke about how he meets so many girls after his shows, I found myself surprisingly nervous, unable to separate the gag from the TRUTH. Should I really be surprised if that is true (Did I forget to mention he’s fresh-faced)? Should I really be taken aback if he decides to put that truth on stage even if I’m in the audience? It may be that Sojourner can dish it, but can’t take it!
Celebrity Has-Been Sighting
Last night, before supporting the new gentleman caller’s comedy, I hung out at 99 Below, a west village bar with cheap dranks and a bartender who is destined to be my baby’s daddy. Here’s why: he’s Irish, 6’5”, gay as the day is long, and cute as a button on a baby’s blouse! He is, to me, heterosexuality’s greatest loss. But, what he lacks in the desire to procreate with me, he makes up for in the desire to get me wasted on the Lord’s Day (Sunday FUNday!). It was just a few regulars/alkies in the underground bar, and we all turned judgmentally when new people entered. One blondie looking for shots comes in, followed by two middle-aged dudes. Just when it couldn’t get any more random, in walks ANDREW KEEGAN, who joins the girl with the elderly!!!
Yes, folks, Andrew Keegan, the middle school crush of so many. He often played the snotty hot guy in such films as Ten Things I Hate About You, O, and, my personal favorite, Camp Nowhere. Tell me you remember this man:
He looks exactly the same as back in the day, only he’s much greasier. He was wearing a shiny black vest and pinstripe pants, and he is not giving up his signature shaggy hair for nothing. They only came in for a minute, then headed out—I guess, in search of a hipper scene, perhaps one where someone would pay attention to him. Nonetheless, it made my day.
Guess Who’s Going to Dinner?
My boss invited me to dinner at his home, with his wife and kid!! This happens tomorrow! I’m totes freaking out. First of all, I have really serious rules about mingling with work people outside of the office. I feel like I can’t really be myself or discuss most topics because my sheer hatred for the workplace will somehow be accidentally revealed. I don’t know what questions to ask or how to keep up a conversation that’s both interesting and non-incriminating. Even though I only have 8 days of work left (holla!), I feel like I should still be on my best behavior and not burn bridges. What should I bring as a gift? Will a bottle of wine simply reveal my budding alcoholism? I’m thinking a bottle of wine for the adults, and a 6-pack of juice boxes for the youngster. Yes? No? Obviously I will fill you in on how it all goes down.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)