Showing posts with label hot mess. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hot mess. Show all posts

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Home is Where the Blog Is / Big Big Blacktress News!!!

Dear Gentle Readers,

I know it's been months since my last blog post, and I may have lost some of you forever. But for those of you who still enjoy the procrastination of a good blog read or those of you who kept me in your blog feed, I want to share some important news.

News that has only been shared with family and close friends. News that hasn't even made it to Facebook.

On Friday, March 29, 2013 at approximately 11:35 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, Jewboo ASKED ME TO MARRY HIM. AND I SAID YES!

Can you believe it???? I still kinda can't.

I come to you with this news because you guys know what a blacktress has been through. You've spent nearly 6 years reading about my stops on the long road to finding love. A road filled with potholes (aka potheads who were also assholes), construction closures (you know, the ones who were "going through a lot right now and can't be in a relationship"), and foreign drivers who didn't know how to drive on the right side of the road (I think that's pretty self-explanatory).

I'm not someone who has friends from kindergarten or even middle school that I still keep in touch with. If not for Facebook, there'd only be a handful of high school friends on my radar. Between my year with the Deaf and that time in Australia, I'm somewhat of a rolling stone, and this blog has been my one constant. Although I have many friends I'm close to, and some who have limped alongside me on the trail of tears, many people in my current circle of friends don't really get how much of a change I've undergone. They laugh at the stories and can sympathize with dating struggles, but they don't know how rough it got.
But you do.

Since 2007, you have stood by me during my irrational love of Daniel Radcliffe and shared in my disappointment after I saw him nude in Equus. (And if you check the comments, you'll see where D-Rad himself got up in arms about

You went along with me on internet dates when I was just a "beautiful pizza-eating black girl," discovering the true depths of Caucraysia. (And, of course, you were there when I first made up the word "Caucraysia".)

You also felt my pain and embarrassment after one hot mess of a Friday night.
And let's not forget THE GREEK (as much as I've tried)

You guys went with me to 8th grade prom in 2008--and witnessed the debut of Scorned Women Ecards, the brainchild of KWalsh and myself--two bitter gals with rapier wits.

You withstood the insanity that went along with loving various Australian men, both at home and Down Under, and the inevitable drama that ensues when a narcissist and a blacktress don't see eye-to-eye.

And of course, I think none of us will forget the morning that I awoke in Jesus' arms.

After kicking off 2009 with an ER visit and Swedish meatballs, I returned to America with a slew of stand-up material and new portmanteaus. Armed with a list of affirmations and goals for the year ahead, you guys sank down with me as I wallowed in "the summer of new lows," which I don't think anyone is proud of

As I ended 2009 dissecting every decision I made, I was left with unpleasant realizations about why I was unlovable. I kicked off the holidays with full-on hermiting, renouncing men and repeatedly using the phrase "I'ma DO ME!"

So when Jewboo came into my life in March 2010, he was a total gamechanger. He reciprocated my feelings and in some instances was the first to unleash the full extent of his love.
It wasn't all peaches and cream, however, but we worked through everything from ER trips while meeting his parents to the return of the Australian (who is my own personal Michael Meyers*--he never dies!!!).

From this point on, my blog was less about crazy men and more about the things that really mattered: crazy celebrities and coworkers. Of course, the latter subject got me into heaps of trouble and marked the beginning of the end of the blog. With all the watchful eyes and dissonance between my day job and my blackting, there was really no space for Sojourner's Truths. And really, without the truth, what's the incentive to type up nonsense on the regs?

But since my last post in December, things have changed for a blacktress, and I can now speak the truth and be set free! Laid off from my job, there's no one to pretend to be normal for; and in a relationship full of open and honest communication, I can bloggity blog without fear of hurting his feelings (he understands the requirements of a full-time blacktress).

So, here I am, sharing the most important moment in recent blacktress history. Just 2 weeks after our three-year anniversary, Jewboo totally caught me by surprise by asking me to come into our shared office room to "help with something really quickly." I walked in to find him holding an open ring box with the prettiest ring that I ever did see. Without my knowing, he'd gone to Philadelphia, purchased a ring with the help of his father (too cute!) and had it shipped to New York. The ring is absolutely perfect, the exact style I wanted.

(Ignore the fact that my hand looks like it belongs on an 80-year-old woman. THE RING IS SO PRETTY!)

Given my relationship history, I'm sure it comes as no surprise to you that it still feels surreal almost a week later. I can't believe someone who is cute and funny and smart and not racist wants to be with me forever. I think we can all see the blacktress's journey to true love as a sign that there is good in the world and there's someone out there for everyone. Granted, he may live off the G train and be slightly neurotic, but that can all be worked with. 

I've missed you, blog and blog readers. I'll be back soon--I promise!

*The villain from the Halloween movies, not the Canadian-born comedic actor who also seems to be limitless.

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Workin' it Out!

Hey guys,

Sorry for the delay. As you can imagine, the last week has been a flurry of packing, schlepping,* and weariness--but there's been no shortage of blog material. Let me share some highlights--or, rather, lowlights--of the "Great Migration of 2012."

Last Thursday was the beginning of substantial preparation, and it involved a trip to Ikea with my mom.
No, not Jewboo. Why? Well, when it comes to interior design, meticulous planning, and troubleshooting my poor choices, mom's got Jewboo beat by a landslide. She watches HGTV 24/7 and seeing as I consider vajazzling a bold creative choice, I needed her expertise. Add to that the fact that 30 Rock is my design for living, and I just couldn't risk Ikea tearing Jewboo and I apart.

As we attempted to lug disparate pieces of birch veneer onto our trollies (which, of course, had to have sticky wheels that wouldn't respond to steering), my mother went from "Design on a Dime" to "Turn on You on a Dime." I went back to pick up and item and we were separated like two Mormon missionaries just days after arriving in a treacherous foreign land.^ Let's just say that by the time we got in the car, we weren't speaking...because that is what happened. Because I don't like toiling, sweating, or feeling dumb, I opted for Ikea's delivery and assembly service for the most complicated pieces: the bed frame, the office desk, and the tv stand. As Jewboo sat in Brooklyn, attempting to organize and pack 30 years worth of stuff, I sat in the new apartment waiting for deliveries to arrive. What took place on that day were interactions unlike any I could have ever dreamed of.

They all started with me profusely apologizing because I live on the top floor of a 5th-floor walkup. As burly, surly men hauled dining tables and chairs upstairs, I offered to help and was met with BPEs--"'Bitch, please' eyes." At around 5pm, Chris from Ikea arrived. He called to say that he couldn't find a parking spot and needed me to come down and hold the door while he emptied the truck.
"It's just you?!" I said with what may have been mistaken for disgust and disdain.
I was stressed out and worried--I had 11 different boxes totaling 200+ pounds and they'd just sent one guy. I'd warned them it was a walk-up. I'd hoped there'd at least be a spotter!

I offered to help and he looked at me like I had 3 heads before telling me to just "sit tight." He then proceeded to carry every single box up 5 flights of stairs.

I offered him water. I offered him food. I offered him a warm air mattress. He declined all of it.
"It's just a workout. That's all it is," he said through heavy breaths as he wiped sweat off his brow.

I was officially frightened. No one could be that righteous about heavy lifting unless he'd experienced worse. Every time he came in with a new piece, I stood up because I felt like an asshole for reclining when he was toiling. Once he was done, it was time to start assembling. Over the course of the five hours it took him to assemble items, we really got to know each other--and by that, I mean I got to know about him.

For the first half hour, he talked about the importance of exercise and supported his points with loose quotes from the Bible. "Do you believe in God?" he began. "You know God says by the sweat of your brow comes the strength of your body. That's truth."
I don't know why he needed to question my faith before saying that. I think we all know we need our 30 minutes a day because Michelle Obama says so.

Within the first 5 minutes, I knew he had to have been institutionalized in some way, because everything was really intense, like he wasn't used to having casual interactions with fellow humans and he got most of his information from a prison library. He didn't just make statements, he offered 10 different synonyms, stressing the least important parts of his conversation with such conviction he had to have been convicted.

I don't know if I'm explaining this well. Let me turn it over to Kevin Hart, who really captures the essence of such a man.

Take, for instance, Chris's thoughts on his physical appearance:
"Am I bigger than I should be right now? Yes, at this moment, as we speak, presently, I am not at the weight I should be for my height. I am 204 and I should be at a buck-eighty, a buck-seventy-five. I should be approximately 30 pounds less than I am. It is just a fact that I am larger than I should be."

Um, okay. #uncomfortable #lifetimemomentoftruth

He also kept asking me if I was "following" him, as though he'd been used to talking to methadone addicts who were prone to nodding off.

Turned out that Chris wasn't an Ikea employee but actually worked for a company to whom Ikea outsources it's delivery and assembly. (Turns out Ikea's own people can't even put the shit together! You know that's F'd) Luckily, he had experience with all of the items I purchased, so it only took him FIVE HOURS to put everything together. 

WTF?! Who has that kind of time? Imagine if I'd tried to do any of that on my own, or if Jewboo and I had sat there struggling with the pictionary-esque directions? I would have started crying within 20 minutes and then stormed out to get a cupcake.

As he moves on to the second item, Chris tells me that I'm missing not one but two pieces needed for the bedframe to be ready for use: the midbeam and the slats. 
"But it said there were 3 parts to the item and I have 3 boxes!" I yelped helplessly.
"Yeah, but you have to get these two things separately," Chris said. "They must be purchased in addition to the 3 pieces. It's additional. They didn't even tell you, did they?"
No, they did not, Incarcerated Chris! (InCHRISerated?)

Ikea needs to stop bullshittin' and just change their logo:

Chris explained what I'd need to do once I purchased the pieces (which you know involved a lot of repetition) and told me it'd be fine. He then went back to discussing physical fitness, and explained why ping-pong "is the greatest form of exercise that God gave man."

Hear him out:

"What was the first form of exercise? Fighting. Think about it: you use your body, you build strength, you can do it anywhere. It's man's instinct. [at this point I start to text friends: If you don't hear from me in 30 minutes, send out the dogs.] I mean, I can fight. I used to fight and I'm telling you, I'd be sweating more than I am now. But we can't do that as our exercise. Why? Because we'd hurt our bodies. It's too much stress and risk on the human body. And it's illegal, too [he laughs awkwardly]. Yeah, you'll get in trouble. 

"Okay, what's next after fighting? Football. Again, too much physical injury. It's dangerous, no matter how much padding you wear. Then what? Baseball--please!" [I didn't say anything.] "Swimming is good for building flexibility, but there's no strength. Have you seen pro swimmers? They're weak. Ok, yeah, running, that's something, you're on to something." [Again, I didn't say anything.] "But runners are weak, too. They have endurance but they're all bones. Their bodies cannibalize themselves. It's all bone. 

"And then there's ping-pong. You ever get hit with a ping-pong? It doesn't feel like nothing. Whether you hit it 60 miles an hour, the most you'll get is a red mark. And you're in combat. You're against your fellow man, but you're never in physical contact. I'm on my side, you're on your side. Always. There's no touching. NONE. At most, I throw you the ball. It's a workout, for real. Believe me. For the record I am saying it's the best exercise. You can quote me. I lost 60 pounds playing ping-pong." 

What. on. earth.

It was the longest 5 hours of my life, made worse by the fact that I had no food to eat. Things started to get less intense once Chris asked if he could listen to music as he worked. "SWEET GOD PLEASE!" I thought as I said, "yeah, get in the zone."

He put the speaker at top volume on his iPhone and proceeded to blast 80s rock songs by Huey Lewis and the News, which only made him even more of an enigma.

If only I'd known that Chris would be the most steadfast of all the men who I'd meet over the next week. For the last 5 days our toilet hasn't worked, our shower dribbles like a public-school water fountain, and one of our dining chairs arrived broken and took 4 days to replace. When I called various men in charge, I discovered that the Ikea model had become universal. I was on my own Les Miz style, feeling very third world in my own (brand new) apartment! Jewboo and I have managed to make it through, however, and have actually grown closer (there's nothing like admitting to peeing in the shower to make a relationship stronger).

Here's to a first week of cohabitation unlike any other! At least I'm not Ashton Kutcher, am I right?!

*I'm so Jewish!
^I saw "Book of Mormon" on Broadway two weeks ago and it's changed my life.