Fellow Truth-Tellers

Happy Friday, gentle readers. It’s not even 11 am, and I’m already procrastinating on the plantation with a new post. I don’t really have anything report. I’ve got two stand up shows this weekend, and need to find the funny, stat. I think a grande Starbucks is in order sometime before lunch--extra cocaine sprinkles, so I can really feel my heart burst!

I’m just surfing the information superhighway, getting my daily dish, and I was pleased to see that my homegirl SCRIBE is back in the blogsphere. She’s another freedom writer (see my list on the lower right of your screen), and lately, she’s been telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the ugly truth – and I’m loving it. Check out an excerpt from the latest post:

Jesse Tyler Ferguson plays Mitchell on Modern Family, one half of a gay couple with an adopted darkie. Recently the NY Post interviewed him and everything was fine and dandy until:

PW: Are there any actors you'd like to have on the show?
Jesse: The one person I actually have gone after -- because she'd be so brilliant -- is Gabourey Sidibe. I think she would be fantastic as a nanny we hire. She's just so bubbly and sweet and a fan of the show. I think this would be a seamless fit for her.

Black woman as a nanny, hasn't that been done to death? I mean it is 2010, we have a Black First Lady for Buddha's sake! Are you for real?

Thank you, Scribe! Bringing some truth. This is why Sojo doesn’t have an agent yet—they want to box me in, bring me down!

Y’all know I’m all about breaking the barriers, especially with the black female image. This morning, as I ate my oatmeal and watched VH1 (you know how I do with my fiber boost and morning videos--it’s how I stay hip with the young people), a video came on by an artist named Angel Taylor.

It was kinda meh, poppy-acoustic-guitar summery vibe, but I was so into it because…SHE’S BLACK!
She’s basically the black version of Colbie Caillat, and I am very pleased by this.
We so rarely see black acoustic-pop female artists—I think they’ve always been there, but record labels haven’t known what to do with them. Now that we’re allegedly in some “post-racial” world, they’re not afraid to put Angel Taylor out there, complete with a video chock-full of miscegenation! Check it out:


I think it’s quite fitting that she’s on a label called AWARE Records.

Her voice has zero soul or flava, but there she is, strumming along in a coffee shop with her Colgate smile, and I’m glad.
Homegirl even has a song called CHAI TEA LATTE.
I think if we were introduced, we’d be besties—we’d bond over how people said we “talked white” growing up, and share our tastes for tall glasses of milk (you know the kind….)

I bet her dad’s a dentist.

Bye Bye Black History

Today is a day of sadness. Not only is it a Monday, but it’s also the end of Black History Month. As we look b(l)ack on all we’ve accomplished in the last 28 days (5 stand up shows, RuPaul’s Drag Race, 16 and Pregnant…and a partridge in a pear tree), we can be thankful for the black people in our life – and the ones we’ve only read about.

Gentle readers, I find myself in a bit of a holding pattern. No, it’s not just because I’m back at the same job that drove me cray-cray only a year ago, or because my mother and her latin lover STILL haven’t moved out of the house. Perhaps it’s because I haven’t had sex in a year. Yeah, that’s probably it. All I know is, I’m feeling bored. I don’t know what to do to keep myself busy in a way that’s particularly active. 10 minutes on stage is fine, but what about the other 23 hours and 50 minutes in the day? Okay, take away 7 for sleep, then that’s still 16 hours and 50 minutes. What to do when there are no genetic anomalies to ? Now that Stephenie Meyer has stopped writing Twilight books, I have no tales of repressed, dramatic and traumatic teen love to get me through the day.

What do you suggest, gentle readers? As my number of followers pushes 45, I feel it is behoovy of me to start making out with strangers, getting in trouble, and giving you your money’s worth.

Wait, this blog is free.
Well then, consider my job done here.

Happy Monday!

PS: AAAAHHH! I just looked at my list of followers and saw that Daddy Dugan is now following a blacktress. For those of you who don’t know (i.e. all of you), Daddy Dugan is this guy I met on Friday night who seemed to be able to handle my truths. We got along swimmingly, and his ex-girlfriend is really pretty, making him much cooler by association. Do you think his following of my blog means that we’re going to be besties and braid each others’ hair and watch TEEN WITCH on Saturday nights? I hope so!

Speaking of TEEN WITCH, I will use any excuse to post a youtube clip from this film. Below, see one of the finest moments in film history (and a nod to my celibacy):

Indestructible

So, I'm here in Darwin where it's already 90 degrees and humid at 9am. Claire, the love of my life and new best friend, has already left for a trip to Kakadu, and I'm left to fend for myself. I'm now finding I miss the Outback crew and the bonding that comes from near-death experiences.

I'm also missing the random '80s tunes we listened to on our 6 to 10-hour car rides. For example, "Gold," by Spandau Ballet, featured heavily in the rotation. It's the most amazing song ever. I embed it for your listening/viewing pleasure.



Nothing boosts the spirits like hearing that gorgeous baritone singing "you're indestructible....." after a 3.5-hour hike in the height of the desert sun.

Okay, off to the museum and more exploring. Tomorrow morning I head off to a one-day tour of Litchfield National Park, where there are apparently giant termite mounds and waterfalls for swimming.

I don't even know myself anymore.

And That's Why They Call Me Sojourner TRUTH.

Sunday night's Christmas party was, indeed, a shit show.

We all met--hostel staff and bar staff--at the bar, where we had free beer and wine for about an hour. We then got into a rented bus, which took us to a nearby Lebanese restaurant. Our managers had arranged for all the wine and beer to be dropped off beforehand, so bottles were ready and waiting when we arrived. The drinking continued as everyone opened their secret santa presents.

It seems that the theme of dirtiness is really among the bar staff, as the "reception crew" (as we call those who work above ground in the hostel) tended towards more appropriate gifts. I, for instance, got a little box of cards that listed the 50 places to see before you die. Sweet. Appropriate for a traveler like myself.

One of the managers, on the other hand, got a whistle shaped like a vagina that he wore around his neck all night.
Joe, in reception, received porno magazines. The subject: women over 60.
Mai, who also works in reception, got a glow-in-the-dark water bottle shaped like a penis, which she promptly filled with red wine.
Lena, one of my coworkers got the best gift of all--a vibrator.

So, as you can see, my cock ring fit right in. My recipient loved it, and was quite excited. So excited, that later in the night he told me broke it by trying to fit it on his wrist.
What a waste of a good cock ring.

Here are some pics from the dinner, just to corroborate my story.

These are my managers.

One girl was given a box of pads as her gift (I kid you not). Staff members immediately took great fun in opening them, soaking them with red wine, and affixing them to their body.
Clearly this was a heavy-flow day.




The glow-in-the-dark penis water bottle I mentioned earlier.
Note: the person holding this is not the actual recipient of the gift. Penises all around!


Um, I could show you more, but I think this is all you need. Imagine how the other patrons in the restaurant must have felt?