Am I Bitter?

I was talking with a gal pal last night about her latest suitor, and we came up with some great insights that I think are worth sharing with you, gentle readers. Here's an excerpt from our late night jaw session.

Happy Friend in the Courtship Phase: get this-- the first time we made out he was extremely inebriated, and he said "we need to slow down, because i don't want you to think im just interested in you because im drunk. i respect you too much for that"

Me: WOW

that's amazing
[blacktress' note: the fact that I'm this impressed by what should be commonplace is quite telling, don't you think?]

HFitCP: i know

Me: he's a fucking unicorn

bag that shit

bag it

HFitCP: i KNOW

Me: mount it

lock it down
[of course, being such a nice man, she explains that he doesn't live in nyc, and she's heading off to the other side of the world for the next month, so there's that dash of drama...]
Me: ugh, it is so hard

you have to just enjoy it til you leave, and then push it out of your mind

there's a reason i call such men unicorns

HFitCP: yeah

Me: they cannot be found

they cannot be tamed
they are not of our world

they are the stuff of legends

Me: So, is he taller than you?

HFitCP: yup

he wears glasses

and he's one of the sweetest, most thoughtful guys ive known

Me: Oh, love it!

that's so great, boo

ugh, why can't he be in nyc?
oh, right, because nyc is where nice boys go to die and douchebags go to spawn

you know, the way gremlins spawned

HFitCP: yep

Me: don't get douchebags wet

or feed them after midnight

HFitCP: haha!

yeah, he'd never survive in nyc

HFitCP: god, nyc really is a shit hole

Me: it's so crazy, cause think of HOW MANY there are! You'd think, with the sheer number of men, there'd be enough good ones for us to catch. Alas, no.

and then you hear about friends in relationships, and you get this spark of hope

but that spark, when combined with the harsh winds of rejection and the dry heat of celibacy, only causes a forest fire in your soul*

that can't be put out

HFitCP: i know it, girl.

its miserable.

*Earlier in the day I watched 'When Weather Changed History' on The Weather Channel. FUN FACT: Did you know the three factors that lead to a forest fire are harsh winds, dry heat, and dead vegetation?

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:

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?

The Fuhrer of My Heart?????

Last night I was reminded why I always date awkward dudes who aren't particularly attractive to anyone but me.
It is because I am really awkward around hot people. Hot men especially.
Remember how I lived in the quaint Sydney suburb of Lilyfield, with a flatmate who was a hottie-mchot-hot German guy?
He was so hot, it was awkward for me to live with him. Seriously. I didn't poop for about 6 weeks. I was also really awkward, and since he was mostly studying and not too chatty, we would have sporadic 10-minute conversations where I babbled like an overexcited schoolgirl and he spoke with sharp German efficiency.
One time, I came upstairs and he was in the common area at his computer (per usual), wearing no shirt. I got really flustered and excited, and said, 'Dude, why are you not wearing a shirt? Put on some clothes.'
Unfortunately, he did not know it was Opposite Day, and what I really meant was, 'Dude, can you please take off your pants as well, and spoon me?'

He has the features I have discovered are quite common in the German man: a chiseled jaw and lips like a girl. Seriously, I have been swooning over these strapping lads. I love it!
Anyway, he is back in his homeland and I got to see him last night. I was really excited to hang out, even though we weren't close, mostly because he's just so damn fine, you know?

He suggested we head to a place called Winery, which warmed my heart because he knows I don't like beer, and I know that's all he drinks. It was a cool spot, where you only pay 1 euro for your glass, drink as much as you want, and pay what you feel you should. It might actually have taken the place in my heart that was once reserved for the Bourgie Pig, which has simply become to bourgie for me to afford.

Anyway, we were meeting up with some of his friends, which prevented me from probing deep into his soul as I'd hoped. I was late to our meeting, and being an efficient German, he chastized me thoroughly. I don't know if this is possible, but he was actually hotter than I remembered. This instantly caused me to start rambling about what I'd done so far, and how huge my crush was on Berlin, and my time with the gay mafia (I can't say more about them, for obvious reasons). This ridiculous rambling and interrupting took place whenever we'd start to chat throughout the night.
I was so rude and silly. Of course, because I want him so bad that I can't really think clearly, I have told him about man drama--you know, I'm trying to de-sexualize him and treat him like a gal pal, in hopes of making myself less weird.

It does not work. Now I just feel like this really hot guy knows way too much about me.
Like the fact that I was worried about "my vag hanging out" while riding a bike in a short dress through the streets of Berlin.

I did get to know much more about him, though. Apparently he has siblings, is getting a master's degree (can i call it a 'fuhrer' degree?), and has had his heart broken by a girl. He may have lived on struggle strasse briefly (more on that later). He has a lot of female friends, but not in the sketchy way. He is really funny and we spent an inappropriately long time quoting 'Team America'.


He is certainly a unicorn.
And he lives across 6 times zones.
Clearly this is the safest crush I can have at the moment. Nothing has happened, there is no way he could hurt me, our interactions have only been positive, and he doesn't have red hair! There's no chance in h-e-double-hockey-sticks that he would ever want me, and I can simply think of how pretty his face is.
I think the cold storage shed where my heart used to be can only deal with this much risk at the moment.
Who have I become?

The Last Unicorn

It's Wednesday, and I leave the fair island of St. Croix tomorrow. It's been quite an adventure.
I anticipated quiet nights, but instead got Coors Lights.
I thought my disinterest in the male gender would emanate from me like a stinky pheromone, but instead I got hit on by a frat boy who resembled Duane 'The Rock' Johnson.

Old habits die hard.

However, I did discover a long-lost species of man that I thought had died. This is unsurprising, as many geologists, anthropologists, and mixologists discover species previously thought to be extinct when journeying to isolated islands. This man is no exception.

During my visit, the younger sister of KWalsh reconnected with an old flame from years ago, and came to us bitter old broads for advice.
"I don't really know what I want to do," she sighed, mildly confused.
"Well, what's his deal?" I asked, hoping the back story would enable me to give excellent advice.
"He was the drummer from last night," she reminded me. "He also teaches swimming to little kids. We have a great friendship, he's very honest and open, so I think it'll be drama-free, either way."

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold the phone, lady. You're telling me you've got a man who is creative, works with children, and expresses his emotions in an open manner, and you don't know what you want to do??

"Lock that shit down, girl!!!" I exclaimed.
This young, wide-eyed maiden did not know that what she had on her hands: the male equivalent of a unicorn. She was actually this close to holding on to something we'd all heard about, but thought wasn't actually real.
Until now.



"That bitch is a fucking unicorn," I explained to my young friend, who was still uncertain.
I mean I'd be proposing to the man within 3 weeks! (In fact, I've learned from certain redheads that failure to lock it down any sooner will result in him dating someone else and acting like you're a useless step-child of a woman.)

I can't remember the last time someone who possessed all those qualities made himself known to me in a sexy way, and actually stayed awesome after there was some P-in-V action. I'm about to make a documentary about this random and sell it to NatGeo (love that they abbreviate it--they're hip with the young people). Can you imagine the product tie-ins?
Unicorn Condoms (for his horn)
Uni-candy-Corns (Halloween fun!)
The possibilities are endless.

Speaking of unicorns and awesomeness, how effin' amped are you for Huge Jacked Man's new movie?! I am going to be in there like swimwear at 10:45am on Friday morning!! My need to see the movie opening day coupled with my dislike of large crowds, children, and talking during movies, requires I see it bright and early on the matinee tip.
I am totally gonna get prego at the end of it, I just know it.

The Last Unicorn

Ladies, Gentlemen, Friends, Foes, and Hos:

Today is a sad day. Another one bites the dust.

It is currently day 5 of “OPERATION: Why won’t he call me? WHY?! WHY?!” and still no word. Not one to roll over and play dead (I did free myself from the shackles of slavery, didn’t I?) I even called the wandering minstrel last night, just to put out there—this body ain’t getting any younger, people!!!

As of now, I have received no return call.

This, coming from a man who said I was “Excrutiatingly attractive”—when ‘excrutiatingly’ isn’t even a word! I mean, when you’re altering the dictionary to find the right compliment, it has to be for real, right?

This, coming from a man who had a moment in the Nubian sunshine, and came all the way to Harlem to attend a gathering hosted by Sojo when he didn’t know a single soul in attendance.

This, from a fellow who cleaned the red wine I spilled all over the couch and still wanted to make out with me.

I am seriously lost and delirious.

Let me tell you some things I like about my crush:

He is a 6-foot 3-inch tall glass of milk—Sojourner's not getting osteoporosis on his watch!

He has curly hair—it's like white people's version of nappiness!

He plays magic cards—which clearly means he is smart, has an nerdy past, and won't be scared off by my Harry Potter fetish.

And, most importantly:

He was recently on The Tyra Banks Show.

Um, need a say more???

Ok, I will!!!!!!!!!

A tall hot nerd who doesn’t know he’s hot is an urban legend—like razor-blades in apples, and getting AIDS from a toilet seat—only he’s more fun than those. A hot nerd who wants a blacktress is simply magical—the male equivalent of a unicorn. Like an audience member at his Las Vegas run of Cirque du Soleil, I thought I’d hit the jackpot when I dazzled him in my freakum dress and my gays said my “tats looked great.” Our interactions were effortless, and it felt like I’d known him way more than a hot minute. I thought I could finally stop kissing frogs and end up with a prince.

Apparently, that’s not in the (magic) cards for a blacktress.

My beeper has not beeped and my phone has not phoned, and I feel like an ugly normal person who no one wants to spend time with—not even Jesus (and he’s everyone’s homeboy).

Possible Reasons He No Longer Has Love for the Blacktress:
1. He’s gotten with that tramp Felicia from the Tyra Show.
2. Hotter women have come out of the woodwork ever since Tyra called him sexy.
3. He’s going on tour with a wandering minstrel show.
4. He’s been stop-lossed and is going back into the trenches, like Ryan Phillippe
5. He’s racist.
6. He’s lazy and crazy.
7. My vagina dentata scared him away (JK (rowling)!!! I don’t have TEETH)
8. Perhaps it’s because I told him I wouldn’t sleep with him til EL CINCO DE MAYO (Mexican Independence Day)?
9. Because I asked him to teach me to play magic cards because I wanted to “know his world.” (which I personally think is endearing as shit, and should have made him swoon with delight)

So, today, we self-soothe with episodes of "The Office" online. We shed a tear for the pretty, tall, mixie babies that would have been. We light a candle for the mocha acting troupe we would have undoubtedly started. We pour 1/5 of gin on the ground for our dead minstrel, and just praise White Jesus that he didn’t put his p in my v without a c.