Going, Going, Going...Almost GONE!

I honestly feel like I haven’t slept since March, guys. I don’t really know why, seeing as I’m no Miley Cyrus-type rock star. But I’ve just been going-going-going, and it’s coming to a head. Last week was the 5-year college reunion, where my Aspberger’s really flared up.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I loved college. I definitely know what Bruce Springsteen talked about when he sang “Glory Days.” I also know what Ani Difranco talked about when she sang….well, every song she ever sang. While I was excited to see some friends, having all of them concentrated at once after a 5-year hiatus wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time. I wanted to make a t-shirt that said:

Hello! No, I’m not married. I’m NOT engaged. My current salary is less than our yearly tuition, and, despite all of our high hopes for my career, I’m not a famous comedian. How are you????

I hoped that’d ward off any painful schmoozing at class dinner. Alas, I could not make this happen.

Honestly, I made it all of 24 hours on campus, with the highlights being hanging out with former professors, and getting to meet film and television writer Alex Kurtzman, the mastermind behind TV show Fringe (I’m so glad Joshua Jackson’s still working!), the new Stark Trek, and one of my old tv favorites, Hercules (Kevin Sorbo, swoon city!). He told a blacktress straight-up (like Paula Abdul) that I needed to get some more up-to-date spec scripts, and decide if I want to write drama or sitcoms, no back and forth—I can’t be a greedy, tv-writing bisexual, I’ve got to pick a gender! (I wish he’d used those words, but he didn’t)

It was also pretty awesome to see two girls who are blog fans—and they’re black! We weren’t really friends in college, but it seems they’ve come to love Sojourner’s Truth since graduation! One of them is really pretty and I want to be her when I grow up. She’s got a hot Rihanna hairdo and a Colgate smile (you know how much I love the contrast of pearly whites against Nubian skin), and she’s from Maine, and never told me I talked white when we were in college. She immediately asked me about Jewboo and expressed a need for a Jewtorial to help her with her new social circle. I quickly offered my services, of course.

Although there was some fun, those 24 hours tired me out (and drained my wallet--they charged $120 to sleep in a dorm room for a night!). I then pulled double duty yesterday’s at the Book Expo, where I was supposed to be schmoozing for work, and actually snuck off to shoot a short scene for a tv pilot (you know how I do). I had one line which could end up on the editing room floor, but you gotta start somewhere!

I’m now spending this Thursday morning blogging, when lord knows I should be working since I’m about to be out for 4 days. Tonight I head to a wedding in Vermont, which takes away yet another weekend. Sleep? What’s that again? I vaguely remember it, but I can’t quite place it’s face.

This is the wedding of the girl whose bachelorette party I planned. You know, the one who I still haven’t heard a thank-you from? Well, yeah, I’m about to take the 7-hour drive to Vermont, and spent much of this week searching for a dress because this wedding requires that I wear not one, but two dresses. As we all know, I’m not in the wedding, but Friday night is some cultural something or the other, which requires “Semi-formal” attire. Saturday is both an Indian and Christian ceremony, which is basically a 10-hour day.
Basically, I’ll be taking part in a Bollywood film.

I don’t do very well with events and dressing up. I’m not a particularly fancy lady. I enjoy dresses, but if it’s not black-tie, and not in New York City, I don’t really know how to handle it. In NYC, anything goes, and you can usually get away with whatever. Black tie, having the word “black” in it, usually gives me a good enough hint. I can wear black, and in addition to being black, hope that I’m adequately dressed. However, in Vermont, I’m just not sure. A friend, who’s also the maid of honor, told me the vibe is “country-chic.”
I have no concept of “country-chic,” or “semi-formal,” or compound-definitions in general.
I immediately went to Anthropologie, which is all about country chic, with it’s wacky patterns and tablecloth-style dresses, but that’s not my style. I like solid colors, but nice cuts that flatter the figure. I don’t really do brights. I manage to walk into the Anthropologie fitting room with four items, all of which are muted earth tones.
Lynn, the lovely lady in the fitting room who “was here to help me in any way” commented, “That’s funny. Most people don’t come here for plain things.”
I know, Lynn. I KNOW. I explained that I like a little color, but not crazy patterns and things. “It’s too much. I’m a big girl.”
“Your personality is already rather big,” she said.
SHE GETS ME.

So, I’ve found nothing, and have a suitcase packed with three dresses I already own, but don't really feel confident about. They’re rather plain, nothing patterned or shabby chic about them. I’m scared I’ll look the way I looked at all the bar and bat mitzvahs I went to when I was a kid—like the financial-aid girl who didn’t have an eating disorder. Which, you know, at my school, was a bad thing.

I’ve got to stop this. I’m not 13 anymore. Besides, no one’s going to be looking at me—it’s all about the bride.

Where’s “16 and Pregnant” when you really need a boost?

See you next week, kids! Enjoy the long weekend! We'll discuss the latest Jewboo to-do, and what to get G-Unit (grandma) for her 94th b-day--the party's gonna be off the chain!!!

Found MYSELF on Youtube!!

Thought I'd share one of my old sets with you, gang.....

This acts as a great reminder, whenever I get stressed out about Jewboo, that things could be worse. They could be WAY worse....



Part 2!

EYES OF A MURDERER

....and the voice of a demon.



Below you can see actor Chris Klein auditioning for a role in Mamma Mia!
Why is he so terrifying?
One friend described the moment when he launches into song as "bone-chilling."
I believe he is correct.



As with every hilarious video I share, thanks must go to KWalsh for bringing it to my attention.
The urge to watch this video came not only out of intense boredom at work, but because I needed something to get the image of "The Human Centipede" trailer out of my head.
I'd link you to it or embed it, but I can't do that to you--I love you all too much.
All I know is, after watching it I felt the urge to cry and desperately wanted my mommy.

Thank god Chris Klein's coked-out eyes and nails-on-chalkboard singing voice snapped me out of my horror-filled frenzy. Clearly, he's still reeling from the loss of Katie Holmes.

Well, with that, I am off to a rehearsal for CONVERSATIONS WITH DEB--LIVE AT UCB!!

You know Deb, y'all. I've been repping her blog from the get-go (check the blogroll). Well, she has far surpassed the blacktress with her own live show at Upright Citizens Brigade. Due to illness, Deb can't be in it, so this requires an additional player--cue blacktress, stage left. You know I'd never let down a Jewess in need, y'all! I play the gripping, complex role of "the narrator."

It's gonna be sweet--way sweeter than whatever the hell Chris Klein is trying to do. MAKE A RESERVATION, AND COME ON DOWN!

OMG! I'm the Mayor of Swoon City!

(Note: This may be my most diary-like blog post yet)
Guys, today is a day of OMGs.
Well, just one really.

Friday, May 14, at 8:42pm, Jewboo said "I love you."
to me.
non-ironically.

OMG!

Clearly, I am questioning his judgment while also planning our wedding. This means we're getting married, right?

Guys, this is kind of a big deal. A man hasn’t said I love you to me since 2001.
(I don’t want to blame it all on 9/11, but we can’t really be sure.)

The way it happened was also so random. I’d go into details, but why don’t I just give you an excerpt from today’s gchat with JJSiii? (of course, I emailed 10 of my nearest and dearest/anyone who’s ever heard me cry about how I’ll die alone to let them know the good news)


JJSiii: OMG.
a la Usher
This is big news.
Dudes expressing feelings, it's not a common occurrence.
Me: I KNOW
JJSiii: PS: I love that you marked the exact time and date.
I want you to get married at 8:42PM on May 14th
Whatever year may be appropriate.
JJSiii: important question: did you say it back?
Me: YES
OF COURSE
JJSiii: well, obvs
Me: you know i've been biting my tongue for, like, three weeks
JJSiii: otherwise it'd be totally awkward
Me: totes
Let me give you a blow-by-blow
JJSiii: Please do!
Me: We got into a stupid fight Friday early evening—you know, cause I was being a crazy person.
We make up, and the plan is for him to come over.
So, he gets to my place.
he comes in
and barges into the kitchen, all angry and cute
takes off his coat
and puts down his bag
and he's standing there and takes a breath, and says, "look. i love you."
i feel kind of dizzy, like i'm in some surreal hyper-baric chamber and this is so insane
JJSiii: haha, you should rent out a giant billboard in times square
just you giving a thumbs up
Me: yep
JJSiii: with the caption "He said 'I Love You'"
ME: hahahah!
who's got two thumbs and a boyfriend that said "i love you"? THIS GIRL!
JJSiii: Yes. It'll be a video billboard
or just one of those scrolling ones
I can picture it in my head
Me: I can’t blog about it…can I?
JJSiii: FYI: There's totally a Degrassi episode about blogging and relationships colliding


Clearly, the conversation devolved into Degrassi-related madness, with a few links to wedding dresses.

Here’s hoping he doesn’t go reading the blog today, people!!!]

I know, I know, I'm such a tween--grown ass women do not act like this (right?). Where's my Justin Bieber poster?

I am Free and so is my Time

Whew, what a week, y’all!!

I have done a whole lot of nothing, I tell ya. It’s been hard trying to look busy, yet still find ways to keep me entertained.

The first two days of the week I sat at my desk sneakily grading film exams (you know about my side hustle as a grader for undergrad film at my alma mater, right?), but just felt guilty the whole time, and it stressed me out. Luckily, there was enough ridiculousness in these exams to keep me focused. For instance, take this lovely lad’s analysis of French film theorist Francois Truffaut:
"truffaut wrote an article ragging on the tradition of quality in french cinema post WWI--based on literature, historical, expansive. truffaut says 'BAD!' "

Or this tender lamb’s identification of German filmmaker Rainer Werner Fassbinder:
"he made movies at a rapid pace, due both to his constant circle of collaborators and his high consumption of drugs"
Yep, that’s why, kid. Keep at it.

With very little to do at work, my gchat’s been a-buzz, and Katie Walsh has even managed to get me excited about my college reunion, which is next weekend. Of course, when one’s brain lacks stimulation, it can quickly atrophy. Take, for instance, a question I posed to KWalsh in all seriousness on Wednesday:
Me: is there an electronic facebook? i mean, like, of JUST our class.
i need to go through the archives, see who's hot
KWalsh: electronic facebook-- let me direct you to it
hahahhahahahaha
sorry, that’s the funniest thing.

Yes, I really asked if there was an electronic facebook.

Lord knows I shouldn’t even be thinking about who’s hot anyway, now that I’m all Jewboo’d-up. Sometimes I forget about it, cause I’ve been single so long, and always tried to sabotage every relationship I’ve ever been in. But I’m really trying not to be a hot mess with this one, even though sometimes I backslide. Luckily, I make up for my crazy with food. Food and orgasms. Yup, that’s the key to a man’s heart—through his stomach and his penis.

We’re even collaborating in the form of a humorous internet video. We’re like an interracial Jay-Z and Beyonce—or, more appropriately, JEW-Z (I enjoy Jewish puns as much as I love black puns). I’ve slept my way to the top, y’all, and will be playing the role of Rabbi Blowdart in what is surely to be the most insane, gender-bending 5-minute video that vimeo has ever seen.

I have no idea if it’ll be funny, and Jewboo clearly doesn’t understand the seriousness of being a blacktress. When I asked him what I should wear/bring, he said, “Something cute.”
What on earth does that mean?!
When I searched online for “female rabbis” (I’m a method blacktor), however, I didn’t get much of a hint—but I did find out the greatest piece of news ever:

Alysa Stanton is the first black female rabbi!!


Talk about a Challahback girl!!

Seriously, y’all!! This happened last year—how am I so behind?!
She’s at a temple in North Carolina, and of course, the irony of being black rabbi in an all-white congregation in the south isn’t lost on the rabbi.
“God has a sense of humor,” she said.
Oh my god, I love her. I bet we could sit around and eat latkes and talk about being cross-over sensations.

You know, not having much to do actually allows me to get real ish done, like pay my credit card bill and turn the blog into a legit .com! Holla at a commercial entity, y’all!! Now, you can get rid of the “blogspot,” and just click diaryofamadblacktress.com, and get your dose of Sojourner’s Truth! I don’t know why it took me three years to do this—I was so scared I’d need that $10 at some point, I guess. It’s only when you’ve got nothing better to do but stare at your cuticles that you finally take some BLACKtion.

This free time also allows me to do crazy things, like pass Jewboo’s resume on to my boss for a possible paid internship position. At first, I did it as a joke, sort of just trying to help the boo get something (you know a Jewboo without a job is like a day without sunshine!!), but then when I told him, he was actually interested. I then felt compelled to see this process through, as I know finding employment is important to him.
So, he’s through the pipeline….for now. After a bit more of a think on it (which I had tons of time to do….are you seeing a theme here?), I realized nothing would be more awful than Jewboo in my workplace, where I act a fool with my office wife, am grumpy all day, and often show up looking just a two steps above homeless. This would be the kiss of death for our love affair. Even Jay-Z knows he's gotta collabo with A-Keys sometimes, just to keep it fresh.

Anyhoo, I refuse to stress—although I definitely have the time to. I’m cheering myself with the news that I got from the president of the watercolor society this week—I’ve been invited to his home to cover a workshop!

Remember how I told you about my fabulous Friday evening at the watercolor society banquet? Well, it was all I could have hoped for. As the youngest and brownest person in the room, I felt like I’d crashed the AARP yearly social, but everyone was actually quite nice. Drunken geriatrics are hilarious, and the art puns flowed as abundantly as the wine. Some favorites include:
“I thought I got Rose madder, but it was just a pigment of my imagination.”
“Who hasn’t ever just gotten lazy and went for the cheap Hooker’s—Hooker’s green, I mean!!”
These are only funny if you know paints…and if you’re 70.
I sat at the cool kid’s table, with the society president, my boss, and the jurors. As the prez and I talked, he pointed across the table to a man who was cracking jokes. “That’s my partner. He’s a diva.”
Yes, folks. I was at a table with not one, not two, but THREE retirement-aged homosexuals.
BEST. NIGHT. EVER.
Of course, the idea of going to the home of two of these gentlemen and talking paints would be nothing short of magical—and to get paid for it, no less!!

What should I wear? It won’t be until July, so we have time to plan.
Maybe I’ll spend the rest of the day doing that.

Stormy Weather....

Guys, I can't cope with this loss. Blacktress and icon Lena Horne passed away last night, at the age of 92.

Without Lena, I wouldn't be here, y'all. As the first blacktress to sign a long-term Hollywood contract, Lena paved the way for every actress of color.

As I sit here on the plantation, reading the NY Times article on her, there are so many things about Lena that resonate with me.

At 92 years old, she’s 2 years younger than my grandmother—I called up G-Unit to see if she’d heard about it (of course she had—she’s got the news on 24-hour loop) and she remembers Lena’s first movie!! That is so out of control, y’all.

Lena, like Sojo, had a main gay who she loved dearly. When speaking of musician and accompanist Billy Strayhorn, Lena said he was, “the only man I ever loved,” but Strayhorn was openly gay, and their close friendship never became a romance. “He was just everything that I wanted in a man,” she told Mr. Hajdu, “except he wasn’t interested in me sexually.”
I been there, Lena!!!

She, too, found a group of cool Caucasians who could handle a blacktress: “My only friends were the group of New Yorkers who sort of stuck with their own group — like Vincente, Gene Kelly, Yip Harburg and Harold Arlen, and Richard Whorf — the sort of hip New Yorkers who allowed Paul Robeson and me in their houses.” Lena, girl, I know how that goes. Growing up as a young blacktress at an NYC private school, it was often an awkward clip from the yet-to-be-released film “Guess Who’s Coming to Seder?”

I think this final paragraph in the article is what warms my heart the most:

Looking back at the age of 80, Ms. Horne said: “My identity is very clear to me now. I am a black woman. I’m free. I no longer have to be a ‘credit.’ I don’t have to be a symbol to anybody; I don’t have to be a first to anybody. I don’t have to be an imitation of a white woman that Hollywood sort of hoped I’d become. I’m me, and I’m like nobody else.”

Even though you’re speaking Sojourner’s Truth, you are indeed like no one else, Ms. Horne. RIP.

Paul Rudd is my life partner

You're welcome.

I would like Celery Man on my computer right now.

Blast From the Past

No, I'm not referring to the movie starring Brendan Fraser and Alicia Silverstone. I'm talking about my lost youth.

I don’t know what’s up with me, but I cannot get early-90s television off the brain--maybe it's some weird PMS thing.

You know you’re hella bored at work when your first thought is, “I wish I could watch Blossom.”

Seriously. This has been nagging me since 10:42am.

Where is Mayim Bialik? Or, more important--where can a blacktress get one of those sweet hats with a flower on the front?



I cannot tell you how many times I sat in my room with my camcorder and recorded my dance moves for posterity. Blossom gets right to the heart of the matter.



I cannot tell you how many times, after a nice Brazilian wax, that I tapped dance on a piano while my dad looked on creepily. (something was going on there, I’m telling you)



Below are a list of other jams I miss--some of it may seem strange to you, gentle readers. I mean, the Cosby Show goes without saying, as does Save By the Bell, not only because everyone misses them but also because they can still be seen on Nick at Nite and TBS.
Oh god--television shows from my youth are now on Nick at Nite. I feel like I'm 72 years old. Here are some dark horses:

My Two Dads (obviously, my mention of it in the last post is what started this trip down memory lane.)
Flash Forward Hello--the old one, not that new ABC crap.
Out of This World (Because I, too, often imagined my absentee father was on a far-off planet, which is why he couldn’t take care of me)


And, of course, A Different World. Oh, how I hoped one day to go to Hillman……

I don't know what this is all about today, but I just really miss the early 90s. It was a simpler time--when Bill Clinton could get beejers whenever he wanted, and a B.A. could actually lead to employment. When , and creepy aliens could live amongst us--it was the kind of change I could believe in, you know?

Sidebar: OMG, New Massa just brought in his BF to introduce to the office. He is soooo hot multi-culti. They're like a silver-fox Benetton ad. SWOON CITY.

I want to spend my nights watching them sleep.
Is that creepy?

My New Daddy

So, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this yet, but there’s a new massa in charge of the magazine where I work. This means that I have to pretty much make a new impression and re-prove myself to this person who doesn’t know my worth as a woman of color and a writer. He came on about a month ago, but the old editor-in-chief was still around, showing him the ropes and getting him acclimated. It was a really confusing time, as I wasn’t sure who to direct my queries to or who was actually in charge—I felt like I was on an episode of “My Two Dads.”

What was with that plush car in their apartment? Such a weird situation. IT'S CALLED DNA TESTING, PEOPLE!


Last week was new massa’s first week solo, and we’re all in a tizzy, as we work to bring him up to speed, explain our roles, and keep everything chugging along and meeting deadlines. He and I went to the watercolor event on Friday night, which I was nervous about—I wanted him to know I was an asset to the staff, but also a cool person, because half the time, the difference between a pink slip and a paycheck comes down to who is liked the most. It was also kinda weird, because it was sort of a social event, but I was clearly with my superior—what could we talk about for four hours without veering into non-professional conversation? What if I accidentally revealed the fact that I hate my job sometimes? EEP!!

Well, fortunately for us all, New Massa is great. Imagine Ian McKellan with a dash of Michael Showalter.
I'm sorry, I'd add a pic of Michael Showalter, but I'm too obsessed with Ian McKellan and this apple to place anything next to it that could detract from its amazingness.


Needless to say, we’re getting along swimmingly.

He’s a wonderful gay man with a hot bi-racial live-in bf, and he curses a lot and we crack each other up. When I told him I was nervous about the event and hoped I wouldn’t have to speak, he said he didn’t know what to say, either. I said, “No, I’m the Michelle to your Barack. You take it away, I’ll be in the background with the arms.” He LOL’d like a little LOLcat, and I knew we’d be forever together.

Throughout the event, we chatted about the art, and mix and mingled like a total power couple. I was prompted to sing his praises in blog form because when I went into his office a few minutes ago to share a silly submission (you know the artists like to share their hot messes), he replies with, “Oh, I’m glad you came in, I wanted to tell you a story.”

This story was about a tranny artist he knows who was the son of a preacher, and his father got the whole church to raise money for his kid’s sex change.

Um, can I hang out with my boss every day and be best friends?

Although he’s super cool, I can tell he’s not one to mess around, like most power gays I know. Old Massa had been here 31 years, so he was really chill. He left at 2:30pm, and didn’t stress you as long as your work got done. This was much appreciated, as I aim to take as much time as I need to pursue my (bl)ac(k)ting career. I may have to put the early departures and long lunches on hold for a bit, as New Massa gets comfortable and stops freaking out—but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make if it means we get to talk about trannies in the workplace.

Fridays With Artists

Happy Friday, y’all!! The sun is shining, my Jewboo and I made it through our first fight, and my procrastination is in full swing—it feels good to be alive.

Tonight after work is sure to be blogworthy, as I’ll be attending an awards dinner for a watercolor organization. Yes, a watercolor painting organization. For those of you who don’t know, watercolor is the painting medium that’s long been dominated by the Floridian retiree. This is my magazine's target demographic, and as the editor of the mag, it’s now my responsibility to “network with the community.” This means attending events where I’m the only brown person, and the youngest attendee by at least 35 years.

It’s kind of amazing.

After attending the opening-night show three weeks ago, I then went to an artist demonstration, where a rather fatigued old woman leaned over to me and provided color commentary throughout the demo. Her hair was a kind of orange that could only come from a box, and her lipstick was bright as a ripe mango.

I loved her—even when she talked awkwardly loudly.
Throughout the demo, cell phones rang loudly and repeatedly, as the elderly fumbled to find where the noise was coming from, then struggled to silence it. As the artist explained her materials, she mentioned her drawing tool—a negro pencil!! The blacktress bristled, and looked around and realized there were no other negroes around, so no one else seemed to care.

NEGRO PENCIL, Y’ALL!! WTF?!

Tonight’s dinner is sure to be a doozy, seeing as I received a call from one of the planners last week, asking “how you’d like to be introduced….we’ll be announcing attendees of note.” Oh my god, I’m now imagining a debutante-ball-style announcement, with me walking down a center aisle as elderly members of Caucasia provide golf claps.

Guys, I’d like you to know a few things about me:
-I don’t really like my job
(sidebar: just as I was typing the previous sentence, my boss came over to me to give me comments on my editor’s note for the next issue. Awkward Town, population ME!)
-I know very little about art, and even less about watercolor
-I’m a blacktress man, not a watercolorist (said in the voice of Doctor McCoy from Star Trek)

The amount of awkward small talk taking place tonight will be through the roof. It'll be Totes cuckoo bananas. I will try to live tweet it if I can.

How are you doing?

Marriage Material

Hey guys. What’s been going on? I feel so out of the loop. The last couple weeks have been totes cray cray, but I’m finally rejoining society—and by that, I mean, going straight home after work and hopping in bed by 10 (Sojo is old, y’all). The major stressor this past week was a friend’s bachelorette party, which somehow I got involved in planning many months ago. At that time, blacktress loved a good party, and with no job and plenty of free time, planning a bachelorette was quite appealing.
No, I’m not in the wedding party.
No, I’m not even that close with this girl. I see her roughly every four months, over a 90-minute dinner in which she often tells me I “seem so much better than last time we talked,” which I guess is supposed to be uplifting, but I don’t really pay attention because she often just gets the high (or, I guess, to be more accurate, LOW) lights over thai food.

Anyway, I digress. I’m not bitter, I swear.

Suddenly, with the bachelorette date of April 24 approaching, I had to put my money (and seriously, I mean my money) where my mouth was, making a customized recipe book that consisted of personalized notes from family, friends, and even the future German in-laws. This wasn't particularly difficult, but it was time-consuming, as I had to find a way to get it done wile doing my 9-5, trying to get my side-hustle stand-up career on, and preparing for my television debut. Needless to say, I was pretty stressed.

But Saturday came, and it was me and 7 future doctors, only one of whom wasn’t in a serious long-term relationship. I planned an evening that started at my favorite wine bar, which was only made awkward by the fact that I’m not drinking at the moment. So, there I sat, as the conversation turned to episiotomies, (click at your own risk!) drinking my mocktail, and wondering why I was destined to die alone and poor. I also made a mental note never to get admitted into a hospital.
Good times.
I then planned for us to head over to a delicious tapas restaurant, where they didn’t take reservations, but told me to just put our names down 20-30 minutes before we were ready. Of course, at that point, the place was nearly empty and the hostess told me not to worry about it. When we got there less than half-an-hour later, however, the place was packed, and we ended up waiting over an hour to sit down. As we waited, we became acquainted with two cheesy d-bags, and, in true blacktress fashion, the baggier of the d-bags took a shine to me. His name was Keith, and he looked like a cross between Andrew Dice Clay and “The Situation,” from The Jersey Shore.
Not cute.

I love "The Dice's" bedazzled vest.

He spent much of the time pestering me to have a drink and telling me I needed to “loosen up,” by which I think he meant, “drop my panties.” He then told me I looked like Kelly Rowland from “Destiny’s Child,” after explaining that his friends tell him he looks like Billy Baldwin. He really brought it home when he said,
“We’re gonna be in the tabloids tomorrow! It’ll say, ‘Billy Baldwin has a case of Jungle Fever!!!”
Um, check please!

Oh wait, it’s 10pm and I HAVEN’T EATEN YET, so I can’t get a check.

The night was quite tame, as you can probably guess from a guest list that includes 6 docs who were either coming off of, or preparing for, an overnight shift. The girls were nice, but as the Maid of Honor and co-planner put it, “they're completely sleep-deprived people, which clearly translates to functioning at a level that hovers below normal humans.”

At the end of the night, I gathered my passport and other paperwork and headed to Greenpoint, BK, to hang out with Jewboo. After being accosted by “The Dice,” it was nice to hang out with a man who respected me despite the fact that my boobs were prominently displayed. The next morning, we had brunch with two of his old friends, and I tried my best to make a swell impression. As expected, the male friend was easy to get along with, quick to laugh, and perfectly content just shooting the shit, while Jewboo’s female friend was a bit quiet and reserved, making me nearly nauseous with nerves.

After that ended, we hung out for a bit, and Jewboo and I took a nap at around 4:30pm—cause we’re classy like that. I was clearly coming off of an emotional hangover of hanging out with the “Grey’s Anatomy” extras and trying to impress bf’s friends and needed to rest. Things were all well and good until I decided to break out my first cry of the new relationship, which we all know is the first nail in the coffin. Afterwards, I wanted to crawl into a hole and die, but I consoled myself with the knowledge that it had taken me 6 weeks to break out the waterworks, which definitely constitutes growth.

As you can imagine, the blacktress has a flair for the dramatic. Part of being a successful blacktress requires an ability to “easily access” one’s emotions, which means I can cry at the drop of a hat. The story of conjoined twins separated, a moving Chris Meloni monologue on “Law & Order: SVU,” or even just a particularly deserving “America’s Next Top Model” winner can bring a tear to a blacktress’ eye.

This easy access to emotions, coupled with my deep-seated need for approval and fear of dying alone means that one sideways glance from Jewboo after hanging out with engaged girls, and I’m blubbering like an idiot, because I’ve failed in my duty gf.

See, I’ve got this twisted perception that I bring two things to the relationship table: orgasms and food. After all, that’s the only reason heterosexual relationships function, isn’t it? Men don’t want to talk about feelings, they don’t want to be challenged in any way, and they don’t really look for a “partner,” so much as easy access to both food and vag….right?
Clearly, I’m a hot mess, suffering the aftermath of an absent father figure. For those of you who are surprised, I suggest you start reading this blog from the beginning.

Anyway, things are okay now, but I spent much of yesterday waiting to be IM’d, and then caving and IM’ing him with a stupid question…because in my head I am a 17-year-old in a CW drama, and I suffer from mild autism.

Anyhoozle, I’m glad that’s all over. Going to bed at 11pm last night was awesome. I feel way more emotionally stable. And even though I haven’t received so much as a “thank you” from the bride-to-be, I don’t mind, because it helps fuel my self-righteous resentment.

I’ve missed you guys. I’ll be back with funnier blog posts soon.

THERE WILL BE A BLACKTRESS IN YOUR HOME

So, as you all know, yesterday, I did my first taping for television. What fun!!
I was interviewed by a wonderful, hilarious gay man, who happily let me rant about Celebrity bodies. As I talked, he jotted down notes and smiled encouragingly, much like a mother at her shyest child's recital. (He explained he couldn't laugh out loud because his voice wasn't supposed to be heard on the taping.)

Because I was told to wear "no white, no stripes, no logos, no busy patterns, and no green, because you'll be in front of a green screen," I rolled up in one of my finest blue dresses--you know, with just enough cleave to show I'm a lady in the street, but a freak in the bed. Even though the outfit looked great, the fabric was apparently difficult for the sound guy, who kept coming up to adjust the clip-on mic because he could hear rustling.

Quite frankly, I think he was just using it as an excuse to touch me in the boob area. He had a soul patch, and his name was Mike, and he spoke in an unnecessarily sexy voice, all smoky and low and full of deadpan. I enjoyed messing with him every time he came over to press the mic and come up with new ways to make sure it stayed put. "Are you trying to give me a mammogram, Mike? You're obvi checking for lumps."
He was so not having the blacktress' jest. I think it's cause I was the last interview of the day and they were getting sleepy.

We went through the list he'd gave me, and I had jotted down jokes, and he let me refer to them on set, which was cool. However, it really was the random off-the-cuff stuff that they liked best, such as when I referred to Matthew McConaughey as "a kind of sexy rotisserie chicken. He's always juicy and glistening and in motion, the breasts are highlighted, he's looking succulent."

They also appreciated when I totally went off on a tangent unrelated to beach bodies and explained my theory that Spencer Pratt looks like a Furby.




Srsly, do you see it??? They are both freaking me out!!!!

I left feeling good, with the producer and the makeup artist telling me I was great, and the producer saying--and I QUOTE--"I hope we can get you to do some more of this." I won't know what bits they end up using until it airs, and I won't even know the air date until it's edited, but it's scheduled for June.

Even though some things are up in the air, one thing is for certain: Even if it's just for 12 seconds, I AM GOING TO BE ON YOUR TV.

Best Pep Talk Ever

I head off to the VH1 shoot in about 30 minutes, and boy is my stomach in knots! Luckily, I have Kwalsh and JJSiii to give me the boost. I'd like to share with you their words of wisdom--perhaps you can pass it on to a friend in need:


JJSiii:You need to be in my television
Me: I want ot be in your television. As a picture-in-picture box on the lower-right corner.
JJSiii: YES, I WAS JUST THINKING THAT
I want a Sojourner-box.
Ew, that sounds wrong.
But you know what I mean.


KWalsh: you can do this
you're Hilary Swank and i'm clint eastwood
in my 'million dollar baby' scenario
go get 'em champ!
not with the tragic ending of course

With those words of encouragement, I feel strong. I feel solid. I'm ready for my close-up.
But, um, only on my left side, mmkay? That's my good side.

The Blacktress Goes Global--Fingers Crossed!!!

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Thank God It's.....Time For 16 and Pregnant!!!!

Happy Friday, Y'all!!
I've hit a new low in my levels of procrastination. I am about to spend the last hour of work watching this week's ep of "16 and Pregnant" online.
Of course, I will live-blog every moment. Let's do this.

4:35 - Lizzi's from Smithfield, "A small conservative town on the coast of Virginia." Her parents are divorced and she lives with mom, but dad's still on the scene.
"Skylar works at a thrift store and is studying to become a professional glass blower." - Way to pick a winner, sis.
"I love playing in the marching band.... maybe one day I can play in the Virginia Orchestra."

September - 5 Months Pregnant.
- Lizzie dropped out of school and is now homeschooled.
- "I live with my mom and after the initial shock, she's really excited about being a grandma" - Wow! We've got a mother who actually doesn't want to strangle her child. I guess I should be happy, but I'm kinda worried. What sort of dreams did you have for your kid if her high school pregnancy barely raises your blood pressure?

- Luckily, the dad has some sense (um, paging Dr. Phil, I think I know why these two got divorced.) "I thought you were on some kind of contraception," he says, like a rational human being who expected more for his child.

Mom explains: "She was until it came time to have the yearly check up, but she refused to go because she didn't want to have the gynecological exam." - What?! You'll let some dude who works at a thrift store diddle your fiddle, but you won't let a medical professional check under the hood?! You gotta make sure the brakes are working before you take the car for a drive, girl!!!

"I wanted four kids - I'm just going to space them out more now."
"I hope bring pregnant doesn't get in the way of my dreams, cause I've got a lot of plans." - Oh, Lizzie, boo bear, didn't you see season 1?

- Skylar's moving in with Lizzie and her mom and they're turning the spare room into a nursery. - Ooh--look--unlike Leah from last week, they have paint!
(oh god, what's happening to my priorities? I think this show has skewed my perceptions of what constitutes success and happiness.)

- "Are you gonna teach our kid glass blowing?" Way to lift up the next generation, kids.
- "I don't miss public school that much, except I miss my band friends." She and her band homegirl go get pedicures--wow, they are both really blonde and bright-eyed. I guess in Virginia, band girls aren't geeks

Lizzie to her friend: "Do you think I'm ready to be a mom?"
- "Of course!"
Why would her friend lie to her like that? Maybe it's nail polish fumes.

4:43 - They're having a girl, and they're naming her summer! Oh, so sweet. I hope they don't spell it some fucked up way like the rest of the girls. Something cray-cray like, "Somemur"

4:44 - Lizzie's latest delusion: "Everyone thinks I'm going to have to give something up. I'm sure I can play in the Viginia orchestra and still be a mom."
[Oh, I love watching online--no commercial. But it's harder to keep up!]

4:45 - 25 Weeks Pregnant
They go pumpkin picking. "I'm just worried about the money cause you're the only one that's working." - Homeboy works part-time at the thrift store, what did you expect?!

Lizzie practices her flute in her bedroom at home. Cut to Skylar playing terrifying war-like paintball in the Virginia fields.
This is a match made in heaven.

4:46 - Skylar tells his boys he's thinking of proposing to Lizzie! What?! They've been together 8 months. Good lord, why do they feel the need to make one problem even worst?
4:47 - Jessica and Jackie come by in their homecoming dresses. She shows them the dress she would have worn if she wasn't knocked up.
"Don't get pregnant," Lizzie yells after them. HAHA!! Good girl.

"Since I'm not a public school student, I'm missing out on the harvest parade." - Wow, I love how in VA, public school is the total opposite of the way it is in other places --it actually OPENS UP doors. Without public school, you've got nothing.
"I guess parades aren't as fun when you're standing on the sidelines....it really sucked not marching with the band in the parade yesterday."
When were parades ever fun? I mean, besides Gay Pride.

4:49 - Skylar goes to Dad Rick's house to ask for Lizzie's hand in marriage.
"I'm in no hurry for you guys to get married. I'd hate to feel that you think that you have to get married just because you have a child."

I love Rick!!! He is bringing TRUTH to the table. He is totally making me rethink my hatred of men with mustaches. Perhaps his facial hair is where he keeps his wisdom.

4:50 - December, 30 Weeks Pregnant
- Lizzie has no eyebrows, and it's making me uncomfortable.

- "I knew we'd be together, cause I wanted you, and I got you, and I get what I want."
Um, Okay, Lizzie, you're so cool and badass.....and throwing away your LIFE!!!!!
- Skylar's going with his dad to pick up a ring--in a pawn shop, it seems. How can you pick up a ring in a place with guitars on one wall and guns on the other?
- Skylar is taking Lizzie out to dinner at her favorite restaurant - CRAB SHACK!!!!
HIS IS AMAZING.
- I love how their conversations just consist of asking each other questions about how they felt, will feel, and feel now. "Did you think we'd be together this long?"
4:53 - AAAHHHH, Skylar is getting down on one knee!!! He proposed.
"Yes" [she laughs] "You make me giggle."
Um, really? She's such a
4:54 - Lizzie's with her friends getting food. There's one random black boy with 5 white girls. I really hope he's the group gay.
4:55 - "I'm excited because I have the perfect boy, and the perfect ring, and I can't wait to have the perfect baby."
Ew, she's soooooo silly. She thinks love is all sunshine and flowers. She doesn't have a high school education, he probably earns $10/hour, and she has no job prospects and will live with her mother for the rest of her life. Ok, I'm glad she's up-beat and doesn't hate herself, but I do not watch this show to get behind teen pregnancy, people. I'm gonna need her to change her tune real quick.
4:57 - "I never though I'd be wearing an engagement ring at 17--I thought it'd just be my belly ring." - I can't believe this is real.
She inserts the belly ring that just arrived. Inserts it into the button of her pregnant belly. Nothing about this is cute.
4:58 - BABY SHOWER AT SKYLAR'S HOUSE!!!
They get some pretty cool swag. This may be kinda classy.
Oh, wait, they broke out a cake with photos of Lizzie and Skylar as babies. I retract that previous statement.
4:59 - Lizzie's dad makes an announcement. Lizzie has graduated home school and is getting her diploma!
She doesn't seem to be very excited.

5:00 - Uh-oh, some texts are going around saying that Skylar cheated on Lizzie with Krista!
Oh my god, why is every single girl in this town blonde? Like, platinum, "Children of the Corn" type of blonde.
5:01 - Lizzie confronts Skylar about it, and he comes clean!
- "I made a mistake a little while ago...."
OH SNAP!!! TRUTH COMES OUT!

- "It makes me feel stupid, and self-conscious, like it's my fault. Like something I did led you to do that." - Um, Lizzie, you're interpreting this all wrong. You're not stupid for not knowing your man cheated on you. You're stupid for not going to the gyno for your yearly exam so you could get more birth control.

5:10 (Okay, I could go home now, but I'm too sucked into this episode. I just had to pause it to say bye to a coworker, and I realized I should be living a life, but I can't not find out how Lizzie and Skylar handle his infidelity)
- January, 35 Weeks Pregnant
Skylar's out of the house. "I took all his stuff and put it in a box. I don't know, my room got de-Skylar-ized." Hello, grammar humor--someone's graduated home school!!
- "To keep my mind off Skylar, I've been focusing on college...I've decided to put my dreams of playing in the orchestra on hold to go for a stable job as an ultrasound technician."
- She goes to a college counselor to find out what she'll have to do - shit ain't easy!!!
- Now she's willing to give Skylar a second chance -- she knows she can't do this solo (maybe she did watch last week's episode). They're back together, but she's not gonna put her ring back on.

5:15 - 37 Weeks Pregnant - LABOR TIME!
- Lizzie's being relatively calm. It seems like the labor didn't take too long, and Lizzie barely even broke a sweat.
- Now she's breastfeeding. "It's taken an hour, and I haven't been able to eat my food." Um, Lizzie, get used to not being able to do basic things for yourself. "I'm determined to breastfeed, because it's cheaper than formula."
- 2 Days Old - discharged from the hospital!
- 2 Weeks Old. Lizzie's over breastfeeding, and has switched to formula. Way to stick it out, champion!
- They're reeling over the expense of diapers and formula.

5:20 - 3 Weeks Old.
"Tomorrow's my first day back at school and I really need to sleep, but Summer's still not sleeping through the night, which means neither am I." - Um, "still?" She's only 3 weeks old. What on earth did you think would happen?
5:22 - Leah's staring over Summer's crib with her pale skin and jet-black eyeliner. I'm not even a baby, and I'm terrified.
- Aw, Lizzie and Skylar are kinda cute. I love when the teen dads are present.
5:25 - Lizzie's decided to drop out of school. Wow, Summer's not even 4 weeks old. How quickly we flip the script.
5:27 - I love the commercial MTV includes in each episode now: "Teen Pregnancy is 100% preventable. Learn how." Basically, they're saying "These girls are dumb."

5:27 - Lizzie goes to school to drop classes. The registrar tries to persuade her to just put them on hold, or hold off on one. Nope, she won't do it. She's gonna take a 6-week course in medical billing.

5:28 - She goes to tell her Dad, and again, Rick speaks truth and Lizzie CAN'T HANDLE IT!
She's so short-tempered with him, and so smart-assed. I mean, of course, she's a 17-year-old girl who thinks she knows everything, but she's not exactly living the dream and fine on her own. She needs to listen to Rick.

5:30 - Skylar and Lizzie go for a walk, and Lizzie asks him questions about his emotions and tell him what a great dad he is.

Ooooh, wrap up!!
"I had big dreams...but I found out I was pregnant and that dream kind of died...I'm not going to college anymore, I'm not going into music anymore, I'm probably going to be at home longer. It's bummed me out, but then I think of Summer and realize being a mom is better than going out and having fun."
Um, it's not just "having fun," Lizzie - College is learning about yourself, expanding your horizons, and giving yourself the best life you can.

Ugh, okay, at least she's working and her mother isn't trying to cut her, and her baby daddy knows how to change a diaper.

How on earth did procrastinating end up with me staying at work after 5:30 on a Friday? It seems I may not have been as clever as I thought.

I Wish I Was Above This Foolery....

but I'm not.

Hey friends!

I'm totes crushing on my new Jew boo. I feel like Ron Burgundy in Anchorman, after he and Veronica take a ride to "Pleasure Town." Like Ron, I, too, want to shout it from the rooftops, but I don't have a rooftop--I have Facebook (you know, the way Ron had a newsroom). Should I let the world know?

But what'll happen once he sees me cry for the first time and realizes I'm a hot ass mess? What a dramatic to-do when I have to change my status back to "single." Imagine all the awkward "likes" and "dislikes" I'll get. Imagine the comment feed--it'll be sad on so many levels.
Ugh. I wish I didn't have the emotional depth of a 13 year old.

Being boo'd up is cool and all, but it comes with it's own set of stresses. Now that I've found the fool, I gotta worry about keeping him--my legs aren't even used to being shaved this regularly.

Sometimes, when I wonder how the heck I got into this REALationship, I'm reminded of the perils of my single life. Take last night for instance.

I was IM'd by a random fella on FB chat (red flag #1 - who uses FB chat for serious?). He's a stand-up comedian I've met a few times over the last few months. The first time, he made quite the negative impression. It was at a party in BK, where me and my homegirl were dancing. This clown comes over to us and starts talking. He seemed normal enough, so we didn't shun him immediately. However, instead of plying us with questions, he proceeds to talk at us -- you know, the way male comedians are wont to do. After getting away from him, I bump into him on the lower level of the party as I'm heading to the bathroom. He comes over to me and after saying something so lame I can't remember it, he runs his clammy palm down my face.
He FACED me.
[not to be confused with the "face, face, face/I give face" that drag queen Bebe raps about in the song "CoverGirl (Put the Bass in Your Walk)"]
Who does that?! Who on earth clogs someone pores with their grubby, unwashed Bushwick hand???
As my friend Adam (you know, the one who went into the heart of Nubia) put it: "That's one of the creepiest things a dude could do without cause."

I ran into this weird toucher a few weeks ago after I hosted a show in Queens. He was sitting with someone I knew, and when the mutual friend introduced us, I reminded him of the "facing." He was not at all surprised or apologetic.

Then, on Easter Sunday, I had a show and he was also on the lineup. This joint appearance led to a facebook friend request from him later that day. Not one to turn down a networking opp, I accepted.

I am now paying for my friending haste.

Last night's chat started off innocently enough, although I was instantly on edge due to the fact that this guy is kind of a d-bag. I try to push him to get to the point, with a "to what do I owe the honor of this IM?" but I'm met with vagueness. Not one to be cocky, I try to see this as an olive branch of friendship--and I do love me some olives. However, I was promptly proved wrong, and reminded that, no matter how unattractive you may think you are, 9 times out of 10, a single dude who speaks to you has a desire to get into your pants. The convo veered in this direction:

Sketchy Stand-up Comedian: So, where you do live?
Me: Harlem
SS: Well there goes trying to charm you into a drink tonight :P"

Good lord. I give a weak "heh," then finally put it out there.

Me: Oh, you... unfortunately, I'm recently off the market.
SS: Just recently?

I say nothing and ask Adam how on earth I can ward off this person who I'll certainly run into at shows in the future. I try to turn the conversation into networking, and he mentions he's jobless.

SS-uC: "you can be my sugar momma if you want. i'll pleasure ya whenever and don't have to tell your bf or whatever this person might be haha"

W
T
F
?
!

See, if I was listed as "In a Relationship" on FB, I probably could have avoided this situation. Then again, Adam (he's my go-to for insights in the Caucasian male mind) reminded me that, "assholes aren't very easily detoured."

What do you think, gentle readers?--you're the boos I can count on to never leave me. Your opinion matters most.

xoxo,
LYLAS
-Blacktress

16 and Pregnant, Special 90-Min Episode!!

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Ch-ch-ch-changes

Hello Gentle Readers,

I just received a distressed IM from an Aussie reader, wondering why on earth I've fallen off the blogsphere, and where the hell my "16 and Pregnant" posts are. This came after I revealed to her that I've taken up with a gentleman caller.

Yes, readers, I have a Jew boo. I done got boo'd up!

This started almost a month ago, and boy, time flies when you're enjoying interracial love!

I haven't written anything about him, mostly because I'm trying this new thing where I don't treat every aspect of my life like a joke or a scene from a reality tv show, and I think he may actually have potential, so I'm trying to keep my details incognegro. But after this morning's chat, I feel compelled to let everyone know why I'm such a mess with the bloggery.

See, guys, the thing is, he lives in Greenpoint. For those of you outside of NYC, that's far from my humble Harlem abode. We've hung out the last two Tuesday nights and this usually ends up with me getting home at 1am, with no '16 and prego' viewing under my belt. If we're not hanging out on a Tuesday night, I'm most likely in bed by 10:30, not even bothering to watch the first half-hour of the show, because I know I'll get more wrapped up than I can handle.

Y'all, relationships are work--did you know this? Srsly, dating someone is like having a second job. But not like the real job I have now--a relationship's a job you actually have to care about. You can't just gchat at your desk when you're in a relationship.
Unless it is an online relationship--in which case, you are being a model partner.

I'm sure this sounds obvi to everyone else, but seeing as the last time I was in a REALationship we had a white president, you can't blame me for being slow on the uptake. Apparently, you have to "compromise", be "attentive," and plan your schedule with another person in mind.

Not to mention there's all that time you have to spend going through his facebook friends to figure out which ones are his ex-girlfriends so you can figure out if they're prettier than you.

My god, with a schedule like this, it's no wonder I'm forgetting to blog.

But I'm back on it, readers. I will not be some chick who falls off once she gets a Jew boo. And tonight's special 90-minute episode of "16 and preggers," featuring a girl who gives birth to TWINS is something a blacktress can't miss.

You hear that, Australian fan?! I'm not gonna let you down!

Sojo Goes Solo -- A Solo Show, That Is

So, as you all know, the Sojo has opinions. I’ve been inside Caucasia, got hos in different country codes, and love to share my business. This clearly means I need to have a one-blacktress show—first on LOGO, then on Bravo, then on EVERY CHANNEL POSSIBLE.

My first step on the path to world domination is taking a solo-show writing class, taught by a strong black woman in a white woman’s candy coating. I’ve heard great things about her, and although this brain of mine is teeming with ideas, I have no idea how to organize them, or what’s worth expanding upon.
And also I’m lazy and can’t motivate myself. (see any post regarding gchat, which often takes place at work).

So, I started this class on Saturday, and after hosting two shows the night before, was feeling excited to nurture the blacktress within. These feelings quickly disappeared when I walked into the classroom and found myself, yet again, in the heart of Caucasia.
And not just any Caucasia, but smiley, excited, creative types who, despite being able to tap into their emotions, seem to lack self-awareness.

The class was 11 girls and 1 guy, which actually could have been pleasant, given my last improv class experience, which consisted of 14 white boys and one blacktress (such a circle jerk!). But I walk in, and I suddenly felt like it was the first day of Dalton (NYC private school that blacktress attended in her youth. The school’s motto should have been, “Dalton: it’s where self-esteem goes to die.”) All the girls know each other from previous classes and shows, and are giggling and gabbing in their high-pitched tones, and everyone has taken a class with the teacher already—and is her BFF—except for myself. I swear, if there had been a stool in a corner, I would have sat in it.

To make matters worse, the first person I see when I walk in is this girl from my college who I could not stand. Although I’m open to her surprising me, I find her to be overly confident and she gets under my skin. Whatever, I need to let it go and let it flow, right?

So, I try to shake it off, take opposite action and engage in class, not make myself the last person to present as we go through exercises, and generally remind myself that I’m here to work on me, and I don’t need to be besties with anyone.

It’s not really working, though, and the last 30 minutes of the class are spent playing "questions," where one person gets in the circle and everyone else fires questions at them. This exercise is meant to get us closer, remove that awkward feeling, and foster a sense of comaraderie. Here are some highlights:
When asked her favorite book, one girl answers, "The one I wrote."
WHO DOES THAT?
Really? The one you wrote? She seems like a nice girl, but I’m sorry, that is a first-impression FAIL.
Another girl’s questions only consist of drug-related experiences. "When was the last time you were really fucked up?" she asked, or "What's the hardest drug you've ever done?" Of course, when placed in the center of the circle, she spent much of her time recounting the time she did 7 hits of liquid acid after several tequila shots.
I’m sorry, but like Danny Glover in Lethal Weapon, I’m getting too old for this shit.

When asked, "When was the last time you stole something?" one girl, whose name I've blocked out, replies, "Oh, god, I stole some lipstick from CVS, some bracelets from H&M, and a sweater from Century 21--and I got caught for that one." This girl is 20-something, started class whining about crashing with her parents in Westchester while the person she's house-sitting for comes back to town for a week, and is a non-working actress. I don’t think she really needs to steal things. No one has oppressed her--why is she engaging in thievery?

These are basically long examples to explain that, as a blacktress working on a personal-story-driven solo show about time inside Caucasia, and my own conflicting feelings about race, class, and both of these things as modes of performance, these students may not be good for me.

So, this is a bit of a rant, but I had to get it out. Should I stay in the class? I think the teacher could be really great, very smart, and she’s kind of a bad-ass lesbian I’d want to hang out with on the weekends. But if I’m not comfortable and trusting of my fellow classmates, how can I really write and express myself freely? Ain’t I, Sojourner, a woman?! Don’t I deserve to be there? Don’t I need to hang up my hang-ups at the same time that I hang up my coat? I need to get it together, cause I am not being a strong black woman!

How are you today, gentle readers?

Jennifer Love Hewitt Has a Book!

Hey gang,

So, my girl KWalsh always has her finger on the pulse of celebrity culture. This is why I was not surprised to receive an IM from her, alerting me to a new book written by everyone’s favorite girl next door, Jennifer Love Hewitt.
It’s called “I Shot Cupid: My name is Jennifer Love Hewitt and I’m a Love-aholic.”
I kid you not.
Um, where’s my book deal? Do I have to know what you did twelve summers ago and date a bunch of lame dudes? I’ve clearly done both of those things throughout my life.

Anyway, I digress.
As you all know I kind of secretly love Jennifer Love Hewitt. She is so fucking fresh-faced and optimistic, and when everyone freaked out because she’s a size 2 and not a 0, she wasn’t having it, which implies that she may have a smidgen of common sense.
Alas, it would seem from some excerpts from her book,that it is I, Sojourner, who can’t handle the truth about J. Love.
I don’t know if I can handle randomness that is Jennifer Love Hewitt’s “pearls of wisdom”—or, should I say, crystals of wisdom. The girl actually suggests you bedazzle your vajayjay.
I believe the word she uses is “vagazzle.”
Again, I kid you not.

Left to process this alone in my cubicle, I couldn’t cope. I clearly had to g-chat KWalsh and get some answers.

Me: She says “a friend” did it. What friend would you have swarovski crystal your vag?
Walsh, would you do that for me?
KWalsh: No, I’m sorry
because I am morally opposed to vajazzling
KWalsh: and I would not enable you
me: hahahhaa, I am also morally opposed
this sounds insane
and unsanitary
KWalsh: would you like a nice friction based rash from rubbing your junk on crystals, potential male sex partner?!?!?!
me: HAHA
KWalsh: It doesn’t surprise me that JLH vajazzles
vajazzling seems entirely "sex less" to me because it would not enhance sex
It’s like, "I’m a pretty Barbie girl with sparkles on my lady bits, oops don't touch!"


*I think my favorite is number 9 – why on earth should a man have a coat for you? Why a coat? What is going on in her head? I think she was spoiled by Bailey back on Po5.

My Mom is Apparently Gangsta

Hey gang,

Sorry I’ve been MIA – I spent much of last week in Austin, Texas, enjoying the musical stylings and breakfast burritos of the South by Southwest Music Festival (SXSW). While that’s ripe for bloggery, I’m just getting back to the plantation and should keep my blatant procrastination to a minimum (details on Texan hipsters to come). However, I must share with you the conversation I had with madukes this morning:

It’s 8:15am. As I eat my oatmeal, I’m flipping through the channels. A music video comes on, and it’s featuring Ludacris. I mute it, because it’s too early for loudness. Just then, my mother emerges from her office…

Mom: That’s Ludacris? Turn it up.
Me: What?
Mom: I love Ludacris.
[I oblige. After all, she birthed me and lets me live rent free. I am shocked to find that she is staring at the tv screen.]
Me: It’s just featuring him, though.
Mom: He’s so good. Do you remember when he came on the rap scene. He had that big afro, and he was doing something different. Plus, he’s a good actor.
Me: What?
[mother does not respond, as she is entranced by Luda. We proceed to watch the video. The lead singer is some dude named “Taio,” and he basically sounds like an Akon wannabe. Ludacris proceeds to do his mid-song rap. It’s not particularly good, which does not surprise me.]
Mom: No, this is beneath Ludacris.
Me: What?
[I am still so baffled and confused by this. My mother is an attorney. She owns a Michael Buble CD. She loves Sarah Vaughn. I know a person can have layers, but damn.]
Mom: I thought he disappeared. He just left the rap game.
Me: I guess he’s got his money from his acting now.
[I don’t know how to keep up this conversation]
Mom: He was in Guy Ritchie’s “Rocknrolla.”
Me: I know, mom. You made me watch it.
Mom: It’s just like Ja Rule.
Me: What?
[WHO IS SHE??? HOW COULD THIS WOMAN HAVE BIRTHED ME???]
Mom: He just fell off, too.
Me: Okay.

The video is over. I finish my oatmeal and get ready to leave. As I head out the door, I tell her to have a nice day.
I don’t even know who she is anymore.

HAPPY(?) St. Patrick's Day

So, the St. Paddy’s Day Parade is taking place right outside my building. As I headed out for my lunch break, I was visually assaulted by waves of green, and men in kilts.

I was petrified.

Now, we all know I love a man in woman’s garb (hello, Drag Race). Rather, I was terrified by the hoards of Caucasians, smelling of booze and feeling really excited about being white. This, my friends, is when Caucasia is at its most fearful. As I weaved my way through the crowd, desperate to reach the subway station, my heart started to palpitate. There was no room to move. My purse—and my loins—were in grave danger of being snatched! I started to have a flashback to plantation days, when Massa would have me work during his big parties. Although I wasn’t allowed to look anyone in the eye, and my only job was to serve, after some mead and ale, those white men would ask me if I wanted to be serviced!! It’s dangerous for a young blacktress when Caucasia’s feeling frisky!!!

After a brief jaunt outside the office, I came back up and could not get down the street. As I took a circuitous route, I saw two girls who looked like they were Jersey Shore castoffs drinking “soda” out of a big gulp. One was screaming to the other:
“Rachel, where’s AAAAMy? Where’s AAAmy??”
Clearly, Amy’s somewhere turning 16 and pregnant. After all, we all learned from Britney Spears what happens If You Seek Amy!!!

As I made it to my office, my excitement for being black swelled. As I watched young girls become mothers, and grown men pee on the street to avoid the port-a-potty line, it felt nice to be young, gifted, and black.

My coworker, who just came back from being outside said:

“I just saw a drunk woman being carried by two friends, yelling to everyone she passed, ‘YOU’RE Retarded!’ And there were girls who were wearing t-shirts that, if I actually did what there shirts told me to do, I’d get arrested.”

I reminded him that the day would soon be over, and those girls would be back in geometry class tomorrow, tempting him no more.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day Everyone!!!

Here's the Good News - Black Love Lasts FOREVER

Sorry, gang, I totally got sidetracked at work and forgot to give you the good news. This heartwarming tidbit was brought to my attention yesterday by Scribe.

Drumroll please.....

The World's Longest Marriage is between a black man and woman!!!

After watching the episode of "Being Bobby Brown" in which Bobby talks about how he stuck his finger up Whitney's bum to help her poop and cites it as an example of "black love," I told myself I wanted no part of it. This, however, is the kind of black love I can get behind. Look at them:



Their names are Herbert and Zelmyra Fisher of New Bern, N.C. He's 104, and she's 101. They've been married 85 years!!!

Look how cute they are!!! They're over a century, but don't look a day over 8 decades. (I told y'all black don't crack). And even at 101, Zelmyra isn't afraid to wear some spring brights--no stretchy sweatpants for her--she knows how to keep her man at home (accentuate the hips--but not the one that got replaced.)

I want nothing more than to interview them. I bet Zelmyra was in the audience when I first gave my "Ain't I a Woman?" speech (j/k - she's not that old, guys!). Maybe we could sit down over some tea and soft foods and talk about what it takes to make a marriage last. Or maybe I could bring my 93-year-old G-Unit with me and they can shoot the shit about colored-only fountains and The Great Depression. I bet Zelmyra wouldn't want a younger woman around her man, though. I don't want a geriatric catfight on my hands!

So, I hope this tender tale of never-ending black love helps quell the rage-fires that burn in your heart after reading about black women's median income. It gives me just enough boost to keep on truckin'.

xoxo,
blacktress