The Client List--Lifetime's Guide to Being a Woman

God bless Lifetime Television. They have heeded the call for access to female stories of tragedy and provided live streaming movies—including the latest, featuring my favorite gal, Jennifer Love Hewitt. I was unable to watch it last Monday, when it first aired, as my job required I go to Pennsylvania to attend an art workshop. Because my company is super cheap and my boss has no regard for anyone's safety or comfort, I stayed in the home of the lovers Jim--two gay retirees, one of whom was leading the workshop I was covering. They were quite nice--although I was a bit put off when they sent me to bed with a book written by Jim #2's sister-in-law, which told the story of "a slave girl and her relationship with a white woman."

Um, okay..... Why do I still work here?

Anyway, not only were 48 hours of my life taken away, but I missed The Client List!! Luckily, I was able to watch it online, and provide live bloggery. Enjoy!

00:00 We open with honky tonky music and scenes of the south. Jennifer Love Hewitt’s EXCELLENT southern drawl fills my ears.
LIFETIME MOVIE LESSON #1, courtesy of Jennifer Love Hewitt: JLH to her young daughter, who doesn’t want braces: “no matter what you want to do, it’s better to be pretty. It does a girl no good to be ugly.”
Thanks for the pearls of wisdom!!

01:56 JLH’s mom is played by Cybill Shepherd—classy!!!
02:27 LIFETIME MOVIE LESSON #3: JLH, to her mom, before she heads to the bank with her husband to ask for a loan.
“I read that the smell of pumpkin increases the blood flow to a man’s you-know-what, faster than anything.” – This is the key to beating the economic crisis, people!!
04:05 They’re in economic troubles!! She can’t do her physical therapy work, and his knee problem means he can’t do his construction!
JLH leans over the banker’s desk, to reveal her cleavage. Thanks for the close-up on the rack, LT-TV.
05:05 JLH to the loan officer: "What about the government bailing you out to bail us out??"
JLH is making a searing comment on the economic crisis!!!
06:09 JLH recounts the exact words and outfit of the banker on the day he promised their life would be okay. I’m assuming her freakish photographic memory will come in handy when she starts outing her rich sugar daddies.
06:53 LIFETIME MOVIE LESSON #4: “Men are easy. 'I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, I’m horny.'”

08:40 – JLH goes to Lareena, TX, to follow up on a massage therapist job!!
Two scary-looking women give her the job right away.
LIFETIME MOVIE LESSON #5: Women with bright-red hair can’t be trusted.
10:40 – “Daddy, what’s a hoo-ha?” a young son asks. Everyone cracked up at that one!!!
11:06 – JLH goes to the back of the massage parlour to meet the other girls. There’s a girl who doesn’t look a day over 12, and suddenly JLH gets a bit suspicious (it’s all very “I know what you did last summer”). When asked if the other girls are trained massage therapists, she’s sent over to a “two-way room” to watch exactly what goes on. CUE POT-BELLIED MIDDLE-AGED DUDE getting a handy.
The close-up on JLH's troubled face is intense!!
13:25 – JLH is talking to the Jesus figurine on her dashboard, asking for advice as she drives home—scratch that—to the bar, to pick up her drunk husband!!!
LIFETIME MOVIE LESSON #5 – Jesus is my homeboy!!
14:45 – JLH sounds SOOOOOOO SOUTHERN!!
She gives herself a pep talk: “you’re Samantha dale hornton. You’re the prettiest girl this town ever seen, and you get everything you want!!”
16:23 – It sucks being the golden girl and guy of the high school, unable to reach those football dreams!
JLH and her husband don’t even have money for gas to get home. She’s on the brink.
LIFETIME MOVIE LESSON #6:“this is America—a girl this pretty, she’s not supposed to be poor!! I know that sounds braggy and awful, but it’s true…. I am Sam Hornton….I do not let life get me down!!”
17:54 – That’s all it takes to call the massage parlour and get back on the payroll.

21:01 – JLH gets her stripper name. “We’re gonna call you Brandy, cause you look like you go down real smooth….”
We learn a bit more about the other girls at the parlour: “Jenny used to be a bounty hunter”— Um, what?! When asked how they can do this, they all say, in unison: "It beats the hell out of waitressing”
The freakishly young one, who looks like a slutty Dorothy from “The Wizard of Oz” tells her: “I ran away from home to try out for American Idol,” – AMERICAN IDOL TURNS PEOPLE INTO PROSTITUTES!!!!
23:47 – Jennifer Love Hewitt gives her first massage, and ends up giving romantic advice to her client. She then takes her phone to talk to her kid, who won the spelling bee. She is SO BAD AT BEING A PROSTITUTE!!!
25:30 – He gets ready to leave, and JLH gets naked.
25:54 – JLH talks to Jesus on the dashboard, explaining the money, and that she'll only do it for a little while. But Jesus is clearly judging, and she has to pull over to vomit.
26:57 – She goes to her friends bar for “girlfriend talk.” Since when does revealing you’re a prosti-mom count as “girlfriend talk”?
Of course, her friend is shocked, and JLH responds to her look with. “I was just hoping for some sympathy. I thought Pretty Woman was your favorite movie.” Luckily, her friend gets it. “When you work in a bar, you stop judging people.” Really? When I worked in a bar, I was Judge Judy!!

Two gals, just having a chat about one's foray into a prostitution ring. Girl Talk!!!

29:30 – JLH comes homes with presents for all. When hubby asks if they can afford it, he seems relatively satisfied with “We can now.” Um, I know he was playing football all through high school, but how dumb can you be?

[The next minute is a montage of JLH entering her massage room in various slutty outfits, then dropping money on the banker’s desk to pay for her house, then taking her daughter to the orthodontist, then getting bling from customers]

31:58 – LESSONS FROM LIFETIME #7, JLH to her gal pals over lunch: “I love having money. You know I’ve always dreamt of never having to look at pricetags.” MONEY IS THE KEY TO HAPPINESS—oh, and remember to always dream big!

33:04 – JLH and hubby in bed. He’s hurt because she’s the breadwinner and he’s not. She offers him a massage—after all, it’s how she’s making her money!
34:48 – JLH walks into her room and finds the husband of someone she knows. She kicks him out—she’s still classy!!
36:16 – It's Christmas. She gets her husband a brand new motorcycle. Um, ok, how is no one questioning the fact that a masseuse in East Texas is making enough money to buy motorcycles and fancy bling?
37:35 – Slutty Dorothy sees the pastor from her church in a private room!!! OH GOD, EVEN MEN OF THE CLOTH HAVE SEX!!! She runs outside, disgusted, and JLH encourages her to get out the business, and head home.
“I can’t go home, and Idol auditions aren’t for another 6 months.” Yep, that’s it, slutty Dorothy—stick it out til Idol
39:40 – Dorothy goes to the Christian Ministry across the way and speaks to the preacher at the door. “I think god wants me to tell you what’s going on at the massage parlour across the way.”
40:32 – Sam arrives at her son’s game and she’s late!! Oh, the guilt, as evidenced in the spinning close-up camera!! She talks about how she’s tired of being tired.
42:00 – 43:30: Two other girls watch JLH in her private room, to see “why she’s busy as popcorn” (What does that mean??). Well, turns out that awesome memory we saw in the opening scene helps her remember everything about her clients, which is why they love her. She basically gives them The Girlfriend Experience.
44:45 – One of her doctor-clients offers her up some coke, so she can stay awake. She declines, but of course, like every beguiling tempter in a film, the doctor leaves the baggie there—you know, just in case. And, like every woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown, JLH puts it in her bag—you know, so the story can continue to get worse.
45:36 – JLH is face-down on her bed, and her daughter wakes her up to tell her to get ready for the bakesale.
How late is she ‘tutin’? I’m not clear on the hours, but I guess giving jobs and acting like you like sex with strangers is tiring, even if she only does it for 9 hours a day.
After slapping herself repeatedly to wake up, and closing her eyes, she says aloud, “whew, I’m tired.” Thanks for the clarification, Lifetime writers!
47:14 – JLH looks at her bag—clearly, where the coke is. She stares it down before reaching for it.
47:32 – The whole family wakes up to the world’s most amazing castle-shaped cake.

THESE ARE THE THINGS YOU CAN DO ON COKE, PEOPLE!!! GET TO SNIFFIN'!! THE BAKESALES OF THE WORLD NEED YOU!

48:00 – JLH sniffs for the next 25 seconds. She’s doing coke, get it?
48:43 – 49:20 – JLH sits at home with the kids. She's short-tempered and tired. Addiction, here we come!!
49:55 – JLH walks into her doctor-client’s room, asking for coke all shaky-like. She tells him she’ll “make it worth his while” if he can get it quickly!!
LESSON FROM LIFETIME #8 - It only takes 50 minutes to become a crack-whore!

51:32 – JLH is in the doctor’s office with her daughter, and takes her to the bathroom so she can pee in the cup (the daughter, not JLH). When the daughter says she can't pee, JLH loses her mind like a Jerry Springer guest!!
51:57 –Bedtime with the hubby. He tires to initiate sex, and JLH says, “not tonight, I just can’t.”
There’s nothing that hurts a former football star more than being rebuffed in the bedroom!! This is the beginning of the end, y’all!
53:17 – JLH is meeting with a client, and the police burst in!!! AAAHHHH!!!! This IS the beginning of the end!!!
54:23 – Cut to the local bar, where the husband watches the game with friends. Apparently, you can interrupt a national football game for late-breaking news, such as busting the local prostitution ring. They see Sam being taken out of the spot in cuffs!!! Aw shit, she was just put on blast!!
55:59 – Her friend, Dee (you know, who loves Pretty Woman) leaves the bar. She’s in the car with JLH, who looks broken down. Like, even more broken down that in I STILL Know What You Did Last Summer. She gets out of Dee’s car, and goes inside. AAAH, I AM SO NERVOUS!!!

57:09 – She walks into a dark house. Her husband turns on the light from his armchair. You know he’s pissed if he’s been sitting in the dark, all creepy-like.
57:43 – Lessons from LIFETIME #9: JLH, to her husband. “Yell at me, swear at me, hit me—I don’t care.”
When you want to get your man back, offer him the chance for physical violence!!! It’s the way to save a marriage.
58:20 – He just breaks down and cries—then tells a story about putting their dog down at the vet. I think the dog is a metaphor for their relationship. Wait, no—it’s a sign of how he used to love her strength. Now, she’ll be forever remembered as a prosti-mom. (sidebar: JLH has excellent crying chops. )

1:00:00 – Cut to a video on the tv—the 1999 Miss Bixby Hills beauty pageant. JLH is watching her pageant video for a little bit of a pick-me-up. “I just wanted to revisit a time in my life when I felt like I was doing everything right.” Ugh, I know how that goes, Jennifer. Sometimes, when I’m feeling awfully low, I just pop in the 5th grade spelling bee and mouth along with some of my best spelling.
1:02:00 – JLH Is in her black friend’s office—she’s a lawyer! She’s looking at 2 years in jail! That is, unless…. “did you have any clients that were prominent members of the community?” She hems and haws until her friend mentions her kids. “We need good names, Sam—we need our Eliot Spitzers and Tiger Woods.” SO TOPICAL!!!
1:05 – JLH proceeds to write down names. Cut to the conference room, where the ‘tutes sit around the table, naming names. There are 69 names on the list! How appropriate!
1:07 – Cut to folks all over town, talking about who may or may not be on the list.
1:08 – LESSONS FROM LIFETIME #10 - ALWAYS MAKE YOUR CHILDREN FEEL CALM. JLH says to her children: “No matter what happens to me, I want you to know my life has been very full because I brought the 3 of you into this world.”
The kids go to the car, and Rex stands with his back to her. He’s got a lone, Navajo-style tear.

1:11 – Thank god there are only 17 minutes left of this.

1:12 – Cybil Shepherd is at the dinner table, and JLH walks in.
“Thank god your father’s dead!” she says.
LESSONS FROM LIFETIME #11 , Courtesy of Cybil Shepherd. “I think my problem is, I gave you too much self-esteem. You were so pretty and so bright, I thought you’d be Miss Texas, or go to Hollywood, or marry a rich man.” - When you’re attractive and somewhat intelligent, the world can be your oyster!!!
1:16 – Women are in the courtroom. JLH has got way too much cleavage out for a court date!! Look:
1:17 – The women get processed as we hear a preacher’s sermon, all about FORGIVENESS.
GET IT????
Seeing JLH behind bars effects me less than the Perdue commercials they keep showing between segments.
1:18 – 5 weeks later!
JLH, looking fresh as a daisy, walks into the kitchen. “It just too darn quiet in here, it’s not natural for a mother of three to be this quiet.”
It’s so boring not having kids or johns.
A car is heard outside. Fancy local women come to the door, and want to talk to her. Why on earth would she let them in her house?!
1:21 – The women want to know how she gets their husbands so excited!! They want tips!
JLH picks up a banana and an apple, and gets to work.

1:22 – Cut to JLH waitressing with the prostitute that used to be a bounty hunter! They celebrate JLH’s birthday with a cupcake--That they SPLIT WITH TWO FORKS
LESSONS FROM LIFETIME #12: No matter what you’re going through, you are NOT ALLOWED TO EAT A WHOLE CUPCAKE, FATTY!
1:25 – Cybil says that maybe she shouldn’t have put all her stock in her daughter’s looks!
1:27 – JLH and hubby Rex share a tender conversation, as we fade to black.
EVERYTHING’S GOING TO BE OKAY!!!!

Whew, what a wild ride. I learned a lot from The Client List and I hope you did, too.
I'm gonna go read some Heidegger, to try and grow back the brain cells I just lost.
Happy Monday, gang!

Best Query Ever/To Good to Be True!

As you all know, I work at a magazine that covers art. You know, fruit in bowls, landscapes, that sort of thing.

Well, today I just got the best email from a freelancer ever:

To Whom it May Concern:


I am contacting you to inform you that I am available for part time free-lance writing for your magazine.

A little about me: I am an award-winning writer and actress. My inspirational journal THOUGHTS OF A STRIPPER: A Mother's Story is now available.

A successful actress in independent film, I have starred and have been the subject of several independent films that have screened at over 300 film festivals worldwide. Award-winning films include PHONE SEX GRANDMA, THE ACCEPTABLE SIN, THE OUTHOUSE and THE 60 YEAR OLD STRIPPER. I am currently the subject of a feature film documentary THE OLD STRIPPER, directed by my real-life son.

My novel THOUGHTS OF A STRIPPER: A Mother's Story is an inspirational journal about my intense thoughts as a single parent on a 6 year burlesque circuit in the 1970's.

And my upcoming research novel ANIMAL CRUELTY LAWS IN THE US is soon to be released.

Yes!!! I think she may have to freelance for MY SOUL.
(I'm not sure what that means. I'm just excited)
Who is this woman, with her criminal justice degree, and ability to shake it like a polaroid picture AND drop it like it's hot? I may have to turn the tables and interview her, just for my own personal edification. (sidebar: what's a "research novel"?)
If she can write about strippers, she can write about oil paint. Am I right?

Post-Racial What-WHAT?!

Y'all, have you heard this news:

A Nigerian Couple gave birth to a White baby!!!

No, y'all, the baby is NOT albino.
The baby is not "just light-skinned-ed-ed."

Baby is straight up Caucasian--and momma said she wasn't with the milkman!!!

Dude, this is cray cray! This Obama at work!! HE IS BLOWING OUR MINDS!!!


If this doesn't prove that race is a social construct, I don't know what does. I can't wait for the Discovery Channel documentary on her--or when homegirl gets a book deal!

Glory Days

Hey gang,

Nothing much to report, but I felt compelled to share this hilarious YouTube of an 80s commercial advertising Windows 386, the newest operating system on those newfangled computers back in the day!!

The reasons this must be watched are manifold:
1. The amazing 80s fashions.
2. The fact that it's a commercial, and yet is 7 minutes long.
3. The random rap that the woman performs as she works.
4. The fact that the woman in the video is played by MY FRIEND'S MOM!!!!

Srsly. My friend who decided to give me reparations--aka free improv classes at UCB--comes from television royalty. Yes, I consider this woman to be royalty. When she told me about this video, I was initially shocked, then got distracted--probably by something shiny, or by a breakfast taco--and forgot to look it up later. Of course, in a fit of procrastination two days ago, I found it.

My only regret is that I waited so long to look this up.
Here it is. Enjoy!

I Wish I Lived on Planet Unicorn

Hey Guys,

I'm getting a little worried about myself. I've become totally anti-social. Blacktress used to enjoy people, a good late-night story, and hearing the ramblings of a drunken stranger. Now, my eyelids are getting droopy at 9pm. Friends who I haven't seen in months want to hang out, and I, much like an angry toddler, DON'T WANNA!!! I pretty much only want to watch movies and sleep as often as possible. I was prompted to share this because, in yet another step forward, Jewboo has shared his Google calendar with me, allowing for easy stalking. I've been on the inside for a week, but he emailed me this morning, asking to give him access to mine--and I DON'T WANNA!!!

I asked for his calendar cause he's super busy, with his rehearsals and writing meetings, and film screenings (for an unemployed man, he really packs the time in).
If he were to see my google calendar, he'd see a whole lot of nothing, sprinkled in with therapy appointments and art workshops/classes I don't even want to attend. I tend to make myself busy at the last minute, if I feel particularly loser-ish--or, I just want to stay at home on the free nights. What if he looks at my free days, asks me to do something, and I can't make up an excuse? Will he get offended if I say, "Oh, I can't, I'm busy," and he sees a big fat empty space in my calendar? Then I'll have to explain, "I planned to go home and watch Angel reruns on netflix." That'd make me less attractive, yes?

My current state reminds me of a quote from one of the greatest films of our time--Wayne's World. Wayne, while wooing Cassandra in her hip car, says, "I thought I had mono for a year, but it just turns out I was really bored."

I think I can relate. Of course, seeing people should assuage my boredom, but to me it's just a lot of energy to expend pretending to care about the lives of folks I don't see often enough to really matter. Don't get me wrong--I like humans,they are nice, and their interests in the goings on of a blacktress is much appreciated. But, like, do I have to talk to them? Like, regularly?

Blurgh. Clearly, my autism is flaring up something serious.

Why don't I try to turn this whiny post around with an old episode of Planet Unicorn? It makes me laugh no matter what. Deep in my heart, I am an 8-year-old gay boy named Shannon.

Who’s Got Two Thumbs and a Case of the Mondays??

THIS GIRL!

I am hating on my job, y’all, for serious. I know that I’m lucky to be employed in a recession, but let me have my Monday rant, mmmkay?

When it comes to New Massa, the bloom has faded from the rose, as they say. Like Ian McKellen in “The Da Vinci Code,” he started off nice and enthusiastic, quick to teach me about Leonardo and offer me refuge. However, just as quickly, he turned on me, ready to shoot me in a church and poison me.
(if you haven’t seen “The Da Vinci Code,” then this makes no sense at all. Apologies).

New Massa is a high maintenance older gay—you know, the kind who don’t have patience for your shit because they came up in a time when they weren’t even allowed to love openly? He’s an “I pulled myself up by my bootstraps to become an upper-echelon intellectual at a time when I’d be called gay just for buying oil paints.” So, you know, he doesn’t have time for your, “I’m sick, I have to go home” bullshit. Or your, “it’s 5:30pm, I am done here” exodus. He also has no concept that other people could have things to do, and whatever pops into his head has to be done right away. Oh, and he also likes to schmooze out on the town, promise artists feature articles and things, and then leave us lovely editors to do the writing.

Of course, writing is my job. I enjoy it. That’s what makes this bearable. But when he wants me to spend my time going to events “just to make contact,” that infringes on my personal time. When he wants me to spend all day in Long Island at a workshop when I don’t even have the staff camera to take photos, that means I’ve got to make up that day’s worth of office work—when, exactly? On a weekend? Oh, in the words of Whitney, HELL TO THE NO!

You must keep in mind people: my dream is humor writing and blackting. I am a blacktress. But momma didn’t raise no fool, and it’s about having bennies and some income coming in! So, I work. I pay my bills—and it takes some of the pressure and insanity off the creative process. But let’s not get it twisted—I’m not here for the love of the linen canvas. I’m not in it for the watercolors. This is my job—not my career.

A career is a responsibility that combines interests you have and skills you possess. In exchange for providing your skills and sharing your interest, you are given monetary compensation, opportunity for growth, and steadily increase in your skills and responsibilities.

A job is something you get to pay for your addictions! (you know, like shopping at Crumbs cupcakes) They do not pay me to care. I’m just here to pay for my HPV vaccine and therapy sessions, boo!

Quite frankly, I’m looking for a damn job that pays me more than I paid in college tuition! There is no reason I should leave one of the “top liberal arts universities in the country” with a shitload of debt and the inability to go to the movies without rearranging the finances. Blacktress is trying to break even—is that too much to ask?!

So, here it is, nearly noon on Monday, and I’ve already been at my desk 5 hours, and I’m trying to make sense of an article that is so annoyingly dry and pretentious—and I can only expect to do more of this, as this is the “new editorial voice” New Massa wants to go in. And tomorrow, I”ll be the only person to leave my desk before 5:30, because I have a 6 o’clock call time for a show I’m in. It’ll be blasphemous because, my god, shouldn’t I love art enough to want to stay here all day and into the night? As New Massa said when I went into his office to discuss this last week (I didn’t make it about him, but about “Artists sudden demands on my time”) he said two things that got me:
“Well, it comes down to putting in the hours,” and “It should, of course, be fun. It’s not meant to be painful.”
Well, sir, it is NOT fun—at least, not doing so regularly. And, unfortunately, I have other goals that prevent me from putting in the hours to a job that doesn’t pay overtime.

So, there you have it. Monday rants. How was your weekend, guys?

It's Always Drama With a Blacktress...

Hey y'all. I'm sure you're all waiting with bated breath to hear about what happened with the Jewboo's parents. Well, to make a long story short, it was great.

Wait a second--when have I ever made a long story short? Let me break it down....

We met up to get on the Bolt Bus at 2pm, and Jewboo arrived to find me freaking out because the assortment of mini desserts I'd purchased (all chocolate, since that's what he says the fam likes--holla!) were starting to melt and were all askew in the box, which wasn't the decorative box I'd asked for when I ordered. I imagined his mother feeding them to the cats because they were so hideous. Of course, this lasted through much of the train ride, despite repeated reminders that, "my parents are nice, normal people. Oh, and they're not retarded. They understand that frosting melts in heat."

The plan was for pops to pick us up around 7:30, when he got off of work. As we waited outside of the train station, I was nauseous. I suddenly became fidgety and had to pee. It was like the 6th grade recital all over again.

While we waited curbside for dad's car to pull up, I held Jewboo's hand. He suddenly pointed to a red car and waved. I saw a bald man in a suit with slick black aviators in the driver's seat. He was far too fashionable to be frightening. When he pulled up and jumped out to open the trunk, he hugged me before hugging his son. I instantly felt at ease.
Most of the hour-long car ride to Reading was father-and-son catch-up time, and I was glad to chime in occasionally and laugh at the right times. I found myself comfortable rather quickly, and I didn't feel forced to join in the conversation. I think the whole time I was more nervous about them grilling/interviewing me, and had been mentally preparing to give compelling answers and respond with thoughtful questions. Instead, I felt like they just treated me as though I'd been there all along, and didn't really make a fuss, which I liked. I knew I'd won dad over about 25 minutes into the car ride when he said,

"Blacktress, Andrew told me you were smart, beautiful, and funny, and I must say, he was not wrong."
Score!

Next up was mom, who was at home recovering from foot surgery. She was lying on the couch when I came in, and I shook her manicured hand. Although I'd been told over and over that mom was "chill," I didn't realize just how chill she was. She didn't say much, and seemed sorta perpetually tired--but not in a mean or glum way. She just had a kind of I've-been-laying-out-in-the-sun-all-day-and-I'm-wiped kind of vibe. She didn't really try to chat, but she also didn't make it seem like it was a big deal, so I didn't fight it.

Earlier that day, I'd gone to the lady doctor to get something for my business. She offered me a pill, which I find less messy than the other stuff (ladies, you know what I mean....). I went to take it before going to bed, as prescribed, and within an hour, I was coughing and wheezing. I went to sleep, trying to prop myself up on pillows to make breathing easier.

At 6:30am, after tossing and turning, I sprang up. I couldn't breathe, and I didn't know what to do. I try walking around the room, hoping to get air. My coughing wakes up Jewboo, but I tell him it's ok. I go downstairs, picking up the informational insert to my medicine on my way down. I call my doctor in NYC on the emergency line, but get no answer. I leave a message, but can't really wait for a response, as I read the insert:
Allergic reactions, though rare, may include: shortness of breath, difficulty breathing, tightening of the chest...should these occur, seek immediate medical attention.

I go back upstairs to tell Jewboo we need to go to the hospital. His mom and dad, who heard me coughing, are already up. Dad's getting dressed, just in case we need to go. Part of making a good impression means NOT forcing dad to spend his day off in the ER, so I ask Jewboo to take me to the hospital. He doesn't know where it is, so he and I get into the car and dad drives. He's totally calm about the whole thing, and we have a laugh (well, I just gasp repeatedly) about the fact that the ER entrance has moved since their last visit to the hospital.

We get to the ER at 7am and I'm immediately seen (thank you suburban hospitals!). My lungs don't sound congested and my oxygen levels are high, so it's unclear why I'm having such a reaction. I hand the nurse my prescription, and even bring the Benadryl I took, so they know everything. I'm placed in a room and put in a gown. Jewboo is by my side. It's a very tender/terrifying moment.

For the next hour, nurses buzz in and out, and info is taken. Jewboo is still half asleep, but he's being super chill about this whole thing. When I'm asked about my marital status, he says, dryly, "What if you were married this whole time and this is how I found out?" He's cracking me up, but that's actually doing me damage since I can't breathe, so I just shoot him fake-angry stares.

At around 10am, I'm given a breathing treatment to open up my airways, and blood is drawn. The doctor sees me, and he says they're going to test my blood for a chemical that'll indicate a blood clot. The breathing treatment ends up working, and I'm just waiting for results, taking mini naps the whole time. Jewboo is going back and forth between me and his dad, who he's keeping updated on the status. I keep telling him to send my apologies (and at one point, promise to get Dad a blizzard from Dairy Queen), and we're finally ready for me to be discharged. Although I found the hospital bed quite comfy, I felt bad that Jewboo got no sleep, and dad was spending his free time surrounded by sickies in the waiting room. I asked anyone who came my way about being discharged, and one nurse finally told me that I couldn't just leave--if I didn't sign my discharge papers, my insurance wasn't going to cover it.

That's all I needed to keep my ass right in that bed.

In the meantime, I got dressed, confident I was all well after the breathing treatment. I sat in bed, chatting with Andy, when my nurse, Celeste, came in.
"What are you doing dressed? Your blood test [indicating a blood clot] came back positive, you need a CAT SCAN."

HOLY FUCK.

As I change back into my gown, every episode of House I'd ever seen began to pop into my head. I was also surprisingly calm throughout the entire to-do, as I tend to be when faced with actual problems (not the emotional ones I make up), but suddenly I went into drama-mode. How could I have a blood clot and not know about it? Why did the test come back positive if nothing's wrong? My mother was in Mexico with her latin lover, Julio, and other than Jewboo, there was no one to call. Most of the week, no one had been calling me. I could go into that CAT SCAN, find out I'm on death's door, and no one would care but my boo. It all became very tragic in my head.

I went up for my scan, and came back down. Jewboo was being really strong and positive the whole time, and helped me every second of the way.

At around 2:30pm, the doctor finally came back in. The scan showed no sign of a clot, but I was sent away with an inhaler, in case I had breathing issues later on. He, along with all the nurses, were super apologetic about keeping me so long (bless the suburbs), but I wasn't even angry with them. We made it out a little before 3, and dad and I hugged in the waiting room. We went home and ate bagels and napped, and then had a nice family dinner.

As Jewboo put it, "The moral of this story: always go for the vaginal suppository."

With my life threatened, I think the family felt extra kindly towards me, and we were able to laugh about the whole incident by dessert. When we got home, mom and I had a real breakthrough when we discovered we both love the show Criminal Minds. I got way more excited than I should have, and me and his sis ended up talking about the hotness of Criminal Minds character Dr. Spencer Reid, for, like, 45 minutes.

All in all, I felt like the weekend was a huge success--although, with the ER visit, not exactly the relaxing time I'd hoped for. I feel like Jewboo and I took our relationship to a new level--I was able to see what he's like in a crisis; I know he comes from good people open to miscegenation and into a good police procedural drama; and he's now my official In Case of Emergency contact in the state of Pennsylvania. When we got home Saturday night, he had the following email from mom in his inbox:

From: Jewboo's Mom
Date: Sun, Jul 4, 2010 at 1:45 AM
Subject:

Hi Andy,

[Blacktress] is terrific, so treat her well.

Love,

Mom

Yes!!! I won her over!! Is it wrong to start shopping for wedding rings?

Okay, blacktress out.
Peace!

Guess Who's Coming to Seder?

Hey gang. Sorry I’ve been off the grid. I’ve been kind of down in the dumps. I won’t go into it, because it’s best to erase, replace, embrace THIS SPACE (hmm…what do we think of that? I’m not sure, but I’ll leave it out there).

I haven’t slept more than 5 hours a night for the last week, but I’ve gotten myself into quite the tizzy. Tomorrow afternoon, I head to Reading, Pennsylvania with the Jewboo to meet his parents!!!


I feel like Dr. John Wade Prentice must have felt—only, you know, without the confidence that comes with being a doctor.

(How did you do it, Sidney???? Was it your crisp suit, your fancy degree, and your voice, that could lend gravitas to a grocery list?)

The blacktress will go deep inside Caucasia, hoping to make a good impression.

Only, um, I’m not sure how to do that. What do middle-aged white people like to talk about? What outfits say, “your son and I have never had pre-marital sex”? I was just running around midtown, looking for a fancy box of chocolates, and they have to nerve to charge $41 dollars for a 4” x 4” box containing 8 pieces!! What do I look like to these Rockerfeller Center fools?!

What’s a good gift that will look nice (not some, tiny, overpriced box) but not cause clutter? He said his parents “have enough trinkets and crap” (and I’m now imagining a house full of unicorn figurines), “so they don’t need anything.” Then again, this is coming from a man who’s never really taken me on a formal date, so I don’t know if I trust his judgment. Obvi, momma didn’t raise no fool, so I know I can’t show up to spend two nights at a stranger’s home and have no gift!! Besides, I need them to love me and think I’m awesome so that Jewboo decides to marry me.

Okay, okay, it’s only been 4 months, I know. I partially jest. But, like, why is he bringing me home already if he’s not for serious about a blacktress? Add to this the fact that he dropped the L-bomb first, and I feel like this could be a really important step. But he’s being sooo friggin cavalier about this, acting like it’s not a big deal for me to cross state lines and show up on mama’s doorstep, spending the holiday weekend trying to prove my worth. Clearly, I’ll be celebrating Codependence Day.

See, the trick to getting someone to marry you is to become so embedded in their life that it’s simply more convenient to have you around. You know, like the song goes—it’s cheaper to keep her. I’ve already provided food and orgasms for three months, so now it’s about winning over mom, dad, and sis, so that every time he calls them up, Mama goes, “How’s blacktress? She’s a great girl, son, don’t fuck it up!” I want us to get so close during our 48-hour visit that after I get back home, mom starts me links to articles she thinks I’ll find interesting, and asks if she can speak to me when her son calls.

Is this too much to ask for?

I’m thinking of showing up in crisp bridal whites—you know, something that says, “pure, virginal, and makes a great in-law.”

I am Sidney Poitier.
(as always, Photoshopping courtesy of JJSiii)

Seriously, guys, I alternate between excitement (getting out of New York! Getting to see pics of Jewboo when he was little! Thinking he may actually be so into me that he wants me to meet his parents!!) and nausea (What if they think I’m boring, and not as pretty as his previous girlfriends? What if they aren’t as down with the brown as they think they are? What if I wet the bed?!). I’m thinking of getting an assortment of Crumbs cupcakes in a fancy box. Nothing says, “love me” quite like mini cupcakes.

The Bones of Crazy Randy

I don't want to leave you guys in D-hole (that's a 'depression' or 'downer' hole, for you folks who don't know the terms I make up on the spot), so here's a ridiculous internet video, starring a blacktress, my favorite Jewrican, and co-written and co-directed by my boo.

I play rabbi Humphrey Blowdart.

It's rather non-sensical, but perhaps it's randomness will take the edge off the previous post. Jewboo needs to learn a bit about lighting a negress, as I'm shrouded in darkness most of the damn film, but hey, we can't win 'em all.

Enjoy this morning's distraction!

Laugh Stains #6: The Bones of Crazy Randy from Wrestling Team on Vimeo.

Remembering A True Sister Act

After working the longest day ever (8am - 11:30pm), I was spent. When I got home after midnight, I anticipated passing out quickly, yet managed to wake up at 2am and 6:50am. When I finally woke up at 8am to get ready for work, I was groggy and out of it. My hatred of the plantation was already at full-speed, and I hadn't even gotten on the train yet.

As I turned on the tv to check the weather, Fox 5 News made the day worse than I could imagine.

I found out that my kindergarten teacher, now 84 years old, was killed yesterday.

I kid you not. There's no joke to this post.

The full story is here, but basically three wastes of space robbed a store and then sped down Lenox Ave, in Harlem, with the cops in pursuit. Of course, they ran a red light, injuring two pedestrians and killing Sister Mary Celine Graham--or, as I called her until I was 10, and when I saw her around the neighborhood, Sister Celine.

She was so nice (despite the occasional corporal punishment--but you know, they nuns were old school), and remembered my name 20 years after she had me as a student. Her convent focused on education, and I remember even spending summers in her house, waiting for my mom to get me after piano lessons. I would totally freak out when I saw her watching tv, cause in my child-brain, nuns didn't watch "The Price is Right" and they certainly didn't eat sandwiches or drink lemonade!

Anyway, I just had to put that out there into the ether, my little way of remembering someone who impacted my childhood, urged my mother to send me to private school when she saw I wasn't being challenged, and knew I was smart when other teachers just thought I talked too much in class.

The two suspects ran away from the scene of the collision, so I guess this means they're still at large. While this makes me sad and enraged, I have to think you can't just kill a nun and get away with it--there has to be some kind of justice in this world. I mean, what is going on in Harlem? I'd make some joke about how we're clearly not nearly as gentrified as people think, but this isn't really the post for it.

Hmmm...for some reason writing this post makes me feel a bit better. Sorry if it's too much of a downer, but even the blacktress' diary gets a little grim.

I'll follow up with a humorous internet video for your enjoyment.

The Facts of Life (A LOOONG POST to make up for lost time)

You remember those, right?



You take the good, you take the bad,
you take them both and there you have
The Facts of Life, the Facts of Life.
There's a time you got to go and show
You're growin' now you know about
The Facts of Life, the Facts of Life.
When the world never seems
to be livin up to your dreams
And suddenly you're finding out
the Facts of Life are all about you, you.
It takes a lot to get 'em right
When you're learning the Facts of Life. (learning the Facts of Life)
Learning the Facts of Life (learning the Facts of Life)
Learning the Facts of Life.


Well, it seems I am, indeed, learning the facts of life, gang.

Let’s start by taking the good, shall we? Well, on Saturday, June 19th, at 2:19pm, I decided that Jewboo is going to be my LIFE boo. I won’t use the phrase “the one,” cause that kind of makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little. Let’s just say, I want to hang out with him forever and ever and have his baby Baracks.
“How can you know this after three months, Sojourner?” you may be asking. Let me break it down.......

So, this past Saturday, we had plans to spend the day together, finally have some relaxing hang-out time when neither of us had a class, rehearsal, or show. I was pretty amped (as evidenced by the fact that my Google calendar reminder email read “reminder: 1-10pm. Magical Day With Jewboo—yay!!”).

Things started off a bit later than planned, as I had to wait for the exterminator to come spray the house (just, you know, for the fun of it). I had trouble sleeping the night before, so I started off the day pretty groggy and pissy. Luckily, at 11am, one of my favorite films—TEEN WITCH—was on ABC Family, and I was able to mellow out a bit. As I listened to “Top That” for the 187th time, I knew it’d be a good day.

I didn’t end up getting to Brooklyn until 2pm, and I'm ravenous and sleepy and overheated from my walk from the subway. Jewboo tells me the restaurant he planned was closed, so we decide to meet at another place “in 10 minutes.” He’s not there when I arrive, but I put our names down for a table.

Now, I don’t know about you guys, but when I’m hungry, I do NOT do well. Hungry AND tired, and I’m basically a high-functioning toddler. I start blowing up his phone like a crazy biotch, wondering where the flip he is, and get pissy that I’m waiting on the streets on Brooklyn like a common woman. I mostly want him to hurry up and get here to hold our spot so I can run to a bodega and grab a quick granola bar or something to take the edge off.

When he shows up about 10 minutes later, I’m totally pissy—but it’s not even his fault. I know it’s cause I’m hungry and sleepy and hot as balls, but I cannot seem to muster up a smile and all….that is, until Jewboo reaches into his bag and pulls out something wrapped in plastic.
He hands it to me.
I open it. Is he about to put a ring on it, I wonder?
No--it's something even better—it’s a pastry from a Polish bakery!!!

“You sounded like you were in food distress,” he said.
SWOON CITY, POPULATION: ME!!!
I pretty much propose on the spot, eat the pastry like I’ve been held in Guantanamo Bay, and our magical day begins.

Guys, do you see how huge this is?! Jewboo can not only tolerate me being a psycho bitch when he’s made an effort to plan a nice day for us, but he can hear through the bitchiness to the hungry toddler underneath and provide the blacktress with what she really needs—FOOD!!!

I wonder if he’ll convert to Hinduism so that I can have the Indian wedding I’ve always dreamed of (for the last month).

Okay, so that’s the good. Now, how’s about we take the bad?
Well, how about the fact that I can’t get a damn moment’s peace on this plantation, and I had to come into work 40 minutes early just to find some quiet time to get things done? The boss has me meeting with an elite Belgian gay visionary this afternoon, hitting up an artist’s workshop tomorrow, and then spending all of Friday on-site at a workshop in Long Island. While it may seem fun and exciting to get out of the office, I have actually articles to write, and they can’t get done if I’m never at my desk, or, if when I’m at my desk, he’s constantly emailing and calling me away to help bring to fruition every cockamamie scheme that pops into his head. Add to this the fact that the artists are boring (to me), pompous, and I could just as easily get the information I need in a series of emails or telephone calls, and I’m just simply at wit’s end.

It also seems like I’m the only person on staff who has a life outside of this office. There are other coworkers who are married with children, but that's an acceptable reason to have to leave. The fact that I'm a single lady who can't seem to devote all my time to work when the three other editors who are also in my age range jump up with reckless abandon to go to every opening and dinner, just makes me look like a hot mess. So the fact that I’ll have to cut this afternoon’s interview short so I can go to my improv class at 6:15, and the fact that I can’t hang out in LI with artists after the workshop because I have two stand up shows to get to makes me some sort of renegade who lacks professionalism. I spent much of Monday spewing work-related venom, and figured the only way to stop is to get on bored this train, suck it up, come in early, give him my free time, and make it work.

Okay, second bad:
Did you know Indian youth are really into Hitler? This comes to me straight from the BBC News via a friend’s g-chat status update (which is how I get all my information, really).

Apparently, the land that brought us Bollywood and Naan is really down with Mein Kampf.

It's hard to narrow down what makes the dictator popular in India, but some young people say they are attracted by his "discipline and patriotism".

Most of them are, however, quick to add that they do not approve of his racial prejudices and the Holocaust in which millions of Jews were killed.

But the truth is that books, T-shirts, bags and key-rings with his photo or name on do sell in India. And his autobiography, Mein Kampf, sells the most.

W
T
F
?
!

Choice quote: Dimple Kumari, a research associate in Pune, has not read Mein Kampf but she would wear the Hitler T-shirt out of admiration for him. She calls him "a legend" and tries to put her admiration for him in perspective: "The killing of Jews was not good, but everybody has a positive and negative side."

For the full article, go here

Um, I don’t know how to cope with this. It’s exactly what Alan Thicke wrote about in the “Facts of Life” theme song—“when the world never seems / to be living up to your dreams….” This is a NIGHTMARE, people! I only discovered I was meant to be an Indian woman last month, after the greatest wedding ever, but this now scares and confuses me. Can you imagine walking down the streets of Mumbai, with Hitler paraphernalia all around like he was Justin Beiber? What’s all this talk of “discipline”? It’s amazing how forgiving they are of his mass-killing tendencies.
Maybe what India’s trying to tell us is that it’s really a haven for all.
No, no, I can’t find a silver lining to this crazy-cloud.

So, um, folks, there you have it—the good, the bad, the facts of life. Go forth into the world with this knowledge—of potential love for a blacktress, of workplace oppression, and Mein (UN)Kampf(ortable) trends in India. As they sang: There's a time you got to go and show/ You're growin' now you know about/ The facts of life….

New Daddy Has Gone Cray Cray

Ok, so you guys know how much I love my new daddy, right?
Well, the bloom is starting to fade from the rose, as they say.
(does anyone actually say that besides my mom?)

He is sort of fabulous, but also enfuriating—sometimes I feel like I’m in a deleted scene from The Devil Wears Prada. Take, for instance, this morning’s conversation.

New Daddy: Okay, I’m thinking out loud here. We need to get a super issue of Watercolor mag out as soon as possible.

Me: How many additional pages of content would that require?

ND: I don’t know, 40?

Me: That’s roughly 4 extra articles, in addition to the 9-10 that appear in each issue. And you want that by when?

ND: For the next issue.

Me: That’s not possible.

ND: How long is that acrylic article? 250 words? what were you thinking?
[he has now moved on to another topic entirely, with no regard for what I said was not possible.]

Me: The article hasn’t been written or sent to me yet. You told you wanted a spread, so no more than 400 words—depends on how many images we get.

ND: Okay, okay [he pauses]. I’ve got the advertisers up my ass, I’ve inherited this clusterfuck, I don’t know.
[note: he says the above with complete nonchalance.]

[I don’t know what to say.]

ND: Okay, is there any way we can get this in to the next issue of the monthly?

Me: It ships on Thursday, and we don’t have any of the content. If the artist gets it to me on Monday, that still requires a scramble.

ND sighs and rubs his temple. I am fearful he’ll throw his hot coffee in my face.

ND: I need to please these advertisers. [pause] Okay, I’ll make a call to advertising, see what I can do. I’ll try to work some queer magic.


Naturally, his laugh line is my cue to exit, as he turns his seat back to his desk as he shoos me away.

I don’t know how to handle him. He’s very stream-of-consciousness, and he goes from pissed and hilarious at the drop of a dime. An older gay is the kind of breed that can turn on its hag, and I’m fearful of him. I need his approval as both my massa and an older gay, but I also need him to stop trippin’ and let me get my basic shit done. Toeing the line with this one will require a bit of finesse.

Thank god it’s Friday. I need to take a nap.

[aaahhh, New Daddy came over just as I was googling images of 'Angry Ian McKellen'--you know, basically Magneto in X-Men]

When Your Jewboo Doesn't Want to Get It On...

Your friends--with the help of someecards--are there to help you get through it....




God bless you, KWalsh, for helping me get through this rough patch.
I shouldn't be surprised, considering KWalsh is the woman who I collaborate with to bring the world Scorned Woman Ecards. We've been on hiatus for forevs, but it's good to know she's still thinking!!!

uh-oh. in the time it took to type this, my victoria's secret order arrived. why won't this boy do me???? do i have to give it away?!

Tales from the Crypt....

Oh no! I lost a follower!!

This is what happens when I stop blogging regularly.

I'm sorry, guys. I've just been really busy. I was in Detroit this past weekend, celebrating G-unit's birthday--the big 9-4!! You know that party was off the chain!

We totes got crunked. We mixed Ensure and Efferdent and got wiz-asted!!!

Of course, I jest. The trip to Detroit was actually quite painless, as I was there about 72 hours, and slept til noon two days in a row. My mom and I actually got along, as we tend to do in Detroit--it's like we band together when faced with our extended family's dysfunction. As you all know, when it comes to visiting the Detroit fam, Sojourner is the black(tress) sheep of the clan. What, with my "talking white" and my having a passport and all, my family doesn't quite know what to do with me.

I spent every summer in Detroit until I was 14, and started private school when I was 10, making those last 4 years especially painful. Up until then, I was mocked for being too dark and for being chubby and wearing glasses. Add in my clipped diction (I was preparing myself for the stage, clearly) and my love of the film “Little Women” (to this day, my cousins mock my love of Winona Ryder), and I just couldn’t win.

Honestly, though, I’m not bitter. We’re all adults now, and have come to accept each other. We’ve even added each other as Facebook friends. And even though I maintain strict privacy settings with the fam, it warms my heart when my cousin wishes me a happy birthday via wall post. I also think that my time traveling solo in foreign lands has steeled me—I have no qualms about sitting in the midst of people speaking Swedish, and don’t need to be filled in, or be liked. And, quite frankly, my extended family may as well be speaking Swedish, because the shit they say is so cuckoo bananas, I don’t even know how to respond.

Of course, when I told my cousin I had a new boyfriend, she instantly asked if he was white. I showed her Jewboo’s pics on FB.
“Oh, he’s cute. He puts [family friend’s white boyfriend] to shame.”
Apparently, we’re in some sort of interracial-romance competition. My other cousin believes I’m a failure to my race for dating a white guy, but doesn’t blame me, because “it’s how you grew up. You been around white folks. It make sense, you been confused.” This, coming from the man who suggests I find "high-functioning" crackheads to help with household chores.

Um, when’s our return flight?

I learned how young the madness starts when someone’s 4-year-old son came over, and he took a shine to Sojourner. For some reason, he needed my attention all throughout the birthday party, and at one point, found a pencil sharpener shaped like a nose. It was beige-colored. When a random guest, trying to engage him, asked, “Whose nose is that?” the young boy replied, totally nonchalantly:
“It’s a white devil’s nose.”
From the mouths of Detroit babes.

Detroit is the city that god forgot on so many levels. As we passed burned down buildings and desolate streets, it’s not hard to see why it has a population of less than 1 million. As we drove by “Lil’ Poo Poo’s Auto Body Repair,” it’s not hard to see why my family thinks I’m uppity—clearly, their expectations are skewed.

Who is “Lil’ Poo Poo,” and why on earth would he put his nickname on his business?
WHAT IF IT ISN”T A NICKNAME????

This didn’t really surprise me, seeing as, when we couldn’t find the gate for our flight to Detroit, I was able to locate it by following the girl wearing a full head of curlers in the airport at 12:30pm. Clearly, she was bound for the D. And when she asked the flight attendant if the plane had a plug so she could charge her phone, I knew she wasn’t making any connections.

I’m sorry if I’m sipping on Detroit HATE-orade. The trip wasn’t even as bad as it could have been, or as it’s been in the past. It’s just that it’s so frustrating to feel like I’m the odd one, the crazy one, when all I do is read books and have a Jewboo. It’s total Twilight Zone sometimes.

I was talking to my grandmother, and she’s asking me about my travels, and she goes:

“Have you been to that place where they make the stuff?”

Okay, now I’m not even about to make fun of G-Unit, cause she’s 94 and all, but, um, WHAT? She’s actually quite sharp, and this was the most vague sentence I’d ever heard.

What threw me off even more was when my mom, who was sitting next to me says, completely nonchalantly, “She’s asking if you’ve ever been to China.”
WHAT? HOW DOES SHE KNOW THAT?
Clearly, they exist on a wavelength I cannot access.

This moment was only surpassed by grandma's follow-up. “Cause Will’s boy was over there for a time, practicing.”

Who is Will’s boy? Practicing what? I’m so confused. Where am I?

“She means Will Smith’s son was in China filming the new ‘Karate Kid’ movie," mom explains.

My mother is an ambassador, bridging generation gaps.

The one bright spot was that my toothless, schizophrenic aunt has started taking her meds, so she did way less ranting than usual. My mom thought she wasn’t well because she was going into OCD overdrive in terms of planning my grandmother’s party. However, we just think she’s a party planner—for her son’s college graduation party, which consisted of about 15 people, she rented a hotel banquet hall, hired a harpist, and had a meat carver. We think she just likes to go all out, meds or no.

Anyway, I’ve missed society. How are you guys?

Ready for my Close Up

Hey boofaces,

Can I call you 'boofaces'? I just love y'all so much!
I'm in a weird mood.
I have cramps.

Anyhoozle, I got headshots done on Sunday, and it was actually quite fun. I normally hate having my picture taken, and the last time I got headshots done back in '06, the photographer asked me if I'd "consider working on this other project of mine" when I went to pick up my CD of images.

He then proceeded to show me images from this other project: black-and-white photos of naked ladies.
"I think you'd be great for this because you've got a great personality and a great figure."
Listen, buddy, flattery will get you everywhere, but not everywhere.

Needless to say, I was a bit traumatized.
Add that trauma to my general fear and laziness with regard to my blackting career, and it's taken me way too long to get headshots. But, you know, as they say, "better late than the early bird catches the hand in the bush"....or something like that.

I got my shots done by this gal named Ari, who does headshots for a lot of the UCB comedians, and she was super cool. We met in her apt, and not once did she ask me to drop my pants. She just used natural light and we did four different looks, and it actually turned out really well. We talked about how comedy dudes are weird, why UCB needs more diversity (not just of color, but of experiences, so all scenes aren't about the same shit every time), and how she manages to make money from her creativity. She is a strong black woman in a Caucasian candy coating.
I like her a lot.

I can't tell if this is ridiculously narcissistic, or fun, so let's just see what happens. Here are some fun shots from the shoot:
OMG, I'm so wholesome! I think this'll be the main one. Thoughts? Give it a yay or nay in the comments.


The vibe here is very 19th-century maiden, wandering through the parlour in a fainting coat.



I was really trying to hide the fact that I'm was wearing bright-pink underwear under a sheer knit dress, but I ended up giving off more of a "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" vibe.



And this next show, dear readers, is what happens when you let elite gay visionary JJSiii work his Photoshop magic on your "Law and Order shot" at the workplace, all because you joked, "I'd love to be surrounded by twinks in real life."
......NSFW!!!!

I'm now one step closer to becoming a gay icon.

What's up with you guys today? I'm gonna take some Advil and do some work, I guess. It's 10:01 and I've actually started nothing. The New Massa isn't in til 11:30 (he's at a photo shoot--how fierce is that?!), so I think it's behoovy of me to keep kickin' til then. Let's see what's hot on the interwebs.

The day the earth wouldn't stay still.

Guys, this day is total madness.

I wake up after a fitful sleep to check my email and discover that the VH1 show I shot a segment for has been pushed back to August! AUGUST!! That’s practically fall—who’s going to care about celebrity beach bodies then?! What if they don’t end up using me at all???!! And my main-gay contact there is no longer going to be working on the show, so there goes my in to future opportunities as a talking head.
Ugh, I’m never going to become famous ever. I guess I’m going to have to work on becoming a basketball wife.

After getting ready, I head downstairs to the living room to tend to my houseguests. You see, I’ve been hosting the Jewboo’s two cats since Monday, and it’s turned my whole world topsy-turvy.
Although I had a cat for a few years, two have two large rambunctious, heavily shedding animals running amok is not something the blacktress is used to. And to have them for a week and make sure I don’t accidentally traumatize them is just too much.
Their names are Squee and Prembley (yes, Squee and Prembley), and Squee is totally energetic and spastic, and quickly acclimated himself to his new environment, and wanted to explore beyond the confines of the living room where I had them quarantined. Prembley, on the other hand, is rather…um…big boned and super lazy, and loves to fit his large self into tiny spaces. When I enter in the mornings and after work, Squee instantly pads towards me, waiting to be petted, while Prembley looks at me from behind the bookshelf with eyes that say, “You’ll never be my real mommy.”
I’ve been keeping them in the rather spacious living room, to both avoid the spread of cat hair everywhere, and to keep them from getting too overwhelmed and getting caught in madness…and also because I’m scared they may be carrying bedbugs.

Ah, yes…bedbugs.

This is why I’m holding the beasts.

You see, the Jewboo has bedbugs. His roommate found them last week. Ever since, he’s been in a pit of despair. I’d go into detail, but why don’t you watch this funny video of the two of them being sad and ranting about it on their stoop on their latest episode of “Cookies and Bookies,” their video podcast in which they review cookies and give betting advice?

Cookies and Bookies #7 from Wrestling Team on Vimeo.

(note the reference to the "girlfriend"--that's me! Yeah, I buy him cookies. You know, the key to a man's heart is through his stomach. I figure the best way to buy an unemployed Jewish man's love is through kosher treats).

I love how he’s looking such a hot mess in this video, hair all askew, bespectacled and washed out. That’s my guy!!

Of course, I’m not missing the hour-long trek to Greenpoint, but I also don’t want him shuttling these critters to my house, starting their own Harlem Renaissance in my crib! I also need to stop treating his cats as though they are actual houseguests, rearranging my schedule so that they’re pleased.
I also need to stop calling them “sir” and talking to them for extended periods of time. It’s getting creepy.
This morning, when I went to change the water bowl, not only did Squee race out the door, but even the normally comatose Prembley darted out, and I simply could not spend my morning trying to wrangle them back into the living room and making sure they were secure. I just had to make sure the living room door stayed open, so they could get to their food and their little box, and go about my day.

Who knows what I’ll come home to. The night before, Squee had managed to get out of the living room, but because it’s a sliding door, he couldn’t get back in, so lord knows how he spent his day. All I know is, he wandered in reeking of booze and shame....and refused to look me in the eye.


So, while I sit here at work, slightly worried that the cats are spreading bedbugs all around at best, and at worst, stuck in a crawlspace, I just saw that my friend’s bf has the following gchat status message: RIP RUE.

Instantly, I know this can only mean one thing…..BLANCHE DEVEREAUX HAS PASSED ON!!!!!!!
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

THIS DAY IS UTTER DARKNESS!!!

WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?????

Only B-White is left standing. I don’t know if I can handle this.
Blanche was the original cougar, y’all. She was a cougar before there was a word for it! She was a cougar back when it was just creepy.


Look at her--she's probably thinking about who she just slept with--or planning who to sleep with next!! She taught us that geriatric sexuality was okay.
OH GOD, the aforementioned BF just informed me that Gary Coleman died!!
This is what happens when I’m in the Vermont woods and dating a man who doesn’t recognize the lyrics to Beyonce’s “Irreplaceable” (you know, when he’s asking directions, and I sing “to the left, to the left”—I’m cut off from civilization.
How could I have missed this?!

What other bombs are going to drop on me today? I thought bad things come in threes. Wouldn't Gary Coleman make 4? But, I guess that already happened and I'm just behind. This day's bound to turn around, right?

FYI - I'm Hosting a Show This Friday!

Hey gang! If you want to catch some live blacktress, I'm hosting an improv show this Friday at Gotham City Improv. Here's the info:

Time: 8:30pm - 9:30pm
Place: Gotham City Improv
48 West 21st Street between 5th and 6th Ave
Cost: $6

Bring a friend!

I haven't really prepared a set, so we'll just wing it, kick it old school. I'll be doing 10 minutes up top, then 3-5 minutes in between each act, for about 20 minutes total. Good times!

Longest Post Ever.....Indian Weddings Inspire Me!

Whew, guys, what a whirlwind! How was your weekend?! Did you hit up any German-Indian weddings, by any chance? If so, then you’re allowed to say your weekend was amazing in every way. If not, then I’m sure you had some sort of fun, but nothing can really compare.

Seriously, after this past weekend, the newest item on my life to-do list is:
- Find Indian husband.
- Earn future-husband's parents’ approval.
- Have monsoon wedding in the Northeast countryside.
(I mean, I’d have it in India, but you know I can’t handle too much heat—I’d sweat my hair out, y’all!)

This weekend’s wedding was gorgeous and amazing, and the road was paved with danger every step of the way. I rode up Thursday night after work with the Maid of Honor and another bridesmaid, making our way through an NYC thunderstorm. This voyage was gonna take us at least 6 hours, and we didn’t set out until 8pm—-no sleep til VT, baby!!

I played navigator, and it seems I may be a dash dyslexic, as left and right baffled me at various points throughout the journey. Add that to my general distrust of New Jersey, and I think our early confusion was brought about by my lack of faith in Google Maps (“are we sure we’re supposed to be in a place called 'Ho Ho Kus'??? This can’t even be a real name. What the hell is 'Mahwah?' Something’s awry.) as the MOH drove with focus and determination (as only a woman studying to become a midwife could), the sky grew darker and darker. I suddenly realized we were three attractive women—one white, one asian, and one blacktress—in a car on a backroad in an unknown town. We were clearly in the opening scene on a horror movie.
We had to get to our destination, stat.

I managed to maintain my calm as flashes of the trailer for “The Human Centipede” popped into my head, and the MOH read the map like the true Vermont native she is. As she guided us on the right path, I decided that if I ever accidentally get pregnant and carry my kids to term, I’m gonna have them spend their summers in Vermont, so they can learn to be scrappy and take care of themselves. On the 1st of July I’m going to drop them in the middle of the woods with a compass and some rations and tell them that if they want to see the fireworks on the 4th they better figure out how to make it back to the cabin using their wits—that’ll give them the skills they need to navigate the harsh roads of life—and I-87 north.

Once in the VT, there was little rest for the weary—and I wasn’t even in the wedding party. I got to spend much of Friday with the MOH’s fiancée, who was the coolest guy ever. For some reason, he knew that there had to be a “bridal kit” consisting of necessary items for the wedding day—hair pins, nail polish, double-sided tape, hair gel, band-aids, and other miscellaneous emergency odds and ends that one could need just in case. We got to race around to various VT stores, taking in the countryside on the sunny day while I asked him all about what love is. Even though he’s only, like, 2 years older than me, the fact that he’s been in a 5-year relationship and is about to marry one of my favorite humans makes him a love guru in my mind, and I have to know how it all happens.

Besides, any man who not only knows about a bridal kit, but has no qualms about rounding up extra tampons for said kit has got to be the male equivalent of a unicorn. His mind must be dissected and studied for science, and for the edification of women everywhere.

Friday night was a magical pre-wedding party, where the Indian and German families came together. As the bride-to-be got dressed in her gorgeous green-and-gold sari, fussed over by several women, as they applied imported matching jewels I realized that I was clearly meant to be an Indian woman. These women are all diva, and understand the importance of a photo op. Everyone’s hair was DONE, and even though the party started at 6:30, the bride-to-be didn’t come down until 7:30. HELLO, DIVA!!! I hear that, make it work! RuPaul would have been proud!!

Once she came down, the party began, and it got crunked! The DJ played the Bangra jams, and the German groom’s family was all about the Indian garb. While the liberal-arts-college-grad in me initially worried about the appropriation of culture, there’s nothing cuter than a 4-year-old German girl wearing a sari, and my heart melted at the sight. It was also cool to see how into it they were, as if the two families really were bonding, you know? Talk about a merging of two totally different cultures—you’ve got Hamburg on one end and India-via-Vermont on the other, and it’s all love. I think this is what they mean by “post-racial.”

The highlight of the evening had to be when young girls in the family performed dances for the couple. Prior to this, various couples, ranging from aunts and uncles to bfs and gfs had done choreographed bits to various songs, and the joy of Bollywood was felt by all.
And by “all,” I mean, “me”. It was amazing.

Just when I thought it could get no more wonderful, the bride’s young cousin did a dance to a mashup that included Beyonce’s “Halo,” “Fireflies” by some pop group or another, and two Indian jams. As she kicked and twirled in the air, and used a decorative cloth as a prop, I stood in awe. She was no more than 14 years old, and, in, a word, FIERCE.
I want to be her when I grow up.
“Kiloni, I want to be you!” I gushed later in the night, when we were dancing to “Telephone” (my request to the DJ). “Thank you” she muttered without a smile, like a true diva.
She is a Lady Gaga in the making.

Riding high on her awesomeness, I didn’t know what the actual wedding day would have in store. Saturday morning was drizzly, which did not bode well for the outdoor Indian ceremony. Just 15 minutes before it began, however, the clouds parted, and the sun shone through, shedding light on the mandap (the tent where the ceremony would take place—you didn’t know the blacktress was down with the Hindi like that, did you?).
It was as if nature knew their love was meant to be!

I don’t know if any of you have been to a Hindu wedding ceremony, but that jam has 11 steps—11, y’all!! It takes over an hour! But it was totally worth every second, and the officiant kept it funny and engaging the whole time. He explained each portion, went back and forth between English and Hindi, and even learned German, y’all!! Holla at some multi-culti bridging of the gaps!
What I loved so much about the ceremony was its specificity—When you get married Hindu style, you know what you’re getting into. You communicate your expectations for married life and shower rice on each other, you walk around in circles, you worship sacred fire, you break that shit down, y’all!! When the German groom said his vows, the officiant made him repeat it 3 times, and the third time said, “I want you to repeat after me in German, so you really know what you’re agreeing to.” I hear that—You better make sure you know what you’re about, cause this shizz is for real!!

My favorite part is when the couple took 7 steps together, and they physically walked across the mandap, saying each promise aloud with each step: to provide for and support each other; to develop mental, sprititual, and physical strength together; to share their worldly possession; to acquire knowledge, happiness, and peace; to raise strong virtuous children; to enjoy fruits of all seasons; and to always remain friends and cherish each other.

Know, that’s the kind of binding agreement I can get behind. You’d hear me, at 50, sitting on the couch, about to get into a fight and go, “boy, don’t play me, we took step 3—give me a bite of that cake. Share that worldly possession!” I’d have the proof at all times!!

Okay, this post is long and out of control. I won’t even get into the Christian ceremony (and yes, the bride looked just as gorgeous in a white dress as she did in a Sari), cause Christianity was put to shame after the Hindu jam. I will also refrain from going on a tangent about how awesome cousin Natasha was—-at only 16 years old, she wore 4 different saris on the day of the wedding. A blacktress can get down with a culture that understands the importance of a quick-change. Always keep it looking fresh, Indian divas!!!

Needless to say, I had a great time. I tried not to cry during the ceremonies, but whenever I saw the bride cry, I got misty—-even though she told me later that she was looking to me to stop herself from tearing up. I don’t know why everyone thinks I’m such a gargoyle; we all know I’m tender and delicate!

Okay, we’ve officially taken up an hour of the day with this massive post. What can I say? The henna tattoo on my palm may have faded, but the memories will last forever.....

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?