When the Jewboo's Away......

The Blacktress will find another jewboo!!

J/K. You know I only have one trueJew love. But Jewboo’s currently in Boston doing some shows, and I must admit, I don’t mind it one bit. I haven’t had to shave my legs in 4 days (yep, I said it), I haven’t had to gchat stalk him for my own amusement during the workday (largely because he’s not available), and, although the hotel they’re staying in is right between a Hooters and Fuddruckers, his vegetarianism is sure to keep him away from both hot wings and pretty young things.

I kicked off my first night of freedom by seeing a Comedy Central taping for comedian Nick Kroll last night. I don’t really have celebrity crushes, and I don’t really like to gush, but Nick Kroll is seriously my life partner. He’s a nerdy Jew from Rye, New York who has the pouty lips of a man of color and every word out of his mouth is brilliant to me. He mostly plays characters, my favorite being Fabrice Fabrice—the name so nice, you have to say it AGAIN.

Check him out interviewing Steve Carrell:

Fabrice Fabrice Interviews Steve Carell from Steve Carell

He is my spirit animal. He is my avatar. He is my patronus. And after sitting second row center during his taping my life is officially complete. Let me explain.


First and firstmost (as Bobby Bottleservice would say), Nick Kroll has been on my TO-DO list ever since I saw him at UCB 4 years ago. He was so wonderfully hilarious, and his questionable sexuality intrigued me. I figured at the very least, every gay needs a blacktress, and I could endear myself to him. Unfortunately, he was way too cool off stage for me to approach, so I just let it be. Since then, however, Kroll has blown up like Nagasaki, starring in “The League,” “Sit Down Shut Up,” and random movie cameos. When I saw he was doing a show at the Williamsburg Music Hall, I jumped on those tickets—hipsters be damned!

I bought 4, figuring I’d make some friends at some point prior to the show. Enjoying freedom without Jewboo I made it a ladies’ night, and brought three of my favorite funny girls (well, 2 of my favorites and a random who wanted a ticket). I arrived with a friend and there was no sign or sense of order to the process. “What do we do?” my Caucasian friend asked? I looked around. Manning the door were too buff black bodyguards.
“I see black men. I’m getting some answers,” I said.
I walked over to the bald guy (they always have the most power), and asked him what the deal was. As he spoke, his gold grill nearly blinded me, but I stood my ground, speaking with a confidence and comfort that let him know I was cool, but not trashy. He gestured for us to wait on this side, and we did accordingly. The people around us began lining up behind us; we’d inadvertently started the line and were at the front (Rosa would have been so proud!). We ended up getting 2nd row center seats, perfect for eye-fucking.

On select seats was a sheet of paper and pencil, and we were directed to write down questions for Fabrice Fabrice. “Good” questions would be selected and given to Fabrice to read on stage/on camera.

This was my moment to connect with him. I thought long and hard. Here’s what I came up with:
1. What was Raven Simone’s favorite meal on the set of “The Cheetah Girls”?
2. How did you discover that craft services was your passion?
3. How do you like to unwind after a long day of serving crafts?
xoxo, Blacktress!!!

I didn’t think he’d read it, but I wanted to just add a personal touch.

After our questions were collected and reviewed, Fabrice was handed a stack to read. I tried not to get too amped—and then hateful—when my friend’s questions were answered. But then……
“What was Raven’s favorite meal on the Cheetah girls? Cheetahs. Baby cheetahs.”
YES!!!! He got me.
He proceeded to answer the rest of them, and then read my signature aloud:

“XOXO, Blacktress. That’s a black actress. This woman is black and she’s hating on Raven. That’s not solidarity.”
(everything sounds hilarious in the voice of Fabrice Fabrice, trust).

Um, it was the greatest moment of my life. Nick Kroll uttered my alias with his full lips. He instantly knew what the word meant—he can certainly handle the truth. And the fact that my questions were chosen proves that we’re cosmically connected—I know what to ask him to make him shine like Geoffrey Rush.

So, in summararium, Nick is my boo, I am famous by proxy, and I love me a matzoh ball!

I totally wish I was Henry Winkler right now.

Getting off Struggle Strasse

You know how they say it’s hard out there for a pimp? Well, I think it’s much harder for a blacktress (didn’t the pimp get an Oscar nom?). Y’all, I am on Struggle Street, for serious. I mean, we all know struggle street (or, as I like to call it, struggle strasse to really highlight the pain)—how it feels when you’re swamped at work one week, when you’re getting rejected like a Jersey Shore cast member’s college application, when you wake up with no heat or hot water and don’t know what to do.

But normally, you get through it. It’s just one of life’s many valleys, and you know there’ll be another peak. In those moments, you’re just walking down Struggle Strasse—you know, you took a wrong turn, but you know that once you get your bearings you’ll be back on Make It Happen Boulevard.

Sometimes, though, it’s not so simple. Sometimes you end up on Struggle Strasse and get wooed by its cheap rent. You’re so hopeless you end up signing a damn lease and the next thing you know, it’s the middle of summer and you find out the windows in your apartment in the Struggle Strasse Projects can’t open, much less support an air conditioner.

That’s where I’m at right now. Nothing tragic happened—I just sorta let this malaise snowball, and I’m starting to wonder if I’m even young, gifted, or black! (did you see one of the recent angry comments? I’m a discredit to the race!) I had a few shows happening, but I’m running out of new material—and not really writing more!!! What kind of roll-over-and-play-dead kind of behavior is this?! Definitely more wacktress than blacktress.

I think it really has to do with not liking my job, and not really knowing what alternatives I have—you know, probably the way an oppressed person feels almost everyday. I’m not accustomed to this. As mamadukes says to me when I’m acting a fool, “I didn’t work hard so you could cry all day.” That, and “if you want sympathy, you can find it between ‘shit’ and ‘syphillis’ in the dictionary.”

It’s tough love, but it works.

I don’t know what to do people! I’m trying to write funny hilarities to pitch to humor sites, and my brain turns to mush! What’s hip with the young kids? Is Bieber still hot? Why have I missed so many episodes of GLEE? This is what happens when you spend your evenings hunched over Edy’s Slow Churned Ice Cream (it doesn’t matter if it’s half the fat when you eat twice as much of it!).

All right, y’all, I’ll stop the rant. Just tell me what to do. Please leave a comment that answers the following:

1. Sojourner, the TRUTH is you should be spending your time doing ________ for a living.

2. Blackting is…..
a. Reacting
b. Attacking
c. Distracting
d. Comparing yourself to other people and wondering if the world still thinks you’re 3/5 of a woman.

3. When your drag queen boss tells you that your tone “concerns him,” you should
a. Calmly explain your point of view.
b. Send a clarifying email, so as not to give away your hatred via eye rolling and sighing. Then, look for a new job on monster.com.
c. Start looking into working holiday visas and see if New Zealand will let you back in.
d. Cut a bitch.

You're Welcome....

Happy Friday, y'all!!

Young, Gifted, and BACK

Guys, I come to you now with my tail between my legs and my head hung in shame. I haven’t blogged in so long, you’d think I wasn’t an insecure narcissist whose primary form of procrastination was writing ramblings on the internet.

Since I last posted, there have been many changes afoot—I don’t even know where to begin!

1. On Friday, October 29th at 6:34pm, Jewboo called to tell me he GOT A JOB!!!
Yes, y’all!!! He’s got a sweet temp-to-perm gig at Columbia University! For those of you who don’t know, Columbia’s located in Harlem, which means that not only has Jewboo solved the “I’m broke-ass” problem, he’s also helped alleviate the “I love on the G train” issue! Other pluses to this new employment:
- Jewboo’s entire staff consists of strong black women and a black man named Junior. Our 8 months of dating have trained him perfectly for dealing with a strong black woman—and, should his superiors be prone to outbursts and mood swings, he will be able to respond by asking them if they are in “food distress.”
- When the gig goes permanent, Jewboo will be making 25% MORE THAN ME. Seriously. As an administrative assistant. It really makes me wish I hadn’t gone into debt going to a liberal arts university when managing an Outlook calendar is where the money is.
- With this newfound money, Jewboo can begin purchasing me foodstuffs of the baked variety. I’m ‘bout to get myself mad cupcakes, y’all!
- My mother can stop telling me that I need to “use this one as a back-up; don’t get attached.”

2. So, for Halloween, I decided to go as “slutty Condoleeza Rice,” complete with cheap corset purchased from H&M and a headband with a top hat. I was definitely a tramp, but luckily, my party of choice was a bunch of gays in a high school gymnasium in Chelsea. It was kind of amazing. The drag queens brought out their A game, and they actually taught me how to—

UGH, God, my fucking coworker keeps interrupting me, and I can’t get a blog in edgewise! He’s being such a fucking shunt*, and I having been wanting to cut him for days. My hatred has gotten so intense that Saturday night I dreamt we got into a fist fight. I wish he’d just never talk to me again—or only communicate with me via email. He’s just so damn….detail-oriented and “wanting to get your thoughts on” things that it just bothers the shit out of me. I swear to fucking god, I can’t handle being here.
*that’s Australian for “shitty cunt”

Okay, rant complete. Where was I?
Oh, right, HallowQUEEN. (How did I just start calling it this now???)
So, I’m dancing to remixed versions of every pop song I’ve ever known (when you speed up “Umbrella,” Rihanna sounds even more like a chipmunk than usual), in my trampy outfit, hanging out with two members of my BLONDtourage (white girls are excellent safety nets on nights when the crazies are out), when a guy crosses behind us to put is coat in a corner.

I freeze. My stomach twists in a figure-eight knot.
No, it isn’t one of the many former lovers I’ve had.
It was MY BOSS!!!

Yes, y’all! My boss was at the HallowQueen party, and decided to plant 4 centimenters from a blacktress! I immediately alerted the blondes and made sure to text my nearest and dearest. Jewboo’s response: “Isn’t yer boss a drag queen?” as though I shouldn’t have been at all surprised. One of the gals I was with was convinced he must have seen me, since he’d crossed several times to drop off his coat, go back to pull out his wallet and phone, and then go back to put something else in his pocket.

“Do you think he’d recognize me in this outfit?!”
I tried to continue dancing non-chalantly, but the night lost its luster. I wasn’t ready to be caught out dressed like a tramp by the man who signs my checks. I walked over to my bag to put my cell away when he turned towards me. I used my collapsible fan as a face shield (just like Condi would do), but it was a wrap.

Michael just looked at me, rolled his eyes and laughed, and said, “I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”

I swear, I’m only having former drag queens as bosses from now on.



Okay, there’s much more to report, but I gotta get back to work before the shunt comes over with another request. I’m glad I broke the block, y’all—how you been?

Unable to MoveOn.org

So I know I’ve been way behind on bloggery, and I have much to catch you up on, but I forgot to post a little tidbit from “Sad Girl” (remember her from that time I went to 8th grade prom?). She’s since graduated high school and is living on her own. Adult life hasn’t been so good to her. It seems, you can take Sad Girl out of high school, but you can’t take the….sadness out of the sad girl.


I don’t know if you guys know about this, but I’ve been going through a really hard time lately. Work is a total bitch, and my former drag queen of a boss (that’s not meant to be derogatory, that’s just a fact) keeps telling me that I’m “sick and suffering.” Yesterday, the online editor got pissed at me because I finally told her why I don’t like her (she doesn’t respect my dominance). And Halloween’s coming up, and I have no idea what to be (a slutty fireman? A slutty bunny? Muslim film star Delta Burqa?).

Not that I have anywhere to go anyway. No one invites me out anymore, and it sucks. I got Netflix a few months ago to help quell the ache, but even movies have gotten boring.

I check my email every 5 minutes, hoping for an Evite to som—

Oh my god, guess what?! I just got an email from a guy named Chuck S. It’s titled “Come to my party in New York on Saturday?”

I LIVE IN NEW YORK! Chuck knows that, I’m sure, or he wouldn’t have invited me. I don’t know who he is off the top of my head, but I’m sure we met somewhere a year or so back, when I used to be social.

Ugh, thank god. I was freaking out over not having plans. Okay, now I’ll go to Ricky’s and get a costume. I wonder if anyone hot will be there. Maybe Chuck’s hot. Should I bring candy? Let me open the email and see the deets.

ARE. YOU. FUCKING. KIDDING. ME?

Hi,

We're just 5 days from the election, and dozens of races could come down to just a handful of votes. We could end up with narrow Democratic wins in a ton of close races, or a Republican takeover of our government, and it all comes comes down to which side has more volunteers getting out the vote.

I'm not going to let right-wing Republicans take over Congress.

So I'm hosting an election call party on Saturday in New York. I'm inviting people over to make calls to sign up volunteers for our candidates.

I can't do it alone. So if you've got a couple hours to spare this weekend—or even if you don't!--please, please, please come to my party. It's up to all of us in the next 5 days.

Why doesn’t anyone ever invite me anywhere fun?

Apparently, He No Longer Has a Hold on Anyone

Y'all, I got another rando press release today at work. The subject line was cut off, but what I could see read "SMOKEY ROBINSON MEDIA BLITZ S---"

What?! Smokey Robinson? Homey's still alive and blitzing it up?! I obviously double-clicked on that shizz post haste.

Apparently, Smokey has a new album out, y'all. It's called "Now and Then." This is exciting--the man's a legend, and he's still got it! I was ready to call up my mom and tell her the good news when I read the introduction. Tell me what's wrong with this paragraph, y'all (it has not in any way been altered):

Nashville, TN – Legendary hit-maker Smokey Robinson will commence a media flurry, visiting national media in Nashville and New York to promote his highly anticipated album, Now and Then, which hits Cracker Barrel Old Country Store locations on November 1st.

In addition, Smokey will tape segments for The Weather Channel, Fox Entertainment feed, LXNY, NYC Profiles, ABC Nightline, and Hannity.

Cracker Barrel?! They selling Smokey's albums in Cracker Muthafuckin' Barrel Old Country Stores?! Y'all, this is the man who brought us such mega hits as “Shop Around,” “Tracks of My Tears,” and “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me.” He is a living legend--and they can't even put his ish on Amazon?!


Smokey is too good for CRACKER BARREL! I call that restaurant "Barrel of Crackers," cause when I stopped at one by the roadside, I didn't see a black person anywhere. In fact, every person in the place turned and looked at us, which I know took a lot of work, because most of them didn't have necks.

And what's this "Weather Channel" foolishness? What about VH1 or BET?! And Hannity?! WTF?! Y'all, I can't cope with this foolishness. Smokey needs to get some new representation, stat.


Don't worry, Smokey--you still got a hold on Sojo!

Remembrance of Things Past

OMG, guys. I’m really happy now. I got an email from my gyno!!!

Yes, guys, an e-mail! An e-mail is good because it means your test results came back negative. I remind myself of this with a little rhyme: If you didn’t fail, you get an email; If your phone rings, it doesn’t bring good things!

You know you’ve lived a little too hard if you’re really amped over STD test results. I’m not mathemagician, but I’d venture to say that one’s excitement over negative STD tests is directly proportional to one’s past sluttery. And, as many of you long-time readers can attest, Sojourner has definitely taken advantage of her freedom—and the legalization of miscegenation. As a hypochondriac, I get tested very regularly (sometimes I go in for a prescription refill and come out with two vials of blood drawn, just for the fun of it!), and the idea of an un-wrapped P in my V actually terrifies me, so my past, while varied, is relatively tidy.

Still, there were those nights….those Grease-like summer nights, when the club was dark and the booze was strong, and you didn’t know if that guy was on the up-and-up, but you hoped the amount of alcohol in your blood was so high that it would kill any foreign antibodies that entered.

Am I right, guys?


Anyway, I figure I just bought another 18 months of calm, especially now that I’m Jewboo’ed up and behaving.

Speaking of sluttery, I’m thinking of doing a trashy Halloween costume this year. I’m not really one for costumes (as a blacktress, I perpetually wear a mask….oooohh, that’s deep), and the idea of spending a lot of money or investing several hours in crafting a costume for one night of wear just seems silly. Besides, all the costumes for women are a slutty version of something really generic—you know, like a slutty fireman, a slutty witch, or a slutty slut.

I think, in honor of the slutty idiocy that is Halloween, my costume will be A Girl With Low-Self Esteem.

Booty shorts and/or booty skirt, the tiniest top you can imagine, and the need for endless male attention all night long.

I may end up having flashbacks.

Or, if I want to seem slutty-yet-cool, I’m thinking I can dress up as a Freudian Slip.

You know, wear a slip with my glasses and a name tag that says “Hello My Name is FREUD.”

What say you?

Obituary

OBITS

It is with a heavy heart that I inform you that Paul, the octopus who "predicted" the winners of eight World Cup matches, died this morning.
Known for his uncanny ability to pick mussels out of boxes with flags on them (note: mussels are one of an octopuses favorite meals), Paul lived a very full life in his just two-and-a-half years, even becoming an honorary citizen of the Spanish town of Carballino. His favorite television show was "Two and a Half Men."



How will we know who'll win the next cup? How will we know if Jewboo is going to call me back?! He said he'd call, Paul. He gave me a kiss on the mouth with just a hint of tongue--but maybe he was turned off my this morning's email, which said "I got my period!! Yay!" He said he'd call! I'd been waiting for your response to my query for days, and now you're too dead to tell me!!!

Unfortunately, Paul had no wife, as most octopussies found him to be a bit of a media whore. (Known for scouring the ocean's depths, most octopuses aren't a fan of the limelight.) His life in captivity also means he had no children. He is survived by his agent, Chris Davies. "It's a sad day," Davies said. "Paul was rather special but we managed to film Paul before he left this mortal earth."

Wait, how did an octopus get an agent, and a blacktress can't even get a walk-on on 30 Rock?

I'm Eating a Slice of Carrot Cake at 10:45am

Hey there, Sharks and Jets,

I know, it’s been a week without bloggery. I’ve been feeling so damn bored/boring. Yesterday was definitely bringing back memories of The Summer of New Lows, as I had the following discussion with my life partner, KWalsh
me: oh thank god!
i've been waiting for you to appear on the internet all morning
katie bear, i need you
KWalsh: haha
whats up
me: pleaassseee come to new york. i will pay for your ticket
you can stay at my house
PLEASE
KWalsh: whats going on?
me: i hate everything. i am in a depressed malaise
is that even a thing?
KWalsh: of course it is
come to st. croix for halloween!
we are going to have a pizza party
me: i'm just......like, why am i even trying to exist?

This went on for another 30 minutes, and only ended when I realized I needed to pick up my anti-depressant prescription. I then chased my morning dosage (up 50 milligrams!) with a sip of lukewarm coffee.

Breakfast of champions, I tell ya!

This could have something to do with the fact that I’m two weeks behind on GLEE—that show always makes me feel good about the state of the world. The only thing that’s gotten me through it is the NYC Gubernatorial race. Everyone and their mom has decided to run, and most of them are a hot-ass mess.

I am kind of obsessed with this cray cray Jimmy McMillan, who is currently running for Governor of NY. For those of you followers who aren’t in NYC (and haven’t had all of your internet streams overrun with his youtube clips), I present to you the following, from the leader of “The Rent is 2* Damn High Party”:



Um, I cannot handle this Papa Smurf rocking the gloves. Do you think his facial hair is real? I feel like he’d be good friends with Dr. Tyrone Hayes. They both favor odd hair and are very self-righteous.

I love that I’ve been at work nearly two hours, and not a scrap of work has gotten done. I really should look alive, especially since the raise I was promised 5 months ago finally came through! Yes, y’all—Overseer and Massa came to an agreement, and my money was provided!!!

And, to top it off, Overseer came in the office yesterday and actually issued me an apology! AND, instead of being all deferent and whatnot, I just said “Thank you.” I am going to acknowledge your foolery and throw you a bone for owning up to it. I can’t stand having to tell a grown ass member of Caucasia about himself—he saved me some time.


So, you know, all in all, things are fine. I need to stop being jealous of comedian/improviser friends getting TV gigs and handle my (creative) scandal. The unfortunate thing is that most of the auditions “that fit my profile” on actor’s access seek “African American female, 35-45, a bit overweight, natural. ETHNIC HAIRSTYLES accepted.” Not only am I too YOUNG, but I’m not giving them enough “mammy” in my headshot! I think I’ll remedy this by eating a slice of pie. After all, it’s for my career.

How you be, boos? What are you doing this weekend?

*[yes, “2”]

It's Hard Being Young, Gifted, and Black!

Earlier this week, Scribe brought an interesting news item to my attention. Y’all know the blacktress isn’t exactly one for the topical or celebrity stories (that’s what Huff Post, Perez, and TMZ are for), but I found this quite interesting, so I thought I’d share.

It seems that 16-year-old college student Ralph Jones, a real bright whiz of a kid, has chosen to attend Florida A&M University after weighing his acceptances from such top schools as Cornell, Harvard, and Stanford. He’s now hearing a whole heap of protests from people who think he made the wrong choice.



Now, those of you who have followed the blacktress from the jump (or have spent great office hours procrastinating with the blog archives) know that, in 2008, I suffered from a blacklash when I called out Morehouse University for having a white valedictorian. Thanks to one Howard friend’s bf, the black listservs got wind of it, and I was blacklisted faster than a Hollywood writer during the McCarthy era. Of course, it was a rough going, and I had to stop the flood of comments to my direct email address, but I realize that when you’re Sojourner “You Can’t Handle The” Truth, some people will indeed be unable to handle the truth.

I actually wanted to talk about this because I wanted to shock some of my haters. I actually think Ralph made a great decision, and the dissenters need to back up off of him. Yes, y'all!! I still totally think it's a black-college FAIL to have a white valedictorian, but there's no denying that, for a Southern teen with engineering dreams, FAMU makes perfect sense. As you can read in the article, he has very sound reasons for his choice (hello, financial aid!). The boy’s only 16—he may be smart, but he still has some maturing to do, and will need extra support. Harvard, Stanford, and other Ivys aren’t going to give that to him. Yeah, he’ll get a "top-notch education," but he’ll probably get a B- on his first test, think he’s a failure, and drop out—and there will be no one there to tell him that he may be a bit young, but he’s also gifted and black!

Part of the lure of HBCUs is the network, and the sense of community that they offer—for a tyke who probably hasn’t even packed after-shave for is shower caddy, that community is a must. As Ralph notes, "When it comes down to it, the family feeling -- I didn't feel that at other institutions, because I visited a lot of schools." I get that. The black bond is real, y’all. Just last night, I experienced the power of it! I went into ACE Hardware store looking for some mouse traps, and an older black guy working there not only told me what to do and how to use the trap, he even ripped steel wool out of the bag it came in and gave me a piece!! Yes, y’all—homey straight-up gave me something I was meant to purchase from the establishment in which he worked!!! He was like, "you don't need this whole big bag," and just yoinked it, and said, "put it in your pocket"--holla at a random freebie! If I wasn’t a blacktress, that wouldn’t have happened (No, my boobs weren’t out. I was rocking my nerdy-pining-girl-in-any-80s-teen-movie look of my black glasses and ponytail). I mean, if my black cousins hadn’t made fun of me all my life for talking white, I might have felt like I was at home at an HBCU, too.
Alas, I’m much more at home anywhere that offers bagels at any time of the day.

So, Ralph, as someone who has also suffered a backlash, I salute you for going with your gut, and so clearly and sanely defending your reasoning. My only wish is that you drop that engineering dream and focus on films—someone’s gotta de-throne Tyler Perry, and you don’t seem like one for coonery.

xoxo,
Blacktress!

Columbus Wouldn’t Have Wanted it This Way

Hey gang! It feels good to be blogging again. Hell, after my weekend, it feels good to be showered and not reeking of menthol again! Yes, my boofaces (can I call you my boofaces?), I was sick, sick, sickie all weekend. It began Wednesday night with a scratchy throat. I came in to the plantation on Thursday, although I definitely had my fair share of daytime cold medicine. By Friday morning, all bets were fucking off, as I was feverish, every part of me ached, and I wanted nothing more than to sleep, but couldn’t breathe through my nose. My entire weekend was a wash, and I was too mad to have to cancel a hosting gig, miss a great networking opportunity, and generally lose the me-time the weekends allow. Not even the joy of "The Next Karate Kid" and "Sleepwalkers" coming on TV (I didn't have to Netflix them!!!) could brighten my spirits. I spent most of the sunny, warm weekend in my house wearing a turtleneck and sweatpants under the covers and hacking up a lung.

Yes, gross.

Although I wasn’t feeling great, I was definitely better by Sunday night, and vowed to come to work Monday morning. After all, I’d already missed one day, and there was so much to do. We hadn’t gotten Columbus Day off, but a few people would be out, so I could work in relative quiet/not scare anyone off with my mucus. It was, however, a struggle to get up and out, and even the shower water was a shock to my delicate system. I got in to work a bit early, and my self-congratulatory smugness was definitely spilling over into the unoccupied cubicles. I checked my emails and kept looking around—I’d had to unlock the elevator and the gate, but I love being the first one in. It was, however, already after 9 and no one was here. Weird.

Finally, at 9:30, my massa came to my desk. I went to say hello, but the intake of breath resulted in a coughing fit. When it had subsided, he said, “I didn't want to call you at home, but I gave everyone the day off today and said they didn't have to make it PTO [paid time off]".
OH HELL TO THE NO!!!

Let me get this gay: I dragged myself out of bed with my whooping cough to do work, and you gave everyone the day off? And, not only did I deprive myself of much-needed rest, but it could have been avoided if you or anyone else on staff had thought to call or email my ass?????
I can’t take this shit, y’all. Not only have I still not been given the raise I was promised OVER 5 MONTHS AGO, they now don’t even want to put me on the fucking office phone tree????
As fellow freedom writer Scribe put it, “your boss is the cuntiest ass in the history of assholes.”
Her words are like poetry—angry, vulgar, TRUTH poetry.

Y’all, I’m about to snap like a fucking Lifetime movie heroine. With a 9-5 like this, I see why J. Love ended up becoming a prosti-mom!

I’ve been trying to really let go of my rage, but this really was the cherry on the pie of a crap weekend. Do you know Jewboo is so damn dense and selfish that he didn’t even come see a blacktress once while she was bedridden—we haven’t seen each other in 6 days! Homey was like, “Well, if you need something, I’ll come…” Um, what I fucking need is a man who doesn’t have to be shamed into behaving properly. Jewboo is on thin ice. That behavior after 7 months and a key to the pad is just out of fucking order. He’s not dead to me yet, but he’s definitely in a coma and I’m putting his stuff on eBay just in case.

I’m feeling slightly better today, and downing OJ and tea like it’s my job—you know, one that actually pays me.

How y’all doing?

oPRESSion

So, I just got the following press release in my general email account at work. It makes me really angry--not only are we an art magazine (how on earth did we get on this email list?), but they are also willing to go to any lengths to corrupt what was meant to be uplifting and positive messages from public figures. The press release is from "tiaorg@comcast.net," and does not give the name of an organization or individual other than the first line mention--for a message he/she/they seem so adamant about spreading, why aren't the senders of the press release willing to be held accountable? And notice the repeated use of quotation marks whenever they use the word gay--like such sexual orientation isn't even real.

Okay, read for yourself, and let me know what you think.


Press Release/Statement
STATEMENT


DATE: October 6, 2010

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

“Gay” Lobby Shamelessly Exploits Teen Suicides

Lynchburg, VA – Matt Barber, Director of Cultural Affairs with Liberty Counsel, released the following statement today on the series of recent highly publicized suicides committed by allegedly “gay” identified teenagers:

“Anyone with a heart grieves deeply over these needless suicides. Taking one’s own life is never the right choice. There are thousands of teen suicides each year. Some kids just don’t seem to understand the permanence of it, or how it destroys the lives of those they leave behind.

“We all agree: harassment and bullying of children should always be dealt with immediately and firmly. And if laws are broken, offenders should be prosecuted – period. This is true whether kids are targeted because they’re perceived to be homosexual, conservative, Christian or for any other reason.

“Unfortunately – though not surprisingly – extremist ‘gay’ pressure groups, like the incongruously named ‘Human Rights Campaign,’ Ellen DeGeneres and other liberal activists are shamelessly exploiting these tragedies as a means to achieve their own selfish political ends.

“In a recent statement, Ms. DeGeneres said: ‘There are messages everywhere that validate this sort of bullying and taunting and we need to make it stop. We can't let intolerance and ignorance take another kids life.’

“Indeed, actual bullying and taunting must not be tolerated. But what ‘messages’ is Ms. DeGeneres referring to, and how do ‘we…make [them] stop?’ I’ll translate from liberalese to plain English. What Ellen meant was this: ‘Public defense of God's express, self-evident and unequivocal design for human sexuality must be stopped under force of law. Proponents of the Judeo-Christian sexual ethic are murdering ‘gay’ kids with their words.’

“Not only is this propagandist line of reasoning disingenuous, offensive and Orwellian, it’s utter nonsense.

“Joe Solmonese, president of HRC, took it a step further, directly blaming for these suicides Christians and the Mormon Church. To him, opposition to so-called ‘same-sex marriage,’ and defense of biblical sexual morality are the culprits: ‘Words have consequences,’ said Solmonese, ‘particularly when they come from a faith leader. This is exactly the kind of statement that can lead some kids to bully and others to commit suicide.’

“As Rahm Emanuel famously said: 'You never let a serious crisis go to waste. [I]t's an opportunity to do things you could not do before.' It makes me physically ill to watch as the HRC and other ‘gay’ militants lick their chops and rub their hands together over the tragic suicides of these troubled, sexually confused young men,” continued Barber. “Before they were even laid to rest, the radical homosexual lobby pounced leveraging these suicides to demand that government codify each of their extremist, social engineering demands. This is political exploitation at its slimiest and it pours salt on the wounds of loved ones.

“God’s message to young people struggling with same sex temptation or to those who feel the shame that naturally accompanies sexual sin is that suicide is never the way out. But there is a way out. It comes first through belief in Jesus Christ, and then through confession of sin; finally, repentance. As Jesus said to the repentant sexual sinner at the well, ‘Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more.’

“The families of these precious young people should know that Christians around the country are praying for them and will continue to pray for them in their time of loss. Scripture says ‘blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.’

“But Christians are also praying that these wicked and callous political vultures who seek to exploit these suicides become confounded and fail fantastically. Their mission is not one of ‘tolerance’ or ‘diversity.’ Quite the opposite: Their goal is to fan flames of anti-Christian bigotry and discrimination, evangelizing on behalf of their own perverted god: moral relativism. We simply won’t let them get away with it,” concluded Barber.

###

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Move Over Dr. Seuss...

Y'all, I am on struggle street. I have an uninvited houseguest, and he won't leave.
It has 4 legs, weighs about 10 ounces, and has beady eyes and a little tail. It is grey and sinewy, and it's pooping everywhere.
Yes, gentle readers--I have a mouse.

As you know, the blacktress doesn't do manual labor or nature in any form. This would include all of nature's inhabitants--especially rodents and insects. Now, don’t get me wrong—I think animals are cute and lovable and all part of the ecosystem and whatnot. I would never condone killing an animal for sport.
HOW.EV.ER—once you come into my house, you’re on my turf, and I will pull a George W. Bush and “smoke you out of your holes.”
(Well, actually, I’m putting steel wool in their holes, but you get my point.)
I do not fuck around when it comes to rodents and insects—anything that small doesn’t need all those legs unless it’s doing evil. Mice carried the plague, and who knows what they’re bringing in to my house.

I first found out about this mouse a couple weeks ago, when I came home and turned on the kitchen light to find it scampering across the back of the sink. I immediately flipped out, and bought some glue traps. A few days later, I opened the pantry to get baking ingredients (you know the blacktress likes to wifey it up from time to time) and found the little fucker perched on top of my bag of flour, having himself a grand old time. I immediately closed the door and went out for new supplies.

My mom came over the next day and together we tackled the pantry. This mouse sonofabitch had chewed a hole in the bag of flour, leaving the floor covered in a pile of white powder and mouse poop—it smelled like the dance floor at my favorite gay bar after they turned the house lights on at 4am. Madukes and I filled the two holes with steel wool, and put glue traps in the closet. The next day, sounds of an escape attempt convinced us that we’d gotten the little sucker. Later that night, my mother and I (yes, together—she has raised me to be unable to face any sort of rodent without backup) opened the closet to find….NO MOUSE.
The steel wool was across the floor, and there were tufts of fur on one of the glue traps.
This motherfucker is resourceful as hell.

I feel like, if this smart-ass mouse is gonna be up in my home, all strong and wily enough to extricate himself from the trap, he may as well be put to work. I’ve seen Cinderella. I know what these fuckers can do if they put their minds to it. Make me a fucking ball gown and take over my chores if you’re gonna live rent-free, rodents!!!!

It’s gotten to the point where I’m scared to go in the kitchen when I get home. Last night I tossed and turned, having dreams of Jewboo’s cats living in my house and trying to kill the mice for me. In my nightmare, the cats were ineffective, and I ended up with both mice AND cats running around everywhere. I cannot live like this!!!

Of course, everytime I say to someone “there’s a mouse in my house” they chuckle and make a Dr. Seuss reference. But there’s nothing funny about this situation, people. It’s like this:

There's a mouse in my house.
And it needs to know I'm not fucking around.
There's mouse poop by the can of soup
And I jump every time I hear a sound.
It ate the flour and made my mood sour
I’m going to have to cut this bitch
I can’t make food in the kitchen, this mouse must be trippin
I’m gonna have to turn into the wicked witch.
Snap traps are inhumane, but glue traps are insane
I wonder if God is putting my “strong black woman” label to the test
I’m about to borrow my man’s cats just so they’ll kill these rats
But getting them from Brooklyn to Harlem will be a hot mess.


(h/t to This Guy)


So, yeah, anyway, that’s what’s going on with the blacktress today. I am way behind on “Sister Wives” as it comes on the same time as Mad Men, and I must forgo reality trash for classy television from time to time. Don’t worry, though—that’s what the internet is for. I’ll be live-blogging soon.

Being a Blacktress is NSFW!

Oh god, this week is flying by, guys! I’ve been so swamped with work that I almost forgot to tell you the story of the cray-cray married guy who was all up in my George Foreman during the office trip. Let me start from the beginning…

So, from Tuesday, 9/21 through Monday, 9/27, I was in Laguna Beach, California, for work. We were hosting a 4-day art workshop and conference, where members of Caucasia who love pictures of fruit in bowls, sunlit landscapes, and portraits of fair maidens could learn from today’s top artists and network.

You may be thinking, “You got to go to California for a week, Sojourner?! You’re one lucky blacktress!” I thought the same thing when I walked into my swanky hotel room with its king-sized bed, flat-screen tv, and private deck. As I walked the grounds of the hotel and noted the two pools, two Jacuzzis, and spa on site, I thought my reparations had finally arrived!

Alas, I would have very little opportunity to take advantage of these amenities, as wearing my “EDITOR” badge made me a walking information booth to any and all passersby, and I had to cover as many workshops, lectures, and demonstrations as possible in hopes of getting content for future articles. Of course, that’s what they pay me for, so it wasn’t a problem. It was, however, a bit boring, as each artist’s work began to look the same, and after the first day, I’d stretched the limits of polite office-acquaintance conversation.

So, when I met the G---, the AV director who was shooting the weekend’s happenings, I was eager to have a conversation with a human who wasn’t looking to hustle some magazine coverage and who I didn’t sit in a tiny hovel with 40 hours a week. We met Friday afternoon by the pool during a break, and the fact that he was a tall bearded ginger immediately endeared him to me (You know I love me a pasty pale redhead). We mostly chatted about who’s office was more bootleg, and I told him a bit about moonlighting in comedy. He was nice and funny, and his wedding ring, coupled with my Jewboo, made the lines very clear to me. I made him show me pics of his son and asked him about his wife—pregnant with twins! It was very PG.

It reminded me of making a friend at summer camp—you know how you meet someone under specific circumstances, and you become friends in that world? There’s the instant bond and you’re vibing on everything, and you’re just so desperate for human connection that you're willing to overlook the fact that he was googling your name and talking about you to other people because you don’t want it to get awkward?
Yeah, just like camp.

When a coworker came up to me later that night and said, “Someone’s got a crush on you…” I laughed it off--but I was a bit shocked by the news of being Googled (I wondered what that tingling was below my belt earlier). G----- and I had hugged goodnight, with me calling him a “big ginger bear of a man.”
There is nothing sexy about that phraseology whatsoever.

So you can imagine my surprise when, after seeing if he wanted to meet for lunch by the pool the next day, he responded with, “Not sure when I’m done, but you by the pool would be fun.”
Is it just me, or does that read a little sexy-like? I shook it off, but could deny it no longer when I showed up to his room before the evening event and he said, “Stand-up, man… that seems like the hardest job in the world…i think you're...sexy.”
What?! A married 40-year-old man just told me I was sexy in a hotel room. I felt like I was in a scene from Mad Men. I laughed it off, pointing out the neediness inherent in anyone who chooses to make a career out of standing in front of people and asking them to laugh. He complimented me on my red dress (it was a silent auction and closing event—you know I had to bring it for the paparazzi), and I skidaddled. It felt icky, but I didn’t know what to say because nothing was explicit, you know?

Later that night, I left the after party after 5 minutes (With a week of schmoozing, I made it a point to pace myself when it came to the schmoozing), and received a text from G------ shortly thereafter. Any attempts to shake it off were immediately dashed when I read:
“I think you’re sweet. I really dig being around you. Til next time…”

Of course, there’s nothing sketchy about thinking someone’s “sweet” (and it’s the last way I’d describe myself), but for someone I’d known all of 30 hours, simply “being around me” had moved him, and I was squirming in my ridiculously large king-sized bed.
He was leaving the next day—thank goodness!—and I wrote back, “have a safe flight!” and he wrote:

“I’ll see you on gchat, although it’ll pale in comparison to the real thing….”

My god, did I turn him out, y’all?! He’s trippin’ like I’m his first blacktress! Of course, my long-time readers will know this situation is nothing new. But now that I’m Jewboo’ed up, in a REALationship that’s on the up and up, I just feel icky and gross. And I also kind of detest the male gender. You are fucking 40, with a tiny tot and twins on the way, and you’re telling a blacktress she’s sexy??? In the words of Whitney…… I swear, if Jewboo did some shit like that, he’d end up having a second bris!

What say you, gentle readers? Were his texts all harmless? Should he be ashamed of himself? At the very least, does he need to take a look at his marriage and get Dr. Phil on the horn?

As If There Wasn't Enough Distraction on the Internet....

Hey there Blossoms and Joeys,

Sorry for the time lapse. I was in California for work for a whole week, and, although there were definitely ample blog opportunities, I was just too spent. Luckily, I'm back on the plantation, and the need for procrastination has rekindled my bloggery. Before I go into a Twilight saga about uber-Christians, married dudes hot for a blacktress (I've still got it!), and creative power couples in California, let me just whet the appetite with a little tidbit brought to my attention by fellow freedom writer The Persion Excursion.

Remember those paper dolls you got out of books when you were a little tyke that came with clothes you could cut out and apply to them? Yeah, I hate them, because the paper clothes never stayed on, and the doll always ripped. Anyhoozle, turns out the internet's going retro, and there's an entire site devoted to paper dolls--Paper Doll Heaven. You can dress up all sorts of dolls, ranging from celebrities to creepy Anime types.
Barf in my mouth.

That's not even the exciting part, Smurfs and Smurfettes--Paper Doll Heaven has gone historical, and allows you to dress none other than Black Civil Rights pioneer ROSA PARKS.

I kid you not. Look:
If you'd like to dress up Rosa, have a go!

I don't know if this was the kind of equality Rosa was looking for when she sat her weary bones down, y'all. Is this what we wanted when we were chanting "Yes We Can"? Well, hey, at least it gives little Negresses a sense that a Civil Rights hero can yield hours of computer-based funtime AND lift of the race! Speaking of--with all the clothing and accessories options, why isn't one of them a conductor's outfit?! Clearly, Paper Doll NIGHTMARE needs a blacktress on the design team.

I'm a Bad-Ass Shiksa Dipped in Chocolate Sauce!*

(*courtesy of my she-ro, Aisha Tyler)

Hey Friends,

I’m back from my latest voyage INSIDE CAUCASIA: Judaism Addition. Starvation actually went pretty well, and things with me and the Jewboo are all good. In fact, yesterday, at approximately 1:41pm, Jewboo and I took our relationship to the next level—it’s on facebook! Yes, y’all. The world knows—including randoms I met abroad, my cousins I don’t like to talk to, and my former camper at the 92nd Street Y who we affectionately referred to as “Hanna Banana.”

I know this isn’t a big deal in today’s facebook.com/facebookthemovie world we’re living in, but I’ve never had the confidence—or the closeness—in a relationship to go public. I never wanted it out there because, you know, just in case we broke up, I could do it without embarrassing myself in front of the whole world. But, you know, after the second visit to the parents’ house (in which I didn’t end up hospitalized—yay!), after fasting for a day out of solidarity, I realized that no sort of pill will get rid of this jungle fever!!!
Oh, and some little tramp was trippin’ and I had to let her know what was up.
Let me explain.
So, Jewboo and I are sitting and breakfast and his mom and dad are around. I told them how he’d changed his profile pic the night before to one of the shots we took after dinner. He then casually goes, “It’s good because now it’ll keep randoms from messaging me.”
“What random?” I said, like a Tyler Perry character trying desperately to reign it in. I know his parents are down with the brown (dad even saw me in my head wrap!), but they may not be ready for some attitude.
“Some girl emailed me after a show.”
Apparently, this happened a week or so ago and he didn’t want to tell me “because I knew you’d freak out.”
Fair enough
“Did you write her back?” I said calmly and sanely.
“Yeah. I didn’t say anything, though.”
We head upstairs to get ready and I let my hair down, so to speak. I wasn’t really angry, but I just needed to know the details so my mind didn’t blow it out of proportion.
First of all, the girl was a tiny Jewess who does comedy (my rival!) and when I saw her email (“Hey, You were really funny last night,” blah blah blah I AM A TRAMP”) in the words of Whitney, I was like, “HELL TO THE NO!”
With him right next to me, I changed my status, cause clearly these girls need to know what’s up. I’m up in suburbia fasting and cracking up the guests with Matisyahu jokes, and trying my best to entertain his monosyllabic cousins—to quote one of the greatest R&B songs of our time, “The Boy is Mine.”

Of course, immediately after changing the status, I worried that I pressured him into it, and had to really make sure I wasn’t acting out of fear or manipulation. I realized I wasn’t, but was worried that finally going public after a good 6-month run would be the kiss of death –you know, like when Marisa Tomei won the supporting actress Oscar for “My Cousin Vinny” and then couldn’t get a job for, like, a decade.

Anyway, things are really good, and I think fasting—although his parents insisted it was not necessary—put me further in everyone’s good graces. I met a lot of people, and it was very strange to be introduced as “my girlfriend,” but, then again, I’m not used to anything remotely normal, so this isn’t surprising. His dad actually said, at dinner, “it’s no secret that we’ve loved you from day one, but we were so glad everyone had a chance to meet you.”
WE’VE GOT SOME SERIOUS FAMILY TIES GOING ON HERE.

Some fun facts I learned during this latest inside trip inside Caucasia :

1. A large dinner of pasta AND a full-sized cupcake won’t do anything to ward off hunger pains the next day. Fasting is fasting, and food doesn’t work like rollover minutes.
2. It doesn’t count as breaking the fast if I take my birth control pill and antidepressant. a. The fact that these are my daily necessities is kind of sad.
3. Sitting in synagogue with an empty stomach is a recipe for inappropriate napping. When you’re a black shiksa, you’ve already got 2 strikes and need to stop the eyelids from drooping!
4. Apparently a strong Jewish woman and a strong black woman are very similar. Jewboo’s mom and I like all the same television shows. A chat about True Blood led to her lending me the entire series of Sookie Stackhouse novels. You know you’re in it for real when mom is giving you literature.
5. Whitefish salad on a bagel is DELICIOUS (who knew?!)
6. Black people still make some White people uncomfortable. (Some folks were not ready for a blacktress up in the synagogue! They hid it fairly well--except for the kid who pointed at me and whispered to his dad during the service)
   

Greatest Antoine Pic EVER

In between carbo-loading and hydrating last night (gotta prepare for YK2K10!) I came online and saw a link from my girl Scribe, who now exclusively associates me with Antoine Dodson. Homey's on USWeekly's website, talking about the new home he and his family moved into with the help of his iTunes earnings!



I am obsessed with this pose--they look like an early-90s R&B duo. Antoine's got the hips of a 13-year-old Korean gymnast. What is his sister doing with that hair? I bet Antoine braided it, too--he should have known better!


(You can read the entire piece here.)

[Sidebar: Do you even think the Huntsville, Alabama, police are still looking for this rapist? I'm surprised he hasn't come forward and tried to get a cut of the family's earnings. After all, if he'd never tried to get in there, we wouldn't have the Bed Intruder hit we have now.]

Antoine's fierce, but he's more than just a flash in the pan, y'all. In the article he says he plans to return to school. "I signed up to finish my Associate's Degree in business," he says. "That way I can take everything to the next level and be on a more professional level."

His ultimate goal? To "open a salon," he tells Us. "Or a hotel."

I would check into that hotel in a hot second, and I'd have him touching up my roots once a week. Even though Kelly's head is a hot mess, do you see how deep-conditioned his strands look?!

Celebratin' YK 2K10

Hey gang!!

So, I’ve been doing this new thing where I get to the plantation an hour early (and promptly fuck around online), just so I can get a moment’s peace (as my grandmother would say) before the massa and annoying coworkers get here, all up in my George Foreman, demanding my time. The last three weeks have been beyond cray cray, with one of the main editors out because his wife just had twins, our art director transferred to Colorado, and New Massa generally being unpredictable, dramatic, and demanding. I think the highlight was when I got to my desk after Labor Day weekend and saw a postcard on my desk. The picture on the card was of 6 drag queens in a forest on Fire Island. On the back my boss had written:
"Found this card in the local grocery store on the island. Can you guess which one is yours truly?"
Yes, yes I can. The one in light-pink taffeta.
Of course, I love a gay visionary, and if he wasn’t so bitchy and untrustworthy, I’d be in love.

Although the plantation is beating down on me like the hot Mississippi sun, I am pleased to report that things with Jewboo are beyond tender. This past Saturday was our 6 month-aversary, and he took it to the next level by giving me the key to his APARTMENT!!! Um, this is out of control. I have a key to the crib. Granted, a blacktress isn’t liable to be jetting back-and-forth to Greenpoint, Brooklyn, but this means that I can officially be his Urkel, rocking up unexpectedly whenever I want to. This is so perfect for my stalker tendencies.

We look so much alike, y'all. Trust me. It's uncanny.

In addition to giving me the key (a move that is straight out of an episode of Grey’s Anatomy), he’s also making me a mix CD, and rumor has it (from his roommate) that it’s TWO DISCS. Um, I think we all know how I feel about making a mix tape for a lover. It’s so real. And since he’s basically a real-life version of the main character in Nick Hornby’s book “High Fidelity,” I know this is equally important to him.

So, some of you may be thinking, “Um, Sojourner, this is a key and some music—you need to be cool.” To those of you, I say: stop hating on me like Willow Smith; if you’ve been a long-time reader, you know I’ve been through some man hell and we need to praise black Jesus for the little things! And if music and keys don’t move you, how’s about this:

This Friday, at 5:30pm, I board a bus bound for Reading, Pennsylvania, where I will spend the weekend celebrating YOM KIPPUR!!!!

Blacktress is about to Jew it up, y’all!!! For those of you who don’t know, let me copy and paste from good ol’ Wikipedia:
Yom Kippur, also known as the Day of Atonement, is one of the holiest days of the year for Jews. Its central themes are atonement and repentance. Jews traditionally observe this holy day with a 25-hour period of fasting and intensive prayer, often spending most of the day in synagogue services.

Yes, y’all. A lot of my friends are saying this is serious, since Yom Kippur is such a holy day. I must say I’m a bit nervous. According to the Internet, not only can I not eat or drink (not even water!) for 24 hours, I can’t even apply lotions!
Jewboo is about to have a blacktress hungry and ashy up in the suburbs!
I have no idea how I’m supposed to make a good impression under such circumstances. When I don’t eat, I get grumpy as hell, y’all. When I’m dry, I feel unpretty, like TLC. Add to that the fact that I gotta sit up in synagogue for the afternoon and I gotta wonder—are these really the chosen people???

Look at this oil painting from 1878. These peeps look hungry and tired as all get-out. Everyone's leaning on stuff for survival, trying to make it through with their low blood sugar. Matisyahu's standing over the guy with the Talmud (is that what it is? I have no idea), too tired to appropriate hip-hop culture. It's looking bleak.

I’m freaking out about what to wear, and have no idea what food I should bring for dinner on Saturday night, when we break the fast. I even emailed his sister with an SOS, and am waiting for her advice. I’m hoping I can live-tweet the entire experience. Look for the hash tag: #YK2K10 on twitter.com/blacktress!

Mark Your Calendars!!

Cause the next best reality show since 16 and Pregnant is about to hit the airwaves!!!

Check out the trailer:



AAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!! Sister wives!!! 1 man. 3 unattractive women. 13 children....AND HE'S ON THE HUNT FOR A FOURTH WIFE!!!


This is why Mormons can't have nice things.
(I don't even know if he is Mormon, but he lives in Utah, and polygamy is generally associated with them, so even if he isn't, he's tarnishing the rep!)

In the words of one commenter on The Daily News website: "I bet these women have lots of yeast infections."

ColorED Commentary

Hey Gang,

Happy Hump Day!! I usually like to start off the work week with a blog, but there was nothing much to report--until today.

So, I just got back from my 11am Starbucks-procrastination run. I was gone for roughly 14 minutes. I come back to find some emails in my inbox in which our publisher (the magazine's overseer, if you will) suggests I emcee a presentation at our upcoming weekend-long painting event.

His exact description was "the painting smack-down on Friday."
Yes, a painting "smack-down."
(*Rolling my eyes so far I'm looking at my amygdala*)

This is why I like to keep personal and work life separate. After I was put on blast for being a comedian, my office thinks I'm the court jester. What they don't understand is that my humour is usually bitter, racial, sexual, and generally NSFW--even my television debut involved me cupping my own breasts!!

What's worse is that they have me teaming up with my office nemesis. I'm sure I've mentioned her. She's the newest employee who lost me the moment she wore leggings and cowboy boots on her first day of work, and goes further in the red every time she says "Have a good one!" and "bye-ya!" at the end of each day. Oh yeah, and in the morning she says "hiya!" It's like I'm talking to a hostess at Chili's. I just want to shake her and be like, "ARE YOU GOING TO OFFER ME SOUTHWESTERN EGG ROLLS FOR LUNCH??"

What's even better is that she, yet again, put my name in the running for something that I have no interest in doing. Looking back over the previous emails in the chain (that I hadn't been included in), she was first asked to emcee on her own. She writes:

"I think that’d be fun. Though I can’t promise nonstop laughs—that’s [Sojourner's] department!!"

Of course, this prompts the overseer to respond with:

"What if you and Sojourner did this together - treat it like a football game, with an analyst and a color commentator? The two of you would be fabulous!"

I think what he meant was colored commentator.

He even said in one of the previous emails, "Our emcee picture has gotten a bit middle-aged-white-guy heavy. Would you like to do the color commentary piece for the painting smack-down on Friday?"

If I had a nickel for every time things got too middle-aged-white-guy heavy, I'd have $45.30. Am I right, or am I right?

Of course, I can't say no. I'll be attending the entire weekend, and it's not like I have anything else to do at that time. I'm there on the company's dime, which means I'm also on the clock 24/7.
Of course, some of you may be thinking, "that's cool, Sojo! You can use your blackting skills at work!"
But guys, this isn't my forte. The California retiree crowd isn't exactly the blacktress' target audience. They want me to "use my skills," without actually being myself, which is pretty hard work if you ask me. What kind of jokes can I make about oil paint? I'm pretty sarcastic, and don't have the passion for art that my nemesis has--I could end up making fun of her out loud in front of hundreds of Caucasians! It could be the end of the blacktress as we know it!

I kind of want to just act really dumb, like Pepper Brooks in Dodgeball (one of my favorite films--yep, I said it.) This is the moment when Jason Bateman came back for me:



I love when he says "Ouchtown, population you, bro!!!"
There's got to be a way to bring that in to a painting "smack-down". Someone's gonna get cut with a bristle brush, I can feel it!

I'm Livid!

Fellow woman of color and writer Scribe just brought the following hot mess to my attention:

Apparently, in Nettleton Middle School in Mississippi, black students aren't allowed to run for class president, and mixies don't even count!!

Look at the class elections handout, which lets students know their place:


This image is courtesy of Jezebel, where you can also find the more-detailed story.

Of course, the obvious levels of wrongness are in all our faces (if you're reading the blacktress blog, you must be down with equality!). What's most terrifying is that in most middle schools, students have to get parental signatures to engage in extra-curricular activities, including student government. This means that several parents and families saw this paperwork and didn't flinch. They signed little Sally's paper, letting her run for class president. Or, even worse, families of color accepted this statement as well. Of course, there is a group of mixed-race families reacting to this news, but why is this the first time we're hearing about this school and their election system? Is it only because now we're supposedly in a "post-racial" America? It seems like now more than ever, all this hidden racism is coming to light.

I mean, several school-board members, PTA moms, and faculty have held this in place for who knows how long. When a mother of a mixed-race child finally spoke up (her child is White and Indian), she said "They told me that they 'Go by the mother's race b/c with minorities the father isn't generally in the home.' They also told me that 'a city court order is the reason why it is this way.'"
Um, WTF?!

I don't even know what to say. There's nothing funny about this. It's terrifying. It's why I can't ever do a cross-country road trip--there will inevitably be some tiny towns where a blacktress can't afford to have her car break down! This shit is real, people.

Oh, before I go, let me take a moment to jot down a quick letter to our southern friends.

Dear People of the South,
These are the kind of bad apples that spoil the bunch. If you'd like a better reputation among citizens above the Mason-Dixon line, don't do shit like this.
Love,
Blacktress!

Paging Dr. Johnson.....

Happy Friday, y'all!! It's not even 10am, and I'm already shopping on VictoriasSecret.com.
As I look for discounted brassieres to keep my lady lumps supported, I keep toggling back and forth between the VS window, the blog post, and our general email account--that way, if the massa or the overseer comes by, I can quickly look like I'm being useful and not buying undergarments (or looking at porn--these Vicky's girls are soooo sensually posed!).

As I procrastinate, I happen upon the greatest press release this year. Of course, I have to share this with you:

Hi, this is [PR Person] with _____ Media Group.

So many men are fed up with their ‘man boobs’ (‘moobs’). Even women often wish something could be done. The nation will definitely want to hear about this new, quick, and safe procedure, so we would be grateful if you could read the press release below and help us pass this information on. The doctor behind this life-changing procedure has appeared on numerous media outlets. If you are interested in arranging an interview with Dr. Johnson, please contact me directly. Thank you.



FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Dr. Johnson separates the men from the boys - and the men from the men with ‘moobs’.
Women are not the only ones concerned about cup size anymore. Now men can quickly and safely have their breasts, or ‘moobs,’ reduced. Dr. [weirdo freaking me out] offers a procedure to eliminate extra fat from and tighten the skin of the pectoral area. When the fat is gone, so are the moobs. Minus moobs, men look and feel much better.
[Blacktress' note: The word 'moobs' has appeared 4 times in 6 sentences. I'm uncomfortable. I'm also not clear on how he separates men from boys. Are we talking conjoined twins, or just elaborate hazing rituals for new clients? ]

The strictest diets and exercise regimes cannot conquer all moobs: this procedure can. The old stigma of men seeking cosmetic enhancement is gone. Moob reduction was among the most popular elective surgeries in 2009, says the American Academy of Cosmetic Surgery. Dr. J----- combines VibroLipo (Tickle liposuction) with SmartLipo to effectively combat the most stubborn moobs, also known as gynecomastia. The recovery period is brief - most patients can return to work the next day. They feel better about their bodies just as soon.

My goodness! It would seem that as I sit at my desk, trying to find products to help me tame my stubborn boobs, many of the nation's men are struggling with their own breast issues!! Although I can try to relate, my problems with this press release are manifold. Let me break it down:
- I work at an ART magazine. We in no way advertise or target our product toward men seeking breast-reduction surgery. How on earth did we get on this PR company's mailing list, and why would they think we'd be interested in such a thing?
- Look, I love a good portmanteau as much as the next grammar nerd. It was kinda cute when the press used the term 'brangelina'; it was saccharine when the freakish couple 'TomKat' came on the scene. But it started getting annoying when people called male nannies 'mannies,' and now MOOBS is just out of control. I don't know why any medical professional would want to be affiliated with creating a ridiculous word of this nature. His credibility has instantly been undermined. Imagine swirling your brandy glass at a dinner party while the guy next to you says, "I just saw Dr. Johnson--he's a leading moob specialist."
Um, I have to go....over there.
-I love how the PR guy says "the national will definitely want to hear about this..." Um, I'm not quite so sure about that. The nation? Really? I think there may be more pressing news briefs that warrant national attention.
- "The most stubborn moobs" -- hahahaha!!!

My mother loves Antoine more than me.

So you know how my mom is gangsta, right?
(If you don't, check out the post on her love of Ludacris)
Well, clearly I thought Antoine Dodson (my gay icon) would appeal to her greatly, and when she came over Tuesday and told me she'd never heard of it, I rushed to bring my laptop to her. By the end of the night, she was walking up to bed singing "run and tell dat, run and tell dat, homeboy...."
She was hooked on the Dodson!

I've never thought my mother and I had much in common, but it would seem the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. This morning, I was awoken by a phone call from madukes. I was still groggy and didn't pick up, but she's not a quitter--her missed call was quickly followed by a text message. It read:
"Turn 2 channel 4 run tell dat"

Oh god, did my mother learn how to text from one of her teen-mom clients in the family court? Of course, much in the way she can decipher my grandmother's ramblings, I knew immediately what she meant--Antoine Dodson was on The Today Show.
I laughed and rolled over, marveling at how quickly I created a monster.

When I rolled in to work at 9:05 (child, I am so done with this place) my phone was already ringing--it was madukes! I had to at least try to look productive, so I let it go to voicemail. Later, I heard the following message:

"Hey, it's me. Did you get my text this morning? Antoine was on the Today Show this morning, and he was looking good. I guess he was just caught out on a bad hair day when they tried to rape his sister, cause he had his blow out working and, like, a two-layer shag happening. And he was very articulate. He's gonna have a reality show in a minute, I swear... So, okay, that's all. I just wanted to run tell dat [laughs]. Love you. Bye." *click*

I swear to god, this woman never ceases to surprise me. She loves Luda, she's down with Antoine, and she totally said he was articulate in a really shocked tone of voice. Working with abused and neglected kids in family court, madukes knows her own personal Antoines, and I think his story's touched her, like it's touched so many others--including this fool:


THIS HAS GONE TOO FAR!!!
Antoine is taking over people's minds! He's acting as a totem--he's reminding us all to hide yo' husbands, cause they rapin' e'erybody out there!!

I wonder if this is my mom's arm. I wouldnt' put it past her, seeing as I came home from a college visit my junior year of high school to find that she shaved her head, and came home during winter break my sophomore year to see she'd gotten a tattoo on her shoulder. Homegirl is super random.

No, that forearm's not hers--it's way too beefy and light. Whew!

Just Another Manic Monday

Good lord, I am so behind on bloggery. Last week was straight-up cray cray, with the overseer from our Colorado office in two for two days, the news that my favorite coworker (well, his kids and wife are my favorites--you know, the ones I've babysat for in Queens) is being transferred to Colorado, and that a staff member who'd been on deck 31 years was "dismissed, effective immediately," for no substantive reason.

I could barely get a blog in edgewise, and the next thing you know, it's August 23!

So, for those of you who missed it, my television debut was 20 seconds of pure magic. They indeed used the part where I called Matthew McConaughey a sexy rotisserie chicken.
I don't know what's worse--that I also cupped my breasts for emphasis on national television, or that the Jewboo's parents also watched this.

Speaking of Jewboo, we had dinner with his parents on Friday, and his mother is revealing herself to be quite the strong black woman. Not only does she always have her nails did (red tips), but she's a teacher who has no tolerance for foolishness! Jewboo actually left me alone with them for 40 minutes when he had to skidaddle post-dinner for his show.
Suddenly, I became terrified of being super awkward and saying something inappropriate like, "I've planned my wedding to your son. Do you need me to convert?"
Luckily, I kept it cool and PG, and they mostly just asked me why he's FUNemployed.
They even asked me if I wanted to come over for Yom Kippur to break the fast with them--they are totally making me a member of the tribe. Unfortch, that's a crazy time at work and there's no way massa will let me off the plantation--even if it is on a Friday.

What I like about them is that they are super welcoming, and although they are older members of Caucasia, they don't say things like, "I didn't think you'd be black because you didn't sound black over the phone!"
Which is what was said to me BY AN ARTIST I INTERVIEWED LAST WEEK.
Yes, child! In 2010!
And what's the real kicker is that he's all about painting brown people and doing social-realist work. He even used to illustrate books for African-American authors. And homey had the nerve to sit next to me and basically tell me that he didn't think I was black because I sounded educated.

I swear, if we weren't in a shitty economy, I'd be out of here. Fortunately, momma didn't raise no fool, so I know to keep my bitterness to myself--unlike a certain scientist who works at UC Berkeley.
Dr. Tyrone Hayes (no relation to singer Isaac) was called out for sending a series of angry, misspelled emails to employees at Syngenta, a chemical company that manufactures atrazine. He's been against the use of atrazine (an herbacide used by corn growers) for years, but there's no change in legislation and use. So, finally fed up, he decided to take his beef to the streets--via email, the way all scientist thugs do. Featuring quotes from various rap songs, these emails really "sounded black"--so those Syngenta scrubs knew who they were messing with. Dr. Hayes' PhD must be a Playa-hating degree!!

First of all, look at this man's hair:

I can't handle this truth!!! He needs to at least deep condition his jam if he's gonna let it all out like that!

Then he sends the following emails (just two of many many more):
On Feb. 13, 2009, he says:

aww shucks … I’m bouta’ handle my biz right now
see you bucked…wondering…”what it is right now?”
ya outa’ luck…bouta show you how it is right now

see you’re ****ed (i didn’t pull out) and ya fulla my j*z right now!

In another from 2008, Hayes writes (apparently in response to a public statement from a Syngenta spokesman):

tell your little lap dog to wear knee pads next time and wipe the *** from
his mouth before he steps up to the mic.

"Steps up to the mic"? Are they in some sort of rap battle? Is Syngenta aware of this? I highly doubt it.

You can read all the emails he sent here. He quotes the greats, you guys--Luda (my mom's fave), Tupac, and HIS OWN FATHER (Romeo Hayes).

Thanks to his antics, black folks won't be getting PhDs at Berkeley for a good three years!
WHO ON EARTH QUOTES RAP LYRICS ABOUT HIS JIZ???

Who Says the 13th is Unlucky?

Today is turning out to be amazing, guys!!!

Not only do I have a stand-up show tonight at 8pm in Williamsburg (The Cove, 106 N. 6th Street!), but the VH1 show I filmed an interview for back in April airs TONIGHT AT 9PM!!

The producer told me that the last time he saw a rough cut, I was in 2 segments, which could total a whole 30 seconds!!! Guys, this is the beginning. Let's make a note for my E! True Hollywood Story. Title: The TRUTH Behind Sojourner.

Of course, I tossed and turned all night, like a kid amped for the first day of school. Will I be on tv? What bits should I do tonight for the show? My mind was all in a tizzy!
(It could also have something to do with the fact that I need to get some action from Jewboo--he's soooo classy, not "just using me for my body," and being perfectly content to talk on the phone for an hour when we can't see each other.)

As I sat at in my veal pen (cubicle) jotting down notes for tonight's set, I received the most amazing email from elite gay visionary JJSiii. Just when I thought this day could get no better, I read:

Jennifer Love Hewitt and Betty White to star in Hallmark Hall of Fame movie

Jennifer Love Hewitt is back at CBS -- and she's bringing along media superstar Betty White.

Hewitt and White are set to star in the "Hallmark Hall of Fame" movie "The Lost Valentine," set to air in early 2011 (if the title's any indication, perhaps in February). Hewitt will also exec produce the movie, which will shoot in Atlanta this fall.

Based on the novel by James Michael Pratt, "The Lost Valentine" will star Hewitt as a journalist working on a profile of a woman (White) whose husband was declared MIA during WWII.

Darnell Martin ("Their Eyes Were Watching God") will direct the longform; scribes Ernest Thompson and Jenny Wingfield are adapting for TV. Joining Hewitt as exec producer is Brent Shields; Andy Gottlieb and Barbara Gangi are producers.

For those who also think this is too good to be true, here's the source.
You know how I feel about JLH and Lifetime. Clearly, the success of The Client List was so great that they had to have her back for yet another picture.
I have no problem with this at all.

Anyone who can handle Zora Neale Hurston is way too qualified for a Lifetime joint starring JLH. This means it will be over the top, super-emo, and there will be intense racial moments. I hope Aisha Tyle pairs up with JLH (you know, like they did back on season 1 of The Ghost Whisperer) to keep her in check when she starts going back in time to WW2.

Betty White can do no wrong.

Happy Friday, y'all!! I gotta go back to procrastinating!

I Can't Handle This Man

I was alerted to this video by one of my main gays, and as I watched with my mouth hung open, I realized I had to share this with you, my favorite people. The man in this video is an "ex-homosexual," and he would like to share the gospel of Jesus Christ. Please, listen in:



In addition to being terrified by his intense misinformation and narrow mindedness (being gay has to do with being "fatherless"?), I have a few thoughts:

1. Note the soul patch. Ew.
2. One word: ASCOT! Unless you are Freddie from Scooby Doo, you cannot rock that look. If you're not stopping Old Man Withers from ruining the amusement park, you need to let your neck show.
3. Around minute 3, you can hear him snap his fingers. I'm sorry, but you are not free of the "gangrene" if you're still snapping for emphasis, my friend.
4. I love when he says his wife is "9 months pregnant"--I think he just pulled what little he knows about women's bodies out of the ether. Like, "see how straight I am--she's 9 MONTHS PREGNANT. LIKE, REALLY PREGNANT. LIKE, SPERM HAS BEEN INSIDE HER A LONG TIME."
5. He was "celebrated" in the Castro? For what? For having a man? Where's my parade float?!
6. If I'm ever sleeping with a man and he screams "JESUS!!!" intensely, and begins thanking our Lord and Savior, I'm going to have to "call a spade a spade" and kick his ass to the curb. I mean, Sojourner may be good, but I'm not that good.
7. Is that a red velour jacket?


I have no problem with religion or Christians, but if this isn't throwing stones in a glass house, child, I don't know what is.

I bet he watches "New Moon" three times a day just to see shirtless Taylor Lautner.

Thanks, JJSiii!!!

This is why black people can't have nice things.
Yep. I said it.

(Image courtesy World of Wonder)

The NEW Alabama Slamma!!

Hey y'all.
One of my soul sisters and fellow freedom writers just brought a late-breaking news item to my attention, and I must share it with you all.

Have y'all heard about Antoine Dodson, the Huntsville Alabama native who saved his sister from an intruder who attempted to rape her in her house?!

Um, I am kind of obsessed with him:



He is for serious!! HIDE YOUR HUSBANDS, CAUSE THEY RAPIN' EVERYBODY!!!

I think my favorite part is when he says to the camera, neck in full swing, "you are so DUMB." It's just, like, the most real, true, honest emotion I have ever seen on screen.

Not to mention Kelly's tone--she's like, "some idiot tried to rape me," as if someone just, you know, ruined her day. Some dumb neighborhood kid left a bag of poo on her doorstep or bashed her mailbox with a bat--you know, just an idiot!

Antoine's bringing a strong message, and the world has to know. So, to make it even clearer--and something no one can ever forget--a remixed version has been created. You'll be tapping your feet as you remember there's a rapist on your street (see, he's even got me rhymin' in bloggery!!!):



Antoine, I love you. I already sent this to my buddy who works at FUSE network--we're gonna take this to the top!

They Should Call It 'ALL UP IN MY FACEbook'

Facebook is out of control.
Okay, I know, that’s not exactly the biggest truth-bomb I could drop on a Monday—I’m fatigued, bear with me.

But, seriously, it’s just too much. Since the inception of facebook, I’ve been careful who I friended. But now, like in the film INCEPTION, the world as I know it is topsy-turvy, and all bets are off. I’m using it to network in the comedy world, I’ve got people I was “friends” from when FB started in my college days, and I’ve got the randoms I met while living inside Caucasia. At first, it was kinda cute. You know, when I got a friend request from a former camper I tended to many summers ago. But just a couple days ago I got a request from someone who vaguely resembles the dude who stood next to me in line at a UCB show but whom I didn’t exchange words with. That’s just creepy.

I’d done a pretty good job of avoiding coworkers and family for quite a while, but in the last year I haven’t been able to help it (nothing makes for an awkward family reunion quite like explaining why you rejected your uncle’s friend request). Every time I think I’ve put the lid on it (i.e. updated my privacy settings), facebook blows the whole thing wide open, and everyone’s all up in my business. Or worse—I get TMI about them.

Of course, this leads to hours of procrastination looking at wedding and engagement photos. But it also means that the details of my tween cousins’ lives pop up on my screen almost every time I log on. And, quite frankly, it’s about as interesting as an episode of Hannah Montana. Take, for instance, cousin Danielle’s latest activity, which takes up my whole mini-feed:


Danielle Likes Its stupid when someone texts you first and they never reply after you text them back
Yes, yes it IS stupid.

Danielle Likes I wanna meet myself as someone else just to see what it feels like :D

What does that even mean???

And another stumper:
Danielle likes *looks at hot boy* *looks at best friend* Best friend-"I KNOW!" :)

I tell ya, the kids today. I just don’t get ‘em.

Danielle Likes No mom, you're mad because you're wrong, not because i am talking back….

Oh, and this one has to be my favorite:
Danielle likes Sometimes your knight in shining armor is just a retard in tin foil
Uh-oh, look at the tweens telling a little TRUTH!!!


Okay, so in summation – facebook’s annoying, teenagers annoying, and I can’t stop thinking about Inception.