I think we could all learn a little something from this girl.

She is a young, white, Southern version of me.

The video really started to resonate with me when she started smushing her belly. I enjoy doing that, especially when I'm trying to prove why I'll never be a star of stage or screen.

I mean, if I had a nickel for every time I called someone "honey boo-boo child," I'd be a trillionaire. Nay--a chamillionaire!

Sidebar: I know kids are energetic, but does it kinda seem like Alana might be on meth or some other sort of stimulant?

Guys, I have to tell you about this rando show I did last night.*

*[Balls--I wrote this yesterday (Thurs) and thought I'd hit send.]

I did a set at a cabaret-type club as part of an inaugural “musical comedy variety show.”

Friends, let me let you in on a little “industry secret”: Comedy and music don’t mix very well, and stand-ups hate doing ‘variety’ shows. No one who is interested in either—or both—wants to view them at the same time. They require two different modes of engaging, one of which is passive and the other is much more of a dialogue. Basically, my point is, I was ready for it to be very awkward and uncomfortable. Add to that my lack of sleep and the small crowd, and it was really anybody’s game.

[Sidebar: Ugh, my coworker is trying to get us to pitch in to buy wedding gifts for two of our coworkers who are getting married (not to each other). I’m still pissed off about the waste of money that was The Yankee Swap. These people don’t pay me enough to waste my money. Besides, you’re about to marry the person you love more than anything and take three weeks off of work—as far as I’m concerned, you need to be getting me a consolation prize!]

Anyway, back to the show:
The order was: music – stand-up (a young Caucasian) – music – special musical guest – music – Sojourner – music.

The music was amazing. Although the mastermind behind it all was a delicate Canadian, white as the freshly driven show, she had some serious soul. It was like she got a shaman to steal the voices of Sarah Vaughn and Etta James. I went up to her and her bass player afterward and asked them what was in the water in British Columbia that made the youth so soulful. (Bass player posited it was animal urine. Oh, Canucks!)

It was a great show, but by the time I got on stage—following a jazz rendition of The Cardigans hit “Lovefool” (which was AMAZING)—I was damn-near asleep and thought I’d be a hot mess. The band was onstage during the set, so I had to make inappropriate comments to them, of course. I also dropped a lot of TRUTH BOMBS that they’re weren’t ready for, like the popularity of the Swedish dessert niggerbollen. After about three minutes, I just looked at the audience and said, “THIS IS HOW I DO, Y’ALL. GET IN IT TO WIN IT OR CHOOSE TO LOSE.”

It actually wasn’t that bad of a set, considering the small, jazz-loving crowd. I was accosted by two audience members post-show, which is always a sign of success. One of them was a cute fashionista (seriously; she worked in fashion) and the other was an honest-to-goodness CauCRAYsian.

Guys, I don’t know how to describe him. He just sort of happened to me. He came to the show late—about a minute into my set—and even if it had been crowded, he would have been impossible to miss. With long, thin brown hair (parted down the middle), large Hollywood-royalty sunglasses (yes, he wore them indoors), a floor-length Neo-like coat, and an ascot, he was like Ozzie Osbourne’s whimsical younger brother. He cracked up during my set, and as I was making my way to the door, he stopped me in my tracks.

“YOU!” he said, grabbing my face. “Darling, Darling, Darling!!!” He really enjoying rolling his r’s. I laughed, but before I could say anything, he leans in with his pillowy lips to kiss me on the mouth.
WHAT. THE. FUCK?!

I manage to turn my head (his grip was strong), saying, “Didn’t you pay attention to the words that were coming out of my mouth?! I have a Jewboo now and I’m a classy lady!”
He then plays it off in top form, saying, “Oh, yes, that is good. That was a test and you passed. We can now be friends.”
He then tells me that he loved “Caucasia” because he is Georgian—as in, from Georgia, aka the Caucasus region of Europe/Asia. Guys, he is FROM THE CAUCUS MOUNTAINS. HE IS AN ORIGINAL CAUCASIAN!

He then goes on to tell me that, if you were to talk to a Russian, they’d refer to him as “the name of those Swedish balls.” Apparently, the Georgians are looked down upon. Between his minority status and Caucasian roots, he decided we were best friends. He refused to let go of me and demanded I accompany him to Marie’s Crisis, a basement piano bar where everyone’s a diva. I explained that I had to go. of course, there was a time not so long ago, when I would have hung out with this random pillowy-lipped, likely herpetic Georgia until 4am, just for the 10 minutes of material later on.

But I’m a new woman, with chronic fatigue, a tender lover, and a penchant for baked goods. Oh, and I’m now a blogger for a movie website! Check it out.

All the Randomness That's Fit to Print!

Can you believe it’s only Wednesday? I’ve been one day ahead all week and it’s just—to take a phrase from an 80s movie—bumming me out. I haven’t slept more than 4 hours a night in the last week, so I don’t really have a through-line. Here are some thangs I been thinkin’ ‘bout. Feel free to take what works and leave the rest:

• “What? I don’t know. I don’t…care. I’m doing something else right now.” ~ Me, to my coworker.

This happened before 12pm today, guys. I’m so worn down that I can’t even fake it til I make it (off the plantation)! He was showing me some event invitation that’s not going to take place until February 6—why would I be thinkin’ about a work function on February 6 when I can’t even figure out how I’m gonna do my 8-minute set tonight? Bitch, please!

• I read in a ¼-page “article” in US Weekly that Janet Hubert—aka Fresh Prince of Bel Air’s Aunt Viv verison 1.0—is angrier than Regina George when she found out those chocolate bars weren't for weight loss.

Janet recently told TMZ, “There will never be a reunion… as I will never do anything with an asshole like Will Smith. … He is still an egomaniac and has not grown up. This constant reunion thing with never ever happen in my lifetime unless there is an apology, which he doesn’t know the word.”

Y’all, I know where Aunt Viv is coming from. I mean, not personally—I’m sure Will Smith is a peach—but blacktress definitely knows how to hold on to some old ish. I mean, take for instance today’s random run-in at Cosi: I saw a high school classmate standing in line as I was paying. It was kinda cray because she was someone I haven't seen since 2001 and I had just been thinking about her two days ago. (You know, the whole “Why hasn’t Facebook suggested we be friends?” thing) I got excited and wanted to go say hello, but stopped myself. She looked exactly the same--except with diamond earrings, a long, grown-up-lady coat with a fur-lined collar, a pedicure and sensible slacks. I, on the other hand, had dried snot on my nose and had only stopped crying 10 minutes earlier. Although Lord knows it wouldn’t have been much of a difference from high school, I couldn't introduce myself like that. After all, I have to prove to these high school folks that I'm not a loser!

Like Janet Hubert, the resentment I feel from 15 years ago still influences me today. But unlike Janet Hubert, I will not spend my 40s and 50s living in anger. I mean, look what Janet could do when she put her mind to it:


Talk about young, gifted, and black!

• In other news: Move over, Vajazzling—Vattooing is coming for ya!

Yes, this is a real thing.

As you all know, Vajazzling is one of Jennifer Love Hewitt’s favorite things. Apparently, women with low self-esteem and disposable income have taken it a step further. One hard-hitting online journalist went inside the world of vag tats and shared her findings, which I will now share with you.

“After the entire mons pubis and labia have been stripped of any signs of womanhood, you can specify the design of your choice. Nicole, shown above, opted for a cutesy heart pattern. The technician carefully created a detailed pattern, and then instructed Nicole to pick the non-toxic colors of her choice. Her vatoo took about 10 minutes to apply with three colors: purple, coral, and teal. …

This isn’t some junky temporary tattoo that you can buy anywhere- it’s applied by hand, customizable, non-toxic, and doesn’t have any of that weird filmy stuff that you get from a cheap temporary tattoo. You won’t get that weird cracked look as time goes on, either. The paint will gradually fade away over the course of 7-10 days (even with showering), and if you decide you need it off sooner you can always swab the area with rubbing alcohol to remove it."

Thank god for rubbing alcohol. And real alcohol. Am I right, ladieeezzzzz?!!
(My only question: when can we start calling them twattoos?)

Mondays Aren't Fundays

”You look like you came in off the street in that big coat.” ~ my boss, to me.

I actually wasn’t offended. Of course, he has immunized me against inappropriate comments over the last 2 years (and started off the year with a strong dose of TMI when he discussed the sex party he and his pals “mistakenly” attended on New Year’s Eve). But it’s also because I’m definitely giving off a hobo vibe.

I’ve been wearing my coat all day, both because it’s freezing in the office and because I’d like to be able to make a quick getaway should the need arise.
Not that I’m on the lam or anything—I just like to be ready.

[Sidebar: I’ve been craving lasagna and didn’t want to wake up today. I feel like Garfield.]

So, a few changes in Blacktress World™: I’m becoming a landlady! In an effort to fund my dreams and avoid total bankruptcy, I’m getting a roommate for a few months. After very little effort, I found a German PhD student who seems perfect. She’s only here until the end of May, she’ll be spending most of her time writing her dissertation, and she gets my humor. (Sometimes I don’t go over so well with the ESL crowd)

Of course, I’m nervous about having to share space after months of solitude, but I’m also looking forward to it. Having a roommate means I won’t be able to spend hours crying in the bathroom and I’ll have to maintain a higher standard of kitchen cleanliness. Great way to start off 2012!*

I also learned that she’s writing her dissertation on African American Anticolonialism. Can you believe it? Sojourner renting her space with a German who’s down with the brown?! If Harriet “TUBZO” Tubman could see me now!

*As you can probably guess, my depression is rearing it's ugly head. So much so that my coworker invited me to come to a wedding-cake tasting after work today--and I seriously considered it. I then realized that pretending to be engaged to someone for free cake would only fuel my self-loathing.

Why Are People So Cray?

Granted, not my punny-est title, but it’s really all I’ve got to say.

I got to work and was greeted by Awkward Male Coworker, who has come back from holiday vacay with some new neuroses. He’s been eating Weight Watchers SmartOnes for lunch every day.

He is 31 years old. He is not obese. He is not overweight. He doesn’t even have a paunch.
I finally called him out yesterday in the office kitchen.

“What are you doing to yourself?! You need more than 250 calories for a meal!”
“I’m watching my weight,” he said in his trademark monotone. [His underbite leaves him little room for enunciating.]
“There’s nothing to watch!”
“I’ve gotta get back to 24-year-old Tom, heh.” [his laughter is so weird.]
“Um, wasn’t 24-year-old Tom getting a divorce?”
“But I looked good.”

I’m sorry to discriminate, but a man eating a SmartOnes as a meal disgusts me. I mean, when a woman eats it, I get sad, but a man….I don’t know, it just crosses the line.

He was heating up this--which, as you can imagine, looks 10x worse IRL.

When I got in, AMC was eating a breakfast salad—nothing particularly breakfast-y in it, but a salad at breakfast. Spinach, Tomatoes, Mushrooms, with no dressing.

I can’t even look at him.

I was particularly annoyed because, this morning I had the strangest encounter with a human before ever leaving my house—which is saying a lot, cause I live alone. I was eating my Banana Nut Crunch* when the buzzer rang. I answered and waited for the person to state his/her name and business through the intercom.

"Hi, I’m your neighbor at 309. I was walking my dog and I can’t find him and I wanted to see if he was in your backyard."

In the words of Marc Maron: WTF?!

Y’all, the levels of fuckery are almost as limitless as Bradley Cooper, but let me just share some of the first few:
My "neighbor at 309"? Um, I live at 56. What kind of geography are you using?! Plus, you didn’t even say what street you’re on. To be on 309 [Sojourner’s] Ave, you’d have to be about 17 blocks north. Not exactly my neighborhood.

You want to "see if your dog was in my backyard?" You mean he got through my 7-foot-tall reinforced fence and stood there quietly for the last 15 minutes? Bitch, please.

“I’ll go take a look,” I told him through the intercom. And I did—a real thorough one, too.
“Nope, he’s not here.”
“You looked?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, ok.” He sounded dejected. “Um, could--”
“Sorry. Good luck!”

I don’t know what this CRAY-bor (you know, crazy neighbor) was thinking. This is not a Lifetime Movie, this is my life. Mama didn’t raise no fool! Maybe it’s all the Criminal Minds I watch, but I know a potentially rape-y situation when I see one. Like I’m just going to let him carry out a home invasion cause he’s “looking for a dog.” I am not a gentrifier; you can’t warm my heart by talking about an animal and think I’ll forget where I am.
In the words of short-lived R&B trio 3LW: PLAYA, PLEASE!

When I left the house—10 minutes after he rang—the dude was still out there!!! Just as I suspected, he looked like he had nowhere to be during business hours and hadn’t been to a dentist since before 9/11. He gave me the same line, which just didn’t make sense because we’d been through this.

“I know, I looked. I didn’t see anything,” I said.
“Could I just—”
“NO.”
Y’all, I was about to break out a rape whistle on my own stoop!

I got on the train, looking back to make sure Doggie Day Care was walking in the opposite direction.

I mean, of course I’m excited that I avoided the clutches of a criminally insane person, but I'm still shaken. I’ve been taking solace in Twitter all morning, and it’s actually working. Just writing this post is a step on the road to recovery.


What are you up to this weekend, guys?



*Hey yo, Post Cereals, can I get some free boxes for advertising?

2012: Ghost Protocol

We did it, guys. We made it through another holiday season. No more cocktails with whole cranberries in them under the guise of “festive.” No more fancy dress parties that require I freeze my butt off. Of course, it always ends with the mother of all over-hyped parties: New Year’s Eve. I’m not tryin’ to front like I haven’t gone out and made a hot mess of myself in years past (see my 2009 mishap in Sydneytown). But my god, I am beyond over it. If we’re going to place great meaning on the end of the year, as we do with an NYE “bash” (the only time in which that word is used to described a gather), then equal meaning must be given to the start of a new one. With that thinking, why would I want to start my next year on earth with a hangover and shame? Nothin’ like being well-rested and eating a good brekkie to say, “Hello world! Blacktress is here!”

Not that I did that, mind you. Yesterday was the first workday of 2012 and I got to the office at 10:37am. Work starts at 9. (#depression:1,success:0) So far, I’ve been preoccupied with the Weight Watchers point values of foods and trying to figure out what side hustles I can take on to make a little extra dough.

It seems I’m right where we left off, friends. Then, I get a posting on my fb wall of this video with the line: "This is great, but I wish it was Sojourner." Yet again, there's another blacktress out there who's actually out there making things happen.

Add to that the “new looks” of Gmail and Facebook—which make everything far more confusing and create the same visual effect as a pile of vomit on my computer screen, and I’m already weary. Seriously, though: I am scared of Facebook "Timeline." I have a visceral reaction when I see a Timeline profile and fear mine may be next. I’m not even trying, y’all. I’m initiating Ghost Protocol on 2012. Disavowing the whole year, the country, all of it.

How’s TWENTYTWELVE starting for you? This could be our last year on earth, so let’s party like it’s 1999—you know, that other time it was gonna be our last year on earth.

Becoming Myself: A Journey to True Freedom

Happy Kwanzaa, friends! Today we honor the second principle of the Nguzo Saba(seven principles) - kujichagulia.

It's pronounced koo-jee-cha-goo-lee-uh. I know it's a mouthful, but it's meaning is probably the most important of all the Kwanzaa principles: Self-determination. Last year, I practiced kujichagulia in relation to my mother while we were snowbound in the D (where it's oh so cold).

This year, I have my sights set on a different goal: To take my career to the next level in 2012. In his book on the holiday he invented, Dr. Maulana Karenga* states that kujichagulia,

"Demands that we as an African people define, defend and develop ourselves instead of allowing or encouraging others to do this. ... And it is a call to recover and speak our own special truth to the world and raise images above the earth that reflect our capacity for human greatness and progress."


*Is it just me, or is Karenga like a black-power version of L. Ron Hubbard?


Um, did someone say speak our own special truth??? I'm on it!

I must define, defend, and develop myself as a professional artist instead of allowing people like "agents," "managers," and "club bookers" to do so. I must raise myself up above the earth--be the Rafiki to the Simba within, if you will--and step into my own greatness.



Frantz Fanon, one of the earliest freedom writers/fighters, said that a person must ask him/her/hirself three basic questions:
Who am I?
Am I really who I say I am?
Am I all that I ought to be?

Basically, Fanon posed the same question that Nicki Minaj asks us today: Whatchu know 'bout me????

Except this time, it's "Whatchu know 'bout YOU???

In answering these questions, we determine our selves, and as such, put our identity and individuality into practice. I'm gonna give this a try....


Who am I? A writer, comedian, and blacktress. Like Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians,What I am is what I am...right?

Am I really who I say I am? I write a blog, write for a magazine, and have grand plans to write for film and television. I regularly do stand-up and aim to provide comedic fun via bloggery. But largely, my day is devoted to writing about art and then reading the hate mail that I get after publishing the aforementioned writing.

Am I all that I ought to be? See above, re: grand plans (not yet put into practice).

I feel like Beyonce in 2006: I must not know 'bout me, I must not know 'bout me.
I've clearly got a lot of self to determine in the year to come.

How are you doing today, people? In what ways are you asserting your intelligence and acknowledging your experience, strength, and hope?

Habari Gani*!

*That's Swahili for "What's the news?" It's the "traditional" greeting on each day of Kwanzaa--which is Swahili for "After-Christmas sales."

Today is UMOJA which means unity. On this, the first day of Kwanzaa, we seek to promote unity in the family, community, nation, and race.

Umoja has been a part of AfAm culture for as long as I can remember. Take, for instance, the popular Queen Latifah song U.M.O.J.A., Bob Marley's "One Love," or the ultimate togetherness party anthem, Sister Sledge's "We are Family." If it's still not resonating after that list of songs, I suggest you work on fostering umoja in your life, starting today. Here are a few suggestions:

• If you're Caucasian, invite a bunch of friends out for a walk on a weekend afternoon. I learned a few weeks ago that Caucasians love a crisp, sunny day. (Seriously, I was the only person of color on Columbus Avenue from 81st - 97th street.)
• Become a fan of the brand-nubian Facebook fan page Blacktress Comedy. By clicking "Like," you're actually umoja-ing with other like-minded folks and supporting my truths!
  
• Next time you're in a group of folks that you don't really know, mention the Kardashians (any of them) and wait for the resounding chorus of groans as people enumerate the reasons why that family is a sign of the apocalypse.
  
• Rent the film Teen Witch and invite some gals and gays over for a viewing party. By the time the number "I Like Boys" starts to play, you'll all be new bffs!
• When you're hanging out with someone who you really want to be besties with, just agree with everything they say. You guys will be so umoja-ed, it'll be like you're siamese.
  

Hope this helps you bring a little Kwanzaa into your day! I'll be back with more tips tomorrow!

I'm Dreaming of a John Waters Christmas

Wow, people are really upping the bitchiness quotient this year. I’ve already received three pieces of hate mail about the latest issue of my magazine and it hasn’t even hit newsstands yet!


From: Claire
Sent: Friday, December 16, 2011 1:19 PM
Subject: [redacted] Magazine

Dear [Sojourner],

I have been taking art classes and I subscribed to your magazine. I just wanted to let you know that I will not be renewing my subscription because most of the paintings in your magazine are so dark and dreary. They are depressing to look at as a whole. After more than a year of hope and anticipation for each issue, I am consistently very dissapointed in each issue. There is also not enough instruction or help in learning to paint in watercolor. Just wanted to let you know why I am not renewing.

Claire



From: A mean person [mailto:Mykidsdon’tcallme@yahoo.com]
Sent: Sun 12/18/2011 7:35 PM
Subject: magazine

what in the world is going on with your magazine -- who hired that editor???? was it some kind of experiment...let's give the job to someone who doesn't know a single thing about the subject?? everybody now seems to be aware of this, for a while i thought it was just me. she has to be destroying the credibility of the publication. i, for one, will not be renewing. thank you.

Who's everyone? Has she been reading my blog? I don't think it's a coincidence that this comes right on the heels of my pic appearing in the editor's note--now that they know a young blacktress is runnin' thangs, they can send their hate with reckless abandon???

Man, the passive aggression is out of this world. It’s a real buzz-kill, especially since I’d planned to discuss the “John Waters Christmas” show I saw on Monday night.

Yes, you read that right—a John Waters Christmas.

For more than an hour, the brilliant and twisted J-Dubs discussed all of his favorite Christmas things—and the gifts he hoped to receive. He opened with how much he loved Justin Bieber, and suggested he serve as the bait for a special Christmas episode of “To Catch a Predator.”

“Oh, that hair! It's like a siren song. Just put him on park benches across the country and keep loadin’ up the vans!”

He also coined a great new phrase to describe one of many “gay Christmas miracles”: BLOUSE.

As in, “Ugh, that guy is being such a blouse—you know, a feminine top.”

I also love that he railed against hairless women (in one of his many rants about porn videos). "We fought for the right to show bush and now there's none to be seen! Their down-theres look like my mustache."

I wish I could wrap him and put him under my tree.

How's your Hannukah going?

'Tis the Season to be Bratty

Speaking of colonialism (see the previous post)....

A recent article in The Daily Mail profiles a British teen who is not fucking around when it comes to Christmas.

Mekeeda Austin's mother found the following letter in her 13-year-old daughter's backpack:



AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

I think what really takes it over the edge--you know, after the threat to kill, cook, and serve up Santa's reindeer--is her smiley-face and 'xoxo' signature. This chick is cray.

I'm not exactly sure how this made the local news, though. Did the mom call someone? Did the girl post it on her FB page? How did it get from her backpack to The Daily Mail?

I mean, if they're going to run a human-interest story, they should really focus on the news-worthy part--her hot-mess mom, Tracey:

[H]er mother Tracey, 40, is not punishing her for the letter and has vowed to meet her daughter's demands saying: 'You don't want to get on the wrong side of Mekeeda.

'When I first found the letter I thought it was funny, now I think I better get her what she wants, the last thing I want is for her to kill Santa. 'I know it sounds like she is spoilt but I like to get my daughter what she wants also you don't want to get on the wrong side of her.'"

Is she telling us her daughter is a sociopath and her life is being threatened on a regular basis? I mean, considering this is the opening pic in the article, I wouldn't be surprised.

AAAAHHHH!!!!

Tracy is described as a "stay-at-home mother," which I can't imagine being particularly lucrative (there's no mention of another parent/head of household). Although she admits that Mekeeda "will probably lose the Blackberry," she's still going to get it for her.
Why doesn't she get her some spinning gold rims while she's at it? I think her money would be better spent on a year of therapy (for both of them), don't you?
#whyI'mneverhavingkids

#whyblackpeoplecan'thavenicethings

Conversations I've Had This Week

Location: Office. Massa shows us pictures from his recent trip to a painting workshop that took place in a rich woman's mansion. As he goes through the slideshow, he stops on a student's canvas--he's painting a portrait of a black man.

Me: Who’s that black person?
Massa: What? Who? That’s Stevie—he works there.
[I give a look—you know, the sassy-over-the-glasses look. Massa looks up from his photos and notices.]
Massa: Oh, stop it—he’s like one of the family! He’s worked there since he was five!
Me: Five year olds don’t work!!!

****

Location: Duane Reade drugstore. I’m picking up a present for the “Yankee Swap” during today’s holiday lunch (more on that later). I walk up to the cashier with this item:

The woman in the line next to me--a short, older black woman purchasing a few packs of Kools--starts chatting:

Random: Aw, that’s so cute. I want that.
[I have no idea what to say, so I just laugh lightly, assuming it was a joke.]
Random: Is that a present?
Me: It’s for a coworker.
Random: That is so sweet. I want that. [She reads the box] Baby Bella. She so cute. I want her to sleep with me. I’d kick my husband out the bed, and it’d be me and Baby Bella.

Why are people so cray?

Okay, back to this Yankee swap thing. I'm really annoyed by it. All I know about Yankee swap is what I saw on that episode of The Office, when people's awesome presents kept getting traded and everyone was mad. I'm not clear on why I would spend money on something that someone might not even want. What kind of sense does that make? This seems to be a classic case of WPS--Wealthy People Shit. I don't really like to go around claiming WPS--not like my coworkers are rolling in dough. But only someone without an understanding of the economic climate and an employee's need to fund dreams would suggest I "spend $20 on a little something. the stupider the better, cause then everyone can try to get rid of it."

Why would I want to act like an absentee Dad?

I think Scribe put it best--and makes the Gchat Quote of the Day--when she writes:

Yankee swap is white elephant and should only be played among friends. It's straight colonialism. You're like, "Ooh you got a cool gift; let me take it because I can.

I played that on the plantation and this Jewish girl took my book on black art. Everyone said, 'She's Jewish, she had to get rid of the ornaments she got.' Um, I'm a heathen--what am I gonna do with ornaments? And she sat there in her Obama shirt, so happy with her book on black art.

TRUTH.

So Baby Bella it is. She was $6.99 and can easily be re-gifted to a kindergartener.

Judge My Face! Pretty please!

So, as you know, I lack sufficient funds to further my dreams. One of the main issues I'm running up against is the feedback that my headshot isn't very good. I can't really afford to get new ones, so in the interim I've gone back through the archives to find other doable shots. Here are a few of the ones that are decent contenders. PLEEEAAASSSSEEEEE tell me which one you like best and why. Put yourself in the mind of a casting director and think, "Would I want to bring this girl into my office based on the pic alone?"

As always, you guys keep me right-sized and willing to live. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts!

xoxo,

blacktress!!

Option 1

Are my eyes looking a bit too bright? They've been retouched.

Option 2

I look like I'm trying to woo a sailor on leave.

Option 3

I'm looking a bit too busty here--I mean, nothing wrong with the bust, but I think I may disappoint in person.

Am I making pothead eyes?

Sharing the Love

On Saturday, December 10, my expulsion from my mother's uterus--and my singular relationship with my "Coyote Average" co-host Katie East--was honored in the form of a poem. This poem was written by Hardcore Boris a gifted performer who I think, after hearing this opus, I can now refer to as "a dear friend." Never before has someone seen into the core of me and captured the magic of my relationship with a Caucraysian. I must share this with you now, gentle readers:

We're here to celebrate two people's birthdays tonight
One is black and the other is white
the black one's in a relationship and feelin fine
The white one is single, drinkin all the time
The white one's always hangin out back at her crib
The black one's always sayin "'I'm getting too old for this shit.'"
They're both workin in the same profession
Gaining life experience, learning valuable lessons
all the white one really needs is a caring lover
The white one's played by Mel Gibson, the black one by Danny Glover
Two human beings, you could call it a dream team
Gunnin it, runnin this well-oiled machine

You know that feeling when someone just gets you?

An Older, Bloggier Blacktress

I’m typing this post while waiting for the Time Warner Cable employee to come back from putting me on hold. That’s how long we’ve been doing this. I mean, I’m cool with it. It’s gotten so ridiculous that when he asked if he could put me on hold, I told him to “grab a sammie, drop the kids off at the pool, whatever. We’re really just hanging out at this point.”

So, I think my birthday can be best summed up by this ecard from my mom:

You and me both, girl.

I must say, I'm glad the birthday is over--Although I did have a tender evening with Jewboo, complete with cupcakes and compromise. We’re thinking Brooklyn for a year or so and then back to Harlem once it’s all renovated and fit for a new couple to make a life. See, I figure once the lines are clearly drawn—and mounted in the form of walls—the lines between mom and I will be equally clear and strong.
I don’t know if that made sense, but I think you feel me.

Ugh, I haven’t posted in so long, I don’t even know where to begin. There’s been so much to discuss. I guess I’ll stick to highlights:

• My boss keeps referring to everything as “gay-cute” and it’s getting weird. He’s constantly brainstorming new ideas and starts with, “you know what would be really gay-cute? If we had, like, a ‘best of’ section.’ What?

• He’s also taken to calling me “Black Barbie” whenever I wear a ponytail. Of course, in glasses and a ponytail, I think I look like the nerdy girl before the makeover in every 80s movie. Massa then explained, “No! Do you know what the most coveted Barbie is? Black Barbie, no bangs. She’s, like, $5,000.” Apparently, I am a high-end lady.

Of course, I’ll take any excuse to post the “Black Barbie” music video:

• I don’t know if you guys know this already, but I have a wife. Her name is Meara and she is wonderful. She recently scored free tickets to previews of Lysistrata Jones on Broadway and invited a blacktress. We’d heard negative reviews of the show, but that didn’t stop our excitement of being in the fourth row of the orchestra. Once it got underway, we realized that everyone we know who has opinions is wrong. The show was really, really funny. Like, actual funny and not comedy-of-manners type of funny.

It was a bit too cartoony and self-referential at times, but the actors had great comedic timing in addition to all their NYU BFA training.
Oh yeah, and everyone was really, really attractive. There was a lot of sexuality. Basically, by the end, the show made me wanna do 500 crunches and make out with a girl.
Favorite line: “Oh my god / it’s a sexual jihad.”
Of course, it was made better by the fact that it was sung by a rotund black woman (a show can have no gravitas without one).

There was even a relationship between a strong black woman and a nerdy Jewish boy!!!
Guys, the blacktress’ story is on Broadway.
The show was irreverent (best critic word ever) and ridiculous. I do think, though, that it can be hard for theatah enthusiasts to see something so sassy, sexy, and silly going for $100 a seat (and perhaps if I’d paid for it, I’d be singing a different tune). But it’s also just nice to see something original and sharp that has memorable songs and great performances. Plus, there was a hot Asian and tons of interracial love.

And here's a new soon-to-be series-- Gchat Quote of the Day!

Litsa: My mother has suggested an officiant who is a gay Jew who also was a cross-dresser when I was a child.

Should I be offended?

Home is where the Heart Jewboo Is

Hey friends!

How's your day going? I'm actually on a up-swing, largely because of baked goods. Wednesday is my birthday, which always gets me in a mood (What do I have to show for myself????). A need for a quick lunch led me to Hale & Hearty Soups at about 2pm, when I was ravenous. A need to stop feeling crappy led me to exit Hale & Hearty and hit the Crumbs right next door.

As I walked back to my office with an Oreo cupcake, I tried to rationalize my lunch decision. When I reached my desk, however, there was already a package from Crumbs waiting for me!!!! My coworker had gotten me an early birthday gift! Clearly, I was meant to eat a cupcake today. I feel like the world is on my side.

In other news: There have been intense happenings with Jewboo. Of course, since the blog has ceased to be a safe space for my emotions and dramatizations, I've had to confide in my main gay via gchat. But obvi I can't keep anything to myself for too long, so I must share the transcript.


me: THIS JUST IN:
JJSiii:!!!
me: From Jewboo at 9:53am:
Hey dear, now that my job situation is taken care of, maybe we can now start discussing seriously moving in together? How does that strike you? Just wanted to float that out there.
JJSiii: I assume this is a good thing?
me: Yes! While visiting his parents, we even took a quick gander at RINGS.
JJSiii: RINGS? STOP IT. I HAVE BEEN OUT OF YOUR GCHAT LIFE FOR TOO LONG.
me: SERIOUSLY.
We were visiting the parents and we went to the mall
and he went into video game store and i went into one of those shops--like, Kay Jewelers or something--cause that's my idea of true romance.
and then he met me there and we looked for, like, 15 minutes together
I TRIED THINGS ON
JJSiii: oh my gosh, oh my gosh.
Shit is serious. I'm, like, planning your wedding in my head.
By planning it, I mean that I'm thinking about how much I want to be at it.
JJSiii: EVEN THOUGH I'VE NEVER IRL MET THIS MAN.
me: YOU MAY BE GIVING ME AWAY
you know i need one of my main gays to give me away
JJSiii: OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH.
This is such a caps-lock occasion.
I'm basically fanning my non-existent Cindy Lou Va-Who-Who, because this news makes me WET WITH EXCITEMENT.

So, as you can see, there's a lot happening. Of course, there is no proposal on the horizon BUT we are talking about cohabitation, which is more than enough ch-ch-change for one decade. Of course, the big issue is Harlem vs. Brooklyn, and you know where I stand.

Really, guys, my aversion to Brooklyn isn't my fault--it's in my blood. Before I was born, my mom and dad lived in Brooklyn and when my mom was pregnant she planned to have me at Harlem Hospital, cause it was way better than the BK hospitals at the time. Can you imagine a woman with her water broken hopping in a cab, saying, "Get me to Harlem, stat!"

Clearly, this was before the days when cab drivers profiled.

As luck would have it, I was born a few weeks early, just when my mom was having a follow-up appointment with her doctor. When she hopped off the exam table her water broke and I came out a few hours later. I knew we couldn't wait until returning to BK.

The main issue is that I am living in a ridiculously large place in the heart of Manhattan. I'm beyond lucky and I don't think it's smart to abandon prime real estate I'd never be able to afford otherwise in a city that everyone wants to be in.
Jewboo's reasoning is that the Harlem house comes with substantial mama drama, and he doesn't want to be subjected to it--or, even worse, in the middle of the two of us.
And I get that. Most people who come over for a meal start talking about moving in; Jewboo isn't just going with what's easiest or trying to take advantage, which I respect. Plus, I'm done with being under my mom's thumb, too, and there is a lot of pride I have to swallow in order to be where I am. But....
Mama didn't raise no fool. You don't cast off a brownstone for a shoebox when you're increasing your household size. Me + Jewboo + 2 cats + all of our creative endeavors which would make great use of extra rooms as offices and rehearsal spaces = sucking it up and taking advantage of a sweet deal. Perhaps it's because Jewboo has never really seen himself as a "have not" and knows nothing of NYC besides expensive shoeboxes, so he's not really hung up on it. I think our standards directly relate to our expectations, and I will be the first to admit that I am spoiled when it comes to accommodations. Besides, the idea of moving every 2 years as you inevitably outgrow the space (after all, our Emmy collection will take up most of the shelves) isn't appealing.

Plus, I must say I'd love it if those two cats had a special closet for their litter box--you gotta confine that smell, people. I'm not trying to come home to the smell of "Not-so-Fresh Step." Of course, this is a totally luxury "problem," but if it's possible, why would you live any other way?

Then again, as we start a new phase of our relationship, it would be nice to start fresh, in a newtral space. And I'd love to be able to decorate and start from scratch and build a place together--and not have my mother popping over whenever she felt like it, ragging on how badly I maintain a house, like a demeaning Steve Urkel.

I don't know. I love the boy and definitely want him to be my forever friend, but I also don't believe in oppressing myself if I don't have to or denying myself a luxury simply because there are a few strings attached. I mean, there are always strings attached to stuff. It seems like it's more beneficial to work on establishing boundaries with mom than it is to abandon the Harlem house--wouldn't you say it's throwing the baby out with the bathwater?

Your comments/suggestions would be much appreciated. Perhaps you can help me frame it in a way that a Jewboo can understand.

My Soon-to-be New Favorite Show!

Part of pursuing my blackting dreams involves submitting my headshot and resume for various roles that are being cast. I'm registered with one site that sends me alerts based on my background/look. Unfortunately, it seems that they don't think very highly of me. I just got sent the following breakdown that was "Fit for ME!"

Project Type: Documentary Series

SEEKING: PEOPLE WHO ACT LIKE ANIMALS

Do you have a primal animal behavior?
New series looking for people who act as if they are animals. Do you have awkward pets* that you have relationships with (non sexual)? Do you live on a raw meat diet, on road kill or squirrels? Have you transformed your life to be more like an animal? Do you have an owner?

Some of the stories we've looked into:

FOOD
Tim's pets are his best friends. Throughout the years, he's grown to envy their simple lives, and as a way to develop a deeper connection with them, he's begun sharing their dinner on the floor. He feels that the line between master and pet is arbitrary,^ and that we can all learn a lot from our humble companions.

DOG HOUSE
Tim is an ex-addict who was kicked out of his parent's house as a teenager. For years, he lived in various backyard doghouses for shelter, moving to find a new one whenever the homeowners became suspicious. Now that he's gotten clean, his sister has allowed him to move in with her but he still insists on living in a doghouse in her backyard. He feels safe in the small space with the creatures that never rejected him.

INNER WOLF
Tina saw dead wolves on the side of the road growing up.* As it traumatized her, it has been the one animal that she feels most connected to. Ergo, Julie has adopted extreme wolf traits in her life such as leaving at dusk to scale the mountains of Moab to howl in the wind. Julie doesn't eat what others serve for dinner, she likes her raw steak sinking her teeth and devouring just as wolves do. Julie also sleeps in her wolf bed** outside the home.

LEECH LIFE
Tillie enjoys having pet leeches, but more importantly she loves the feeling she gets when she puts them on her skin, allowing them to feed. Sarah and her partner Michael take turns feeding the leeches two times every day. Loving her leeches, Sarah wouldn't want to have any other pet.

We are interested in trying to understand any unique animal or primal behavior!

What about this made them think of me? I don't even have the world "animal" listed on my resume. The whole, "do you have an owner?" question has so much racist innuendo, I may have to discuss with the website. Of course, my confusion was quickly eclipsed by the fact that this is a new show in production that I can't wait to watch on the regular. Guys, this is like Animal Hoarders + Fatal Attractions + Intervention + My Strange Addiction wrapped in a flour tortilla!!! Set your DVRs for EVERY DAY FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.

*I love the idea of an "awkward pet"--I picture a ferret that just stares at one corner of a room all day.

^Arbitrary?! You know this man is CauCRAYsian.

*Wait, like, were these regular occurrences, or was it just this one time at band camp?

**What is a "wolf bed"--if there's one thing that isn't animal-like, it's having furniture of any kind.

Like Looking Into a Mirror! (If I was one of these people)

Hey gang,

Sorry I’ve been so slack with the bloggery—the bloating and fatigue of Thanksgiving has finally worn off, leaving me with the lightness and confidence to blog. Not that I’m not a huge tryptoFAN, but enough was enough, you know?

So, I was watching the movie HANNA over the holiday weekend and I must say, I was kind of into it. That Saoirse Ronan is a real spitfire and even though she’s not even legal, she’s proving to be a real karma chameleon as an actress. I was, however, distracted for much of the film because I couldn’t look at Saoirse without thinking, “Oh, look at baby Anne Heche, fighting for her life.” THEY ARE IDENTICAL, guys:

This, of course, got me thinking about other twin celebs (anything to avoid pursuing my dreams, guys!). I thought I'd share a few of them with you now:

Happy Food Day, Guys!!!

This is definitely my favorite day of the year. As you all know, I used to drink to feel pretty and now eat to feel nothing. Thanksgiving Day is a nationally sanctioned day of eating one's feelings under the guise of celebration and gratitude. Clearly this is my time to shine.

See, the key to a successful Thanksgiving is pacing and preparedness. Many people think that starving until meal time is the best way to get the most out of it--rookie mistake. When you don't eat all day, your stomach contracts and your metabolism stays at it's sleeping rate, making mass consumption of delicious foods difficult. You've got to eat little light bits throughout the day leading up to the meal.

Of course, I'm all for cleansing the day before, as it helps the body prepare to take in copious amounts of carbs. Last night, we enjoyed a light dinner of shrimp & avocado over mixed greens--the right amount of roughage and good fats to center the body, but nothing heavy that couldn't be expelled rapidly.

So, here it is, the big day. The time is now 9:48am. Food won't be ready until 3pm at the earliest. I can't sit here all day, smelling the smells and promising myself I'll "go to town on that apple tart" when my stomach is the size of a toddler's fist! I must start off with a simple breakfast, just to get the body ready; Coax it out of slumber and prepare it for domination at the dinner table. I'll start with a fiber-rich cereal and perhaps a yogurt. After watching a motion picture, I'll likely follow up with some squats, push ups, and fruit. By that time, I will be called into the kitchen to prepare the sides that only I know how to make. This is when I'll have to maintain a steely resolve and not waste calories on taste tests.

As you can see, I'm serious about this.

I'm spending the day with mom and her latin lover, then heading to PA tomorrow to visit the Jewboo's fam. Although they invited me for the holiday, I couldn't pass up our Southern-influenced side dishes for who knows what in suburban Pennsylvania. When I tried to explain this to Jewboo, he looked at me like I was crazy. "You think the food won't be good at our family friend's house?"

No, that's not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is, I get one day a year to eat stuffing, yams, and macaroni and cheese on the same plate, and I'm not losing it to have some roasted potatoes or green bean casserole. Besides, Jewboo is a vegetarian and really weight-conscious, which not only impairs his judgement but also makes him a real buzz-kill on a day like today (but I still love him!). I need to be able to spend the day in drawstring sweatpants and no shoes, not eating daintily so as not to embarrass myself in front of my potential in-laws. I owe it to us both to show up to Pennsylvania with a full belly and high blood pressure, just so the weekend can be relaxed.

I'm feeling a bit anxious, as I woke up to the sounds of arguing and had flashbacks to my youth. I was already on the brink as of last night, when my mother told me that people would probably think I'm a pedophile if I kept offering to babysit their kids. So, you know, I'm dealing with that.

Hope you're having/had a great Food Day!

xoxo,
blacktress!

There's Something About A Blacktress?

You guys know how I regularly attract randoms, right? Whether it's a random Southern gent in alphabet city or an Australian mafia member, there's just something about a blacktress that brings out the inappropriateness in people. Last week, while dining at one of my favorite restaurants with my mom, I realized that it just might be genetic.

After we ordered, I went to the bathroom to wash my hands (because I'm convinced everyone on the subway has bedbugs and Hepatitis A - Z). When I returned, the waitress--a 40-something Asian woman with long black hair and a paisley print top--came over to our table.

Waitress: Ooooh, look at you, big girl!

I looked at my mother, who was just sipping her soda and trying not to laugh.

Waitress: How old are you now? You're such a big girl!

Why is she talking to me like I'm 5 years old and we've somehow met before?

Me: I'm 27.

Waitress [incredulous]: What?! No! You look so young. That's good. Such good skin. Oh, I see your sushi! (she leaves to go get it)

I made a 'WTF?' face to my mother.

Mom [in her library voice, leaning close]: When you were in the bathroom she came up to me and started talking. She told me she had a black daughter who was, "good, with a lot of energy--cause of her Jamaican blood. She's not quiet, like Asian girls."

Me: What?! I left you alone for 90 seconds, mother. How could this happen?

Mom: I don't know. People just come up to me and say things. I have a face that says, "I won't attack you if you decide to share."

Me: Ugh, so I have you to blame. When I was inside Caucasia, they thought I was their Oprah figure or something.

Waitress [sets sushi on the table]: I can't believe it, you're 27! Mom, you so young. Me, I started late. My daughter's 7 years old. I'm 47. But she is a good girl, like you. My husband, he's from Jamaica--not Queens. Jamaica Jamaica.

[We didn't know what to do while this was going on. We wanted to eat our sushi but she was standing over us and it felt awkward.]

Why am I telling you this? Well, because I just got off the phone with my credit card company (gotta pay some billz!) and it seems that even my phone voice inspires randoms to overshare. Customer service rep "Ken" would not stop with the yackity yakkkking!

Ken: Your last name...what region in that from?
Me: It's Nigerian.
Ken: Ooooh, you're Nigerian. That's good. This is the Kansas office you're calling now. I went to KU and even though I'm from the US Virgin Islands, with my accent, they let me into the international students club. I had a lot of African friends--their last names were hard to pronounce. I said, I said, 'Can I call you a short 3-letter name instead?'
Me: ha ha ha?
Ken: Yeah, the Nigerians had some of the hardest names. ... I have a lot of Ethiopian friends, too. They spoke...Amharic.
Me: Don't know it.
[Ken then proceeds to recite every number and letter of my name and address as he types it. Ugh, this guy couldn't just sit in silence for a second???]
Ken: You live in New York?
Me: Yes

[Fuck, Ken is going to steal my personal information and show up at my doorstep.]

Ken: New York is the meeting place for every. culture. in. da. worl....

(that's not a typo--he didn't pronounce the 'd'.)
(he laughs lazily, like he's just gotten high and is watching a cartoon.)

Me: Ha ha ha?

Ken: Like the coastes [yes, that was his plural of coasts.] I was down in Miami one time--it didn't feel like America. It felt like Mexico and Cuba. And in California, there were so many street names in Spanish--it was really....interesting and unique....

[I say nothing. I'm just really hoping my payment will go through so I can get off the phone.]
Ken: I like a lot of world cultures.

[I continue to say nothing. Clearly, this man will take a mile so I can't even be polite.]

Ken: Okay, I'm waiting for the system to process....to process...to process......... OK, your payment went through.
Me: Thank you!
Ken: Have a great day--maybe I'll see you in New York City!
Me: AAAAHHHH!
I hang up.

Guys, I may have a stalker who works for Chase. I'm gonna have to get some Occupiers to protect me.

Really?! (Said in the voice of Chandler Bing)

One of my fellow freedom writers alerted me to the latest CauCRAYsian activity--this time, taking place on our own American soil.

Last week, six sorority girls at the University of Southern Mississippi went to an 80s-themed party as the Huxtable family dressed in blackface.

WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!??? WHITE PEOPLE, WHAT IS UP WITH YOU???? I can't cope!!

Apparently, the six members of the Phi Mu sorority--who have not been publicly identified, because someone is caring enough to protect these delicate Southern belles--have been placed on probation. According to the article:

"Phi Mu National President Kris Bridges says the matter is being investigated and more disciplinary action could follow. She says the local chapter will sponsor a campus-wide program on diversity appreciation."

What will a program on "diversity appreciation" do? I don't think these six girls lack an appreciation of black people--after all, where would they get such excellent costuming ideas? I think they lack a moral compass that directs them toward respecting people of color and remembering the history of racism, oppression, and segregation that is still alive and well in some parts of the very state in which they study.

Of course, I had to get some more info--you know how I like to go inside Caucasia and get answers from the root. A visit to the Phi Mu website led me to their creed, which I'd like to share with you:

THE CREED OF PHI MU FRATERNITY

To lend to those less fortunate a helping hand.
To think of God as a protector and guide of us all.
To keep forever sacred the memory of those we have loved and lost.
To be to others what we would they would be to us.
To keep our lives gentle, merciful and just,
Thus being true to the womanhood of love.

To walk in the way of honor, guarding the purity of our thoughts and deeds.
Being steadfast in every duty small or large.
Believing that our given word is binding.
Striving to esteem the inner man above culture, wealth or pedigree.
Being honorable, courteous, tender,
Thus being true to the womanhood of honor.

To serve in the light of truth avoiding egotism, narrowness and scorn.
To give freely of our sympathies.
To reverence God as our Maker, striving to serve Him in all things.
To minister to the needy and unfortunate.
To practice day by day love, honor, truth.
Thus keeping true to the meaning, spirit and reality of Phi Mu.


Okay, well in some ways these three girls did stay true to the creed.

"To lend to those less fortunate a helping hand."

You certainly gave black folks a leg up with this stunt, ladies--thanks!

"To be to others what we would they would be to us."

Grammar aside, I think they've certainly secured my disrespect and wrath, so consider the mission accomplished, girls!

"To walk in the way of honor..."

I'm assuming that in this sense, to walk in the way of means to obstruct. If so, give yourselves a check in that column, girls!

"Being steadfast in every duty, small or large"

I would definitely say so--these six gals didn't just get excited about a 1980s-themed party. They took the theme of an 80s party to an extreme degree, honoring both the 1980s and the 1880s! Talk about steadfast!

They weren't exactly honorable, courteous, or tender, but then again, I wasn't there. Perhaps the one dressed as Clair imparted a few life lessons in between jello shots and making out with the president of the young Republicans club.

A couple quick Qs:

- What's "the womanhood of love?"

- What does is mean to "believe that our given world is binding"?

- To minister to the needy and unfortunate? Are they missionaries?