I bet some of you are wondering about the status of the Photographer/The Giver. Despite my word vomit and awkwardness, it seems this fellow is still feeling the blacktress. I have been reluctant to go into detail because he may still be reading the blog, and I don’t want him knowing all of Sojourner’s truths just yet. However, I feel the need to share this relationship’s progress as it works toward becoming a REALationship (you know the difference—holla!)
So, last Friday was a low key night, where we attended an art opening that I’d be invited to through work. I thought that the event’s open bar and hip downtown artists would show him how important and with-it I am. Plus, being a photographer, I thought he’d be all into the art scene.
For moral support, I asked my homegirl Karisa to show up an hour earlier.
“SoTru, why would you show up an hour early for a date?” You may be wondering. I know this seems strange. However, I find an early arrival decreases later awkwardness. By scoping out the area before my date, I am able to check my face to see if there were any issues while in transit, make note of all the nearest exits (in case he turns out to be cray), and know where things are to make it seem like I come to said establishment regularly. When my date arrives and I am already waiting, I have what I like to call “the upper hand,” as he wonders if he’s late and tries to placate me with compliments.
Anyway, after checking out some art and having some free dranks, we headed back to the BK to kick it old school. We had a college-style date—you know, sitting in a room and watching a movie. While many of my lady friends wondered why I wouldn’t demand lobster tails and a Broadway show, I stand by my choice of a low key date. First of all, such interactions are the main reason I look for a winter spoon; it’s too damn cold to be hittin’ the streets! Point number two: Do not wine me and dine me just to end up lyin’ to me! I don’t need all the bells and whistles and distraction—let me see what YOU are about, you know? How many times have I giggled and cooed in a tipsy state as a man said things that were clearly red flags? For instance, when I'm at the club and he goes:
I’ve always wanted to kiss a black girl. (WARNING: You have a fetishizer on your hands!)
OR
Oh my god, you’re, like, actually funny. That’s so rare. (Reverse compliments mean you are with a level-one emotional abuser. Back away).
With simply a bottle of Cabernet and X-Men 2 on the boob tube, I could really get to the root of this photog—go “behind the lens” if you will (will you?).
After getting all hot and bothered by the sight of sweaty, bulging Hugh Jackman—aka HUGE JACKED MAN!—I had to assess my desires…and the Giver’s. Was he a slut? A ho? A freak? Did he have a different girl every day of the week?
I told him it was cool, I’m not trying to put a rush on you—but I gotta let you know that I got a crush on you.
After wondering why I was quoting Lil’ Kim, he responded in kind, and I think we reached an understanding. Being deep in the BK after midnight, the logical choice was to spend the night…right? After physically expressing our emotions, we had a little pillow talk. We started talking about movies, and somehow the film Teen Witch came up.
Again, this would be a prime example of my awkwardness and word vomit. I don’t know if any of you have seen it, but Teen Witch is a 1989 classic about a girl who discovers she is a witch on her 16th birthday. Mousy Louise then uses her new powers to make herself hot, popular, and win the man of her dreams, only to realize, she doesn’t need magic after all.
Oh, did I mention it’s sort of a musical with songs such as “I like Boys,” and “I Wanna Be the Most Popular Girl”?
Yes, it IS the greatest film of our time.
But I wouldn’t necessarily recommend sharing this information with a man in his bed….unless he’s REALLY AWESOME (like the Photographer)—or gay (like my besties). One mention of the film, and the photog begins the first few lines of the film’s best track: “Top That.” It’s a great rap in which Louise’s equally mousy friend Polly is magically given the gift of street cred and approaches her far-off crush (Rhett Cappalletti) in fierce urban poetry.
Wait, I don’t think my description is doing the scene justice. See for yourself.
AAAHHH!!!! HOW GOOD IS THIS?!?!?!?!?! CAN YOU TOP THAT?????????
I find myself to be as awkward as Polly, and I guess you could call the Photographer my Rhett Cappelletti--only without the tight stonewashed jeans. But they both have the same street flava.
As you can imagine, the Photog’s knowledge of this great film and its music sparked much delight in the heart of the blacktress. As I fought the urge to propose marriage on the spot, he told me it was “quiet time” as I squealed with excitement at 3 am. Of course, his pop culture knowledge coupled with his no-nonsense manliness only fanned the love fires.
In honor of the role of musical films in our lives, he and I are going to see Sweeney Todd tonight.
And then I’m going to come home and Photoshop our heads together to see what our offspring will look like.
JK (Rowling)!!!!
Or am I???????
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
ROPHAR!
I would like to introduce you to a great artist.
His name is Rophar.
He is very confident.
Because Rophar has taken it upon himself to publish a website, I can talk about him without getting in trouble. After all, he clearly wants to share his gift with the world.
I have taken a screen capture of a page of his website, just so that you may get a taste of what I can only describe as magical genius.
Note the sparkles that dance to the right of Rophar’s face, as he poses with his brush on some sort of Roman column, which hints at his status as a god among men. He looks off to the side, deep in what can only be described as dirty thoughts. I think my favorite part is the image of the wood nymph in the background, which is part of a rotating display of the artist’s finest work.
He work is divided by themes, which include:
Nudes
Clowns
Wildlife
Fanciful Felines
Christmas
Enchantment
And OTHER MASTERPIECES.
You can tell that Rophar thinks well of himself. And who am I to make him hide his sparkly light under a bushel? He says in his artist’s statement:
“Rophar is rightfully acknowledged in the most prestigious Who’s Who in American Art and worhy of note, an honor chosen excusively on the merits of the artist work-not monitarily obtainable”
Misspelled words aside, I believe what we should take from this webpage—other than brilliant artwork and a clear homage to Lisa Frank (remember her awesome school supplies? I totes had the bright pink unicorn folders)—is a lesson in the importance of self confidence. What we have here is someone who takes his clowns, felines, and enchantments, and brings them to the world stage for all to see.
Perhaps I’m not making myself clear. Perhaps you will have to see the site for yourself.
I think my favorite part is that the sparkles follow your mouse wherever you drag it along the site. GENIUS!
Do you think Rophar is gay?
His name is Rophar.
He is very confident.
Because Rophar has taken it upon himself to publish a website, I can talk about him without getting in trouble. After all, he clearly wants to share his gift with the world.
I have taken a screen capture of a page of his website, just so that you may get a taste of what I can only describe as magical genius.
Note the sparkles that dance to the right of Rophar’s face, as he poses with his brush on some sort of Roman column, which hints at his status as a god among men. He looks off to the side, deep in what can only be described as dirty thoughts. I think my favorite part is the image of the wood nymph in the background, which is part of a rotating display of the artist’s finest work.
He work is divided by themes, which include:
Nudes
Clowns
Wildlife
Fanciful Felines
Christmas
Enchantment
And OTHER MASTERPIECES.
You can tell that Rophar thinks well of himself. And who am I to make him hide his sparkly light under a bushel? He says in his artist’s statement:
“Rophar is rightfully acknowledged in the most prestigious Who’s Who in American Art and worhy of note, an honor chosen excusively on the merits of the artist work-not monitarily obtainable”
Misspelled words aside, I believe what we should take from this webpage—other than brilliant artwork and a clear homage to Lisa Frank (remember her awesome school supplies? I totes had the bright pink unicorn folders)—is a lesson in the importance of self confidence. What we have here is someone who takes his clowns, felines, and enchantments, and brings them to the world stage for all to see.
Perhaps I’m not making myself clear. Perhaps you will have to see the site for yourself.
I think my favorite part is that the sparkles follow your mouse wherever you drag it along the site. GENIUS!
Do you think Rophar is gay?
Monday, January 7, 2008
Mondays With Artists
And it's actually Monday, guys!!
Below is a copy of a letter I received in the mail today. It has been re-typed for your reading pleasure/confusion. I have left in all punctuation, grammar, and misspellings, making no effort to make this man's words intelligible--since clearly, that was not his priority, either.
This letter leaves me scared, confused, and hungry. It's time for lunch now. Read and enjoy
Dear Art Magazine,
This letter is an inquirey. My material is based on this question. How do you turn all the people on this earth to go the other way? The answer is to bring all the people to learn the Circle Language. The Circle Language will bring all the people to be of one mind. The circle is a universal symbol. The Circle Language is a communication with the entire creation.
I have been in communication with the Life beyond this Earth for more than 30 years in secret. The communication came in anger because there has been an insult to the continuing mind around this Earth. I met the Great Spirit of the Indian Nation. The Great Spirit proved to me that the Spirit is a funnel spout revealing the Knowledge of God. The Great Spirit proved to me that the Holy Spirit on the other side of this Earth is the same Spirit as the Great Spirit. This Earth turns about its axis bringing the funnel spout to reveal the same answers as the Knowledge of God to both sides of this Earth.
(he then goes on to say something about ‘conquering the native being a “waist of time”’ which I don’t really understand—but as a freed slave, probably agree with)
The word language comes from the two words land and guage.
(um, call me crazy, but I think those are just misspelled versions of the syllables of the word)
The mind of God can be recognized by the formula 2 in 1. The Life beyond this Earth told me that the Christ Jesus used this formula to coin the word Love. The Word Love comes from the word Low and the letter V. The low V is the cycle of this Earth as this Earth turns around the sun. The point V is the law. High V is the cycle of this Universe every 2,000 years....
(What is he talking about?)
The Life beyond tells me that the people on this earth became confused because the man who wrote the New Testament Revelation was on heavy drugs (much like yourself, I say to the paper in my hand). He wrote in the beginning of the New Testament that he was in the Spirit. The only way to be in the Spirit is on heavy drugs. I was drug free and alcohol free when I met the Great Spirit. I let the Spirit do the identity bringing the Spirit to become a funnel spout.
(What does that sentence mean?)
I am told that the United States of America was built on drugs. The next step to the United States American Government will have to be built on drugs or the United States Government has come it its End Time…….
(Then some more gobledy-gook about “the end time” and “the good god,” which I have chosen to omit because I have real work to do.)
The End Time is a Harvest Time. The End Time of the year is a Harvest Time. The End Time of the World is a Harvest Time. The cycle of this Universe everything 2,000 years is one World….Jesus told the people in the New Testament to bring the message public. Public ment different in the time of Jesus than the word public means today. The Life beyond this Earth brought me to recognize the New Testament Revelation put public brings the formulas for the Holy Thoughts 6, 6-66, 666 through 12.
(Again, I ask: WHAT IS HE TALKING ABOUT?????)
This earth is the 3rd planet in this Solar System in the light of the day time. The Earth is the 3rd planet in this Solar System in the darkness of the night time. The 6 is the number for this entire Earth. There are 9 planets in the solar system. The 9 planets and the Sun become the bases for the mathematic system to the base 10. The Knowledge of God comes first in numbers….
The Christ Jesus appeared to my mind after I met the Great Spirit. Jesus put me to paint a picture provide Jesus appered to me telling me the answers to build the River of Life on this Earth. The Christ Jesus told me that He went back to where God came from to bring the Crop Circles to be put in the fields of England beginning in the year 1957. Jesus and the Life beyond this Earth have brought me to develop the Circle Language from the Crop Circles. The Circle Language brings the answers to build the World of God on this Earth in these days and nights as it is in Heaven.
If you are interested in publishing my material, please contact…
He then enclosed color photocopies of his "Art"-- what can best be described as what would happen if a kindergarten student vomited onto their paper during a fingerpainting lesson. For legal reasons, I cannot scan these images and present them to you, though I am dying to. Just trust that they are doozies.
Below is a copy of a letter I received in the mail today. It has been re-typed for your reading pleasure/confusion. I have left in all punctuation, grammar, and misspellings, making no effort to make this man's words intelligible--since clearly, that was not his priority, either.
This letter leaves me scared, confused, and hungry. It's time for lunch now. Read and enjoy
Dear Art Magazine,
This letter is an inquirey. My material is based on this question. How do you turn all the people on this earth to go the other way? The answer is to bring all the people to learn the Circle Language. The Circle Language will bring all the people to be of one mind. The circle is a universal symbol. The Circle Language is a communication with the entire creation.
I have been in communication with the Life beyond this Earth for more than 30 years in secret. The communication came in anger because there has been an insult to the continuing mind around this Earth. I met the Great Spirit of the Indian Nation. The Great Spirit proved to me that the Spirit is a funnel spout revealing the Knowledge of God. The Great Spirit proved to me that the Holy Spirit on the other side of this Earth is the same Spirit as the Great Spirit. This Earth turns about its axis bringing the funnel spout to reveal the same answers as the Knowledge of God to both sides of this Earth.
(he then goes on to say something about ‘conquering the native being a “waist of time”’ which I don’t really understand—but as a freed slave, probably agree with)
The word language comes from the two words land and guage.
(um, call me crazy, but I think those are just misspelled versions of the syllables of the word)
The mind of God can be recognized by the formula 2 in 1. The Life beyond this Earth told me that the Christ Jesus used this formula to coin the word Love. The Word Love comes from the word Low and the letter V. The low V is the cycle of this Earth as this Earth turns around the sun. The point V is the law. High V is the cycle of this Universe every 2,000 years....
(What is he talking about?)
The Life beyond tells me that the people on this earth became confused because the man who wrote the New Testament Revelation was on heavy drugs (much like yourself, I say to the paper in my hand). He wrote in the beginning of the New Testament that he was in the Spirit. The only way to be in the Spirit is on heavy drugs. I was drug free and alcohol free when I met the Great Spirit. I let the Spirit do the identity bringing the Spirit to become a funnel spout.
(What does that sentence mean?)
I am told that the United States of America was built on drugs. The next step to the United States American Government will have to be built on drugs or the United States Government has come it its End Time…….
(Then some more gobledy-gook about “the end time” and “the good god,” which I have chosen to omit because I have real work to do.)
The End Time is a Harvest Time. The End Time of the year is a Harvest Time. The End Time of the World is a Harvest Time. The cycle of this Universe everything 2,000 years is one World….Jesus told the people in the New Testament to bring the message public. Public ment different in the time of Jesus than the word public means today. The Life beyond this Earth brought me to recognize the New Testament Revelation put public brings the formulas for the Holy Thoughts 6, 6-66, 666 through 12.
(Again, I ask: WHAT IS HE TALKING ABOUT?????)
This earth is the 3rd planet in this Solar System in the light of the day time. The Earth is the 3rd planet in this Solar System in the darkness of the night time. The 6 is the number for this entire Earth. There are 9 planets in the solar system. The 9 planets and the Sun become the bases for the mathematic system to the base 10. The Knowledge of God comes first in numbers….
The Christ Jesus appeared to my mind after I met the Great Spirit. Jesus put me to paint a picture provide Jesus appered to me telling me the answers to build the River of Life on this Earth. The Christ Jesus told me that He went back to where God came from to bring the Crop Circles to be put in the fields of England beginning in the year 1957. Jesus and the Life beyond this Earth have brought me to develop the Circle Language from the Crop Circles. The Circle Language brings the answers to build the World of God on this Earth in these days and nights as it is in Heaven.
If you are interested in publishing my material, please contact…
He then enclosed color photocopies of his "Art"-- what can best be described as what would happen if a kindergarten student vomited onto their paper during a fingerpainting lesson. For legal reasons, I cannot scan these images and present them to you, though I am dying to. Just trust that they are doozies.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
I'm Awkward II
Note to self:
Do not have a 30-minute conversation with a guy you've hooked up with twice after not seeing him for 10 days. You do not know him. This conversation will not go smoothly. You will feel kinda like Corky from "Life Goes On."
Keep it short, sweet, make a plan to hang out, and then HANG UP. Seriously, this is the only way to go.
I kinda want to send him this ecard, but I can't, cause I don't have his email address:
Do not have a 30-minute conversation with a guy you've hooked up with twice after not seeing him for 10 days. You do not know him. This conversation will not go smoothly. You will feel kinda like Corky from "Life Goes On."
Keep it short, sweet, make a plan to hang out, and then HANG UP. Seriously, this is the only way to go.
I kinda want to send him this ecard, but I can't, cause I don't have his email address:
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
2007: A Blacktress Looks Back
Hello there gentle readers,
Welcome to 2008! As you can see, we are not as far along as we should be as a people. To my dismay, I awoke in Brooklyn on the 1st day of 2008 and stepped outside to see NO flying cars, and discovered that I hadn’t become an omnipotent robot. I expected way more from us this far along in the aughts (this is what we call the first decade. Yeah, look it up. The blacktress teaches).
Oh yeah, and there’s still oppression everywhere.
As we look to this new year, and as the decade draws to a close, I would like to share some of the lessons I have learned this long, hard year. Perhaps you, too, will gain something from my strife. After all, what good is the struggle if you can’t help someone out?
Sometimes, the only lesson to be learned from something is to not do it again.
Yeah, I said it. I’m so done with all these people telling me that “what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger” (yeah, Kanye, I’m talking to you). I don’t think that’s true. Sometimes rough shit happens and it just sucks. And when it’s all said and done, you learn not to go down that road again. In the words of the wise musician Rick, “Experience is what you get when you don’t get what you wanted.” Yes, true that.
Don’t Buy Him A Drank (Shawty TRIPPIN’!)
Did I ever tell you about the hot mess I met back in November? We locked eyes at the Bourgie Pig (my jam and my jump-off), and, inspired by T-Pain and my liberal need to shirk the gender binary, I decided to buy HIM a drank. I was nervous as the waiter walked over with his beer (that’s what dudes drank, right?). I was pleasantly surprised when he came over and started chatting and then asked for my number. I had high hopes for this 30-year-old IT guy with the bald head and stubble I’ve come to realize is my type.
I was sorely let down when my interactions with Dave became a series of late-night text messages that amounted to nothing. He fell off the face of the earth in the month of December, citing “too much schoolwork” (um, I’m not impressed! Even ancient man knew to holla at a cavewoman after chasing mastadons). I clearly kicked him to the curb—one of the many lessons learned this year—and decided he was dead to me, much like Michael Jackson and Boyz II Men (where are you????).
You can imagine my shock when I received a text message from him at 2 AM this past Friday night!!! I believe the exact words were: “Wadd up…2 am winter spoon?”
No that fool did NOT use my words to woo me! And no he didn’t think he could call me up at 2am like I’m some common woman and expect his needs to be met. That is just like a damn white man to lose his good-goddamn mind and think he can play. I said I was a blacktress—NOT a wack-tress!
White People Have Too Much Money, and it Makes Them Stupid
Yeah, I said it. The paparazzi have shown us what Biggie was saying all along: Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems. From crazy Britney (Tears for Spears, ’08—courtesy Leila Estes!!!) to that Wicked Leona Helmsley, clearly, when white folks get money, they go a little nuts. The green makes them a hot mess, and they don’t know what to do with themselves. Leaving a damn dog money?! Shaving your head, showing your bare vajayjay, and getting into more baby mama drama than a Jerry Springer guest?! I mean, come on, people!
Get an Office Wife and an Office Husband—Preferably Gay-- and the Plantation Will Be Less Oppressive.
My first full-fledged non-temporary office job has taught me that there really is no such thing as sexual harassment if your coworkers like you. I mean, my tender office wife brings nothing but good cheer and laughter, even when I say things that don’t make sense. AND she’s even into Jesus and finds my offensive humor hilARious! Getting an office wife turns the mundane task of sitting at a desk into your very own slumber party, complete with giggling, snacks, and pillow fights (with rulers instead of pillows). Today’s gem from wifey proves it. When discussing our resolutions to eat healthier (I’m on Fatkins, not Atkins), she said to me, “Girl, if it’s not broke, don’t fix it. You can eat whatever you want. I think if you trace back to your ancestry, you’ll find you were, like, a cougar in the Egyptian wilderness.”
AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!!! Wifey is sooo cray! God bless her.
(We’re both probably getting fired soon.)
Gchat IS LIFE.
I don’t think anything could have gotten through this sedentary year of 9-to-5’in’ quite like Gmail and its chatting capabilities. It’s like I can talk to people for 8 hours straight and make money at the same time. I’m never out of the gossip loop, I’ve got youtube links coming out of my arse, and every puny thought that runs through my brain can be shared with 12 people in an instant. I mean, how did the world exist before the interweb? What, people interacted face to face? What about ugly people? I think not.
Everyone Needs A Litsa.
Seriously, she came into my life in the summer like a heat wave—only without the sticky sweat or bad smell. She warmed my heart and soul, and I wouldn’t have survived the blackout of 2007 if it wasn’t for her ability to keep a sober head while nearly blind-drunk. She is my Harlem girl with lesbian dogs, who has hosted me, fed me, given me her bed (in more ways than one), and acted as a sex-cellent partner in crime. Unfortunately for me, her winter spoon has returned, so she’s gone all domestic, but discovering this tame side has only made me appreciate her more. Without our daily gchats, her distrust of unattractive people, and her love of yellowtail Shiraz, I don’t know how I would have made it into 2008.
Foreign Men Are Evil.
Ugh, George Bush would be too proud to hear me say this (lord knows he wouldn’t be able to read it). However, I cannot let that stop me from speaking my truth. I have learned that from Australia to Astoria, from Greece to London, these fools have as many emotional barriers as language barriers, and treat each kiss like another stamp on their passport: makes for a great story, but ain’t nothing much besides that. Like the long transcontinental flights on which they embark, they arrive on our shores with excess baggage, ready to unload on the first brown woman they see. They will leave you with nothing besides a broken heart, a confused mind, perhaps a Facebook friendship, and a fur shrug. You have been warned. Enter the foreign man’s hostel at your own risk.
Everything is Better With Gay Men.
This past year I have made many important friendships, many of which were with gay men. Some of whom I knew in previous years, our love strengthened and deepened with the dawning of the spring and the sunshine of the summer. I spent many lazy afternoons sitting in Central Park with the Boys, ogling shirtless hotties and drinking white trash sangria. We laughed, we cried, we developed blogs and I developed crushes. I’m prepared to lend my womb, heart, and soul to these men as our lives continue forward. I must name the best of the best, just so they know who they are:
Mr. Casey: you taught me about politics, life, and laughter…and I love your mom.
Vince Vaughn: I think you know who you are. You are the counterpart to Mr. Casey, and by far the most surprising love affair I’ve had this year. You make me wanna be a strong black woman.
JJS iii: Your Photoshop is too bootylicious for me, your rhymes are like whoa, and you support my love of HP. Without your support, this blacktress blog would not exist. You may be involved with a D-list, but you’re A-list to me!
Nick Cearley: Sweet god in heaven, you are it. If I had to be trapped in a closet, I hope it would be with you…and some showtunes. Billy Jean may not be your lover, but I think I am!
Tumbles: You cartwheeled your way into my heart, and being fellow Sagittarians, I knew our bond would deepen. We should go on more dates where other people come along.
Ronnie: I have a crush on you. There, I said it. Imagine how hot our mixie would be.
Jeff Hiller: Our love has only just begun. You are my brother from another mother, and I can’t wait to improvise with you.
Katie Walsh: You are a 35-year-old gay man trapped in a woman’s body. You publicly relate to my soul.
Artists and Serious Art Hobbyists Are Cray.
Since working at this art magazine, I have come in contact with more weirdos than I do on NYC transit. Apparently, acrylic painters are oppressed, anything in life can be cured with plasticize board, and “artists are lower than whale shit.” It’s gotten to the point where I’m scared to answer my phone.
I LOVE NEW YORK….WHEN SHE COONS IT UP.
I’ve given her way too much blog time to not acknowledge the force New York has been in my life. She’s a sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania (aka, Utica, NY—not even the city, y’all!), and she has about as much class as a kid at summer camp, I know. But she entertains me. She makes me feel better about myself, and reminds me why black people can’t have nice things sometimes. She is currently boo-ed up with Tailor Made—aka GEORGE WEISGERBER. Um, I don’t know about y’all, but I would die of happiness if New York came to introduce herself as Mrs. Weisgerber. Can. You. Imagine like John Lennon?!
When it comes to New York, I have one word for you: TOOKEN.
Anyone Can Be A Strong Black Woman!
I know this statement may seem shocking and bold, but I hold it to be the TRUTH. As I have shared stories with my ladies and my fellas, I’ve found that strength, courage, and wisdom rest not only with India.Arie. Clearly White in their own right, Karisa, Katie, Litsa, and even Edith Zimmerman have shown themselves to also be strong black women. With their heads held high, their pockets fat like Tony Soprano, and their chinchillas, they can handle the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Everyone Comes Into Your Life For A Reason—Or A Season.
As you know, much of my bloggery has been devoted to the quest for a “winter spoon.” But most of the people I have met (electronically and organically) have not been worth their weight in gold dubloons. I have kissed frogs, dogs, and stayed in shit way too long just for the idea of what I wanted. I have learned that I need to let that go. Besides, this global warming may work in my favor, as half the season has been warm enough to forgo spooning altogether. I am done dealing with fools and consoling myself with the thought that they’ll at least make a good blog post. It is time to stand up as the strong black woman I am and stop cleaning up after other people’s hot messes.
That is all dear Reader. If you have made it this far along, I thank you for supporting Sojourner yet again. Look forward to a year of truth, justice, and the African-American way.
Welcome to 2008! As you can see, we are not as far along as we should be as a people. To my dismay, I awoke in Brooklyn on the 1st day of 2008 and stepped outside to see NO flying cars, and discovered that I hadn’t become an omnipotent robot. I expected way more from us this far along in the aughts (this is what we call the first decade. Yeah, look it up. The blacktress teaches).
Oh yeah, and there’s still oppression everywhere.
As we look to this new year, and as the decade draws to a close, I would like to share some of the lessons I have learned this long, hard year. Perhaps you, too, will gain something from my strife. After all, what good is the struggle if you can’t help someone out?
Sometimes, the only lesson to be learned from something is to not do it again.
Yeah, I said it. I’m so done with all these people telling me that “what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger” (yeah, Kanye, I’m talking to you). I don’t think that’s true. Sometimes rough shit happens and it just sucks. And when it’s all said and done, you learn not to go down that road again. In the words of the wise musician Rick, “Experience is what you get when you don’t get what you wanted.” Yes, true that.
Don’t Buy Him A Drank (Shawty TRIPPIN’!)
Did I ever tell you about the hot mess I met back in November? We locked eyes at the Bourgie Pig (my jam and my jump-off), and, inspired by T-Pain and my liberal need to shirk the gender binary, I decided to buy HIM a drank. I was nervous as the waiter walked over with his beer (that’s what dudes drank, right?). I was pleasantly surprised when he came over and started chatting and then asked for my number. I had high hopes for this 30-year-old IT guy with the bald head and stubble I’ve come to realize is my type.
I was sorely let down when my interactions with Dave became a series of late-night text messages that amounted to nothing. He fell off the face of the earth in the month of December, citing “too much schoolwork” (um, I’m not impressed! Even ancient man knew to holla at a cavewoman after chasing mastadons). I clearly kicked him to the curb—one of the many lessons learned this year—and decided he was dead to me, much like Michael Jackson and Boyz II Men (where are you????).
You can imagine my shock when I received a text message from him at 2 AM this past Friday night!!! I believe the exact words were: “Wadd up…2 am winter spoon?”
No that fool did NOT use my words to woo me! And no he didn’t think he could call me up at 2am like I’m some common woman and expect his needs to be met. That is just like a damn white man to lose his good-goddamn mind and think he can play. I said I was a blacktress—NOT a wack-tress!
White People Have Too Much Money, and it Makes Them Stupid
Yeah, I said it. The paparazzi have shown us what Biggie was saying all along: Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems. From crazy Britney (Tears for Spears, ’08—courtesy Leila Estes!!!) to that Wicked Leona Helmsley, clearly, when white folks get money, they go a little nuts. The green makes them a hot mess, and they don’t know what to do with themselves. Leaving a damn dog money?! Shaving your head, showing your bare vajayjay, and getting into more baby mama drama than a Jerry Springer guest?! I mean, come on, people!
Get an Office Wife and an Office Husband—Preferably Gay-- and the Plantation Will Be Less Oppressive.
My first full-fledged non-temporary office job has taught me that there really is no such thing as sexual harassment if your coworkers like you. I mean, my tender office wife brings nothing but good cheer and laughter, even when I say things that don’t make sense. AND she’s even into Jesus and finds my offensive humor hilARious! Getting an office wife turns the mundane task of sitting at a desk into your very own slumber party, complete with giggling, snacks, and pillow fights (with rulers instead of pillows). Today’s gem from wifey proves it. When discussing our resolutions to eat healthier (I’m on Fatkins, not Atkins), she said to me, “Girl, if it’s not broke, don’t fix it. You can eat whatever you want. I think if you trace back to your ancestry, you’ll find you were, like, a cougar in the Egyptian wilderness.”
AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!!! Wifey is sooo cray! God bless her.
(We’re both probably getting fired soon.)
Gchat IS LIFE.
I don’t think anything could have gotten through this sedentary year of 9-to-5’in’ quite like Gmail and its chatting capabilities. It’s like I can talk to people for 8 hours straight and make money at the same time. I’m never out of the gossip loop, I’ve got youtube links coming out of my arse, and every puny thought that runs through my brain can be shared with 12 people in an instant. I mean, how did the world exist before the interweb? What, people interacted face to face? What about ugly people? I think not.
Everyone Needs A Litsa.
Seriously, she came into my life in the summer like a heat wave—only without the sticky sweat or bad smell. She warmed my heart and soul, and I wouldn’t have survived the blackout of 2007 if it wasn’t for her ability to keep a sober head while nearly blind-drunk. She is my Harlem girl with lesbian dogs, who has hosted me, fed me, given me her bed (in more ways than one), and acted as a sex-cellent partner in crime. Unfortunately for me, her winter spoon has returned, so she’s gone all domestic, but discovering this tame side has only made me appreciate her more. Without our daily gchats, her distrust of unattractive people, and her love of yellowtail Shiraz, I don’t know how I would have made it into 2008.
Foreign Men Are Evil.
Ugh, George Bush would be too proud to hear me say this (lord knows he wouldn’t be able to read it). However, I cannot let that stop me from speaking my truth. I have learned that from Australia to Astoria, from Greece to London, these fools have as many emotional barriers as language barriers, and treat each kiss like another stamp on their passport: makes for a great story, but ain’t nothing much besides that. Like the long transcontinental flights on which they embark, they arrive on our shores with excess baggage, ready to unload on the first brown woman they see. They will leave you with nothing besides a broken heart, a confused mind, perhaps a Facebook friendship, and a fur shrug. You have been warned. Enter the foreign man’s hostel at your own risk.
Everything is Better With Gay Men.
This past year I have made many important friendships, many of which were with gay men. Some of whom I knew in previous years, our love strengthened and deepened with the dawning of the spring and the sunshine of the summer. I spent many lazy afternoons sitting in Central Park with the Boys, ogling shirtless hotties and drinking white trash sangria. We laughed, we cried, we developed blogs and I developed crushes. I’m prepared to lend my womb, heart, and soul to these men as our lives continue forward. I must name the best of the best, just so they know who they are:
Mr. Casey: you taught me about politics, life, and laughter…and I love your mom.
Vince Vaughn: I think you know who you are. You are the counterpart to Mr. Casey, and by far the most surprising love affair I’ve had this year. You make me wanna be a strong black woman.
JJS iii: Your Photoshop is too bootylicious for me, your rhymes are like whoa, and you support my love of HP. Without your support, this blacktress blog would not exist. You may be involved with a D-list, but you’re A-list to me!
Nick Cearley: Sweet god in heaven, you are it. If I had to be trapped in a closet, I hope it would be with you…and some showtunes. Billy Jean may not be your lover, but I think I am!
Tumbles: You cartwheeled your way into my heart, and being fellow Sagittarians, I knew our bond would deepen. We should go on more dates where other people come along.
Ronnie: I have a crush on you. There, I said it. Imagine how hot our mixie would be.
Jeff Hiller: Our love has only just begun. You are my brother from another mother, and I can’t wait to improvise with you.
Katie Walsh: You are a 35-year-old gay man trapped in a woman’s body. You publicly relate to my soul.
Artists and Serious Art Hobbyists Are Cray.
Since working at this art magazine, I have come in contact with more weirdos than I do on NYC transit. Apparently, acrylic painters are oppressed, anything in life can be cured with plasticize board, and “artists are lower than whale shit.” It’s gotten to the point where I’m scared to answer my phone.
I LOVE NEW YORK….WHEN SHE COONS IT UP.
I’ve given her way too much blog time to not acknowledge the force New York has been in my life. She’s a sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania (aka, Utica, NY—not even the city, y’all!), and she has about as much class as a kid at summer camp, I know. But she entertains me. She makes me feel better about myself, and reminds me why black people can’t have nice things sometimes. She is currently boo-ed up with Tailor Made—aka GEORGE WEISGERBER. Um, I don’t know about y’all, but I would die of happiness if New York came to introduce herself as Mrs. Weisgerber. Can. You. Imagine like John Lennon?!
When it comes to New York, I have one word for you: TOOKEN.
Anyone Can Be A Strong Black Woman!
I know this statement may seem shocking and bold, but I hold it to be the TRUTH. As I have shared stories with my ladies and my fellas, I’ve found that strength, courage, and wisdom rest not only with India.Arie. Clearly White in their own right, Karisa, Katie, Litsa, and even Edith Zimmerman have shown themselves to also be strong black women. With their heads held high, their pockets fat like Tony Soprano, and their chinchillas, they can handle the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Everyone Comes Into Your Life For A Reason—Or A Season.
As you know, much of my bloggery has been devoted to the quest for a “winter spoon.” But most of the people I have met (electronically and organically) have not been worth their weight in gold dubloons. I have kissed frogs, dogs, and stayed in shit way too long just for the idea of what I wanted. I have learned that I need to let that go. Besides, this global warming may work in my favor, as half the season has been warm enough to forgo spooning altogether. I am done dealing with fools and consoling myself with the thought that they’ll at least make a good blog post. It is time to stand up as the strong black woman I am and stop cleaning up after other people’s hot messes.
That is all dear Reader. If you have made it this far along, I thank you for supporting Sojourner yet again. Look forward to a year of truth, justice, and the African-American way.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Would You Like a Steaming, Hot cup of TRUTH????
Look, look-- Apparently, HOT-lanta can handle my truth:
This photo was sent to me by a Southern white woman as she made her own sojourn to her homeland of South Carolina. This cafe can be found in the Atlanta international airport. I didn't see that last time I was there (though, I was so oppressed and weary after my travels that I wouldn't be surprised if it slipped right by my blurry eyes).
Is this cafe supposed to be my 40 acres? Where's my cut of the earnings from this place?! You know they've got to be some steady cash flow, as all things at airports cost a million dollars.
I think we all need to go there and demand some reparations!
Monday, December 24, 2007
Tailor-Made...for ME?!
Y'all, I am on the plantation on Christmas Eve? I don't think this is what the baby Jesus would have wanted.
Luckily, I'm the only one here, so I can blog with abandon. It's funny how I tend to handle more personal biz-nass on office time than I do when I'm not here. I actually plan to come back later in the week to get some essential photocopying done. Is that wrong?
Anyway, I'm sure you're all wondering about the status of THE GIVER. Unfortch, I may be briefly silenced, for it turns out he is indeed a savvy internet stalker. Apparently, a name like Sojourner "you can't handle the" Truth is very "funny and interesting," and something, "you don't forget when told of it in passing." The Giver has found the blog. He has read the tales (luckily, not the the tale of how he earned his nickname), and I think the blacktress may have to silence her voice. It's just like a white male to keep me down.
Here's what I can let you know: the date went well....I think. It began with me getting him good and tipsy at Butai, where Special K pours dranks with abandon. Butai is my Saturday tradition, beginning around 5pm and ending whenever I have a good enough reason to leave. During our idle chat, I received a text about a party in Brooklyn. While this was not planned, I was thankful for it, as it made me out to be very popular and important.
We then went to try and see Juno, because nothing sets the mood like a story of teen pregnancy. Surprisingly, other people had the same idea, because it was too crowded and we had to see a later show. As we walked out, I explained how awkward I was (this was during one of my many ramblings that began due to nervousness), and he said, "I know.... I read your blog."
As Scooby Doo would say, "Ruh-Roh!" He found me out! He knows I'm slightly insane, mildly militant, and have gone out with randoms!
Cue more incessant babbling. I swear, he made a black girl blush several times-- which you know is tough with this blacktress.
We then went to Crocodile Lounge (I think you all know my feelings on pizza and skee ball), where I drank red wine (cause I'm classy) and flirted like the shameless schoolgirl I am. It seemed for some strange reason he was still drawn to me, so I figured I wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. We found seats in the theater, trying to avoid sitting next to unattractive people (you know ugly is contagious!), and I made my smooch move. I mean, I was thinking about it and I figured if I just got in there I'd feel slightly less cray.
It worked.
We then tucked in to watch the movie, which ended up being the bestest thing ever. Actually, while I'm singing male praises, let me address one man in particular:
Dear Michael Cera, you awkward, gangly teen-- I am so drawn to your confusion. I identify with your loss for words and statement of the obvious. You ask if you can makeout with people, much in the way I do. You wear short-shorts, and I can almost see your junk, but I try not to look because you're too young for me...and because I'm waiting for Harry Potter to cross these shores. If, for some reason, HP and I end up having trouble with immigration services, it's you and me, boo.
Anyway, The Giver gave me a little hand-on-leg action during the film, which I turned into hand-holding action, and for the next 90 minutes I was totally swooning over the romantic subplot, my girl-crush Jennifer Garner, and the Giver beside me. We then hit up Chickpea for some vegemetarianish* delights. He got me some hummus-- holla at a middle-eastern playa-- and we chatted as he enjoyed his first falafel! Tenderness! You know blacktresses just bring out the "adventurous side" in white men.
We hit up another random bar--where I just had water!-- and talked a bit. While shooting the shit, he said, "Yeah, I tried dating two girls at once, but that was drama. I'm all about monogamous relationships."
He dropped the M-bomb. Granted, it was in no way connected to me, and probably means he's missing his ex-GF or something else unsavory, but the word itself just makes me tingly....down there. I mean, drop an M-bomb, and I am done and done. If this blog has shown one thing, it's that it's not only hard out there for a pimp, but it's hard out there for a blacktress trying to find a winter spoon! It's been a rough 007, and it's time shit stopped being cray and started getting real. This body ain't getting any younger, people!!!
Anyway, I clearly went back to his house, to get in the spirit of giving--holla! And I think he had me at morning eggs and bagels. I mean, a can-do man who will hook up some protein on a chilly winter's morning is one to callback, you know?
He is now off in his homeland for the holidays....where one can only hope the white fields of Ohio (in more ways than one) make him long for the blacktress. Until then, I will just have to entertain myself with my gays and my gals.
Um, guys, if I don't hear from him while he's gone does this mean the whole thing was in my head?
* I know that's not a word.
Luckily, I'm the only one here, so I can blog with abandon. It's funny how I tend to handle more personal biz-nass on office time than I do when I'm not here. I actually plan to come back later in the week to get some essential photocopying done. Is that wrong?
Anyway, I'm sure you're all wondering about the status of THE GIVER. Unfortch, I may be briefly silenced, for it turns out he is indeed a savvy internet stalker. Apparently, a name like Sojourner "you can't handle the" Truth is very "funny and interesting," and something, "you don't forget when told of it in passing." The Giver has found the blog. He has read the tales (luckily, not the the tale of how he earned his nickname), and I think the blacktress may have to silence her voice. It's just like a white male to keep me down.
Here's what I can let you know: the date went well....I think. It began with me getting him good and tipsy at Butai, where Special K pours dranks with abandon. Butai is my Saturday tradition, beginning around 5pm and ending whenever I have a good enough reason to leave. During our idle chat, I received a text about a party in Brooklyn. While this was not planned, I was thankful for it, as it made me out to be very popular and important.
We then went to try and see Juno, because nothing sets the mood like a story of teen pregnancy. Surprisingly, other people had the same idea, because it was too crowded and we had to see a later show. As we walked out, I explained how awkward I was (this was during one of my many ramblings that began due to nervousness), and he said, "I know.... I read your blog."
As Scooby Doo would say, "Ruh-Roh!" He found me out! He knows I'm slightly insane, mildly militant, and have gone out with randoms!
Cue more incessant babbling. I swear, he made a black girl blush several times-- which you know is tough with this blacktress.
We then went to Crocodile Lounge (I think you all know my feelings on pizza and skee ball), where I drank red wine (cause I'm classy) and flirted like the shameless schoolgirl I am. It seemed for some strange reason he was still drawn to me, so I figured I wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. We found seats in the theater, trying to avoid sitting next to unattractive people (you know ugly is contagious!), and I made my smooch move. I mean, I was thinking about it and I figured if I just got in there I'd feel slightly less cray.
It worked.
We then tucked in to watch the movie, which ended up being the bestest thing ever. Actually, while I'm singing male praises, let me address one man in particular:
Dear Michael Cera, you awkward, gangly teen-- I am so drawn to your confusion. I identify with your loss for words and statement of the obvious. You ask if you can makeout with people, much in the way I do. You wear short-shorts, and I can almost see your junk, but I try not to look because you're too young for me...and because I'm waiting for Harry Potter to cross these shores. If, for some reason, HP and I end up having trouble with immigration services, it's you and me, boo.
Anyway, The Giver gave me a little hand-on-leg action during the film, which I turned into hand-holding action, and for the next 90 minutes I was totally swooning over the romantic subplot, my girl-crush Jennifer Garner, and the Giver beside me. We then hit up Chickpea for some vegemetarianish* delights. He got me some hummus-- holla at a middle-eastern playa-- and we chatted as he enjoyed his first falafel! Tenderness! You know blacktresses just bring out the "adventurous side" in white men.
We hit up another random bar--where I just had water!-- and talked a bit. While shooting the shit, he said, "Yeah, I tried dating two girls at once, but that was drama. I'm all about monogamous relationships."
He dropped the M-bomb. Granted, it was in no way connected to me, and probably means he's missing his ex-GF or something else unsavory, but the word itself just makes me tingly....down there. I mean, drop an M-bomb, and I am done and done. If this blog has shown one thing, it's that it's not only hard out there for a pimp, but it's hard out there for a blacktress trying to find a winter spoon! It's been a rough 007, and it's time shit stopped being cray and started getting real. This body ain't getting any younger, people!!!
Anyway, I clearly went back to his house, to get in the spirit of giving--holla! And I think he had me at morning eggs and bagels. I mean, a can-do man who will hook up some protein on a chilly winter's morning is one to callback, you know?
He is now off in his homeland for the holidays....where one can only hope the white fields of Ohio (in more ways than one) make him long for the blacktress. Until then, I will just have to entertain myself with my gays and my gals.
Um, guys, if I don't hear from him while he's gone does this mean the whole thing was in my head?
* I know that's not a word.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)