To Eli Reed.....

My Australian has been found out. (see her comment on the previous post)

I think we are soul sisters from different misters. I will tell you all the things I discovered from reading her blogger profile that prove my point:

1. She’s from Detroit, but lives in Sydney.
This makes us soul mates because Detroit, Michigan—aka, the City That God Forgot—is my second home. It is where my mother’s from, and where I spent every childhood summer and now all major holidays. I also want to live in Sydney, as that’s where the men appreciate the blacktress and would probably love the truth.

2. She is a comedian, much like myself.
But we probably wouldn’t steal each other’s thunder, and could probably be like a funnier, more attractive version of Frangela (you know, those black chicks who comment on VH1 shows and aren’t really funny).

3. She has a boyfriend and a cat.
These are two things I want more than anything! I’ve had each of them at different points in my life, but to have both a BF and a feline AT THE SAME TIME….WHILE LIVING IN AUSTRALIA…..she lives the dream, my I’m living a dream deferred.

I can’t wait til the day we magically meet and become besties-- it'll be like an episode of that Aussie TV show "Neighbours," that used to star Natalie Imbruglia. Maybe she can find me some Australian men who like the blacktresses so that when I come I’ll have some dudes waiting. I don’t know how long you’ve been reading this blog, my international soul sister, but when it comes to men, I like a tall glass of skim milk! Holla at a calcium boost!

Someone Down Under....I'm Talking to YOU!

Bless me readers, for I have sinned.

My internet stalking skills have been taken to new heights.
It has been 12 years since my last confession.

I have added a lovely feature to my blog that allows me to track visitors. I can tell from whence they came, how long they perused my truths, and what prompted such a visit. I’ve found this to be exciting, ego-boosting, and hilarious, as it is quite interesting to see how people all over the world have stumbled upon this page. Some of searches that are likely to lead you to Sojo:

1. If you're in Malaysia ask Google: what to do if my cat is in mating season

2. Go to Yahoo! And look up “black greeks soundz”—clearly this got someone to my post on my favorite bar, SOUNDZ, and probably something on the fedora-wearing, fur shrug-giving Greek loser.

3. If you’re looking for a gay men diary blog, the blacktress is your best bet.

4. Someone somewhere searched the phrase no love for hos-- I mean, who does have love for hos? Not this blacktress!

5. My new favorite came today, from someone in NYC. They were on Google searching the following: wifey which one are you urban poems.

The thing is, I use the word wifey sparingly and Sojo doesn't even appear on the first page of the Google search. This implies that someone perused the offerings available and said to him/her/hirself, "Hmm....Diary of a Mad Blacktress....that sounds like a place where I could get some urban poems." They were probably sorely disappointed to find that my only urban poem is an "Ode to Harry Potter."

Random search phrases aside, I have also noticed another interesting pattern among visitors. Someone in Sydney, Australia, has been reading my blog on a daily basis. Who could it be????? Could it be the man who inspired this post? I only know two people located in that city, and I doubt the other one has such daily blogging time available, the way a web designer would.

This is intriguing and I'm haunted with unknowing. So I write this post, in an attempt to draw my Australian reader out--smoke him/her out of her hole, as GW would say.

Show yourself, Australian. Leave a comment, show some love, send me a kebab--or a kangaroo.
Sojourner knows you're out there.

2008: The Year of Boo-ification

My procrastination has continued into the afternoon. Here is an excerpt from a conversation I had with my gay husband. I think one read will show you why I think everything is better with gay men.

Me: i'm hornier than a boy scout at camp after lights-out
like, wtf
JJSiii: HA
Me: that's my new line
i think i should copyright it
JJSiii: It seems to be a common problem these days
the terrorists done dropped a horny bomb on the US
Me: HAHAHAHAH.
JJSiii: it'd make sense
I mean, every gay man I know keeps talking about how they get boners all over the place
And they are not alone.

….. There was an hour of time when I psychoanalyzed text messages from the photographer and had to be talked down—it’s not particularly interesting.

Me: my luck with men in the past year (i mean, you know) has been rough.
JJSiii: it's 2008
I decided that this is the year of boo-ification
I was convinced it was going to be with one dude
and out of nowhere, there was a boo in my face
This is THE YEAR OF BOOIFICATION.
Remember that.

I will, JJ. I will NEVER FORGET.

Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm just being pessimistic and things are going well with the Photographer. He did seem to like the fresh-baked apple pie I brought out on Saturday night.
And the sex I gave him.

Is This Appropriate?

Hey there gang,

I've taken procrastination to a new level this morning: I am looking on my magazine's website and reading comments on old articles I wrote. The purpose this activity serves is twofold: I get to avoid listening to my voice mail messages AND I get to feed my ego. While my own self-absorption is nothing new (hello, this is my blog!), I thought I would write because I just saw the best comment ever and had to share it with you.

So, I write a feature where I interview a different artist each month and bring them to interweb fame by posting their work and writing about their "process." One of my favorite guys was a cattle rancher who does portraits of cows and bulls--clearly he is a man of many talents. I was just re-reading his piece for old time's sake and saw that someone posted the following comment:

Love the article. It's beautiful. I remember all the great times we had together. Especially the cow we skinned. I didn't know you exercised racehorses!!!!! Wish we could go back and do all the great things at the ranch one more time.

Please tell me you caught that third sentence!!! "Especially the cow we skinned."
Now, I don't know what kind of shady dealings this artist/cattle-rancher is up to, but I didn't think skinning cows was part of the job description. In fact, I think part of ranching means you help cows grow and give them tons of grass--and then later make them hamburgers at Johnny Rocket's.

Okay, you may be thinking, "Sojourner, maybe this is a private joke between two friends; after all, skinning cows is a little too gross." Initially, I was tempted to agree, as this was the only way my brain could process such weirdness. But upon closer inspection (cause I have that kind of time), it's clear from the sentence structure that the author doesn't think such a statement is strange. It's sandwiched between two compliments, and there's no dash, italics, or funky font--or even a smiley face icon or "haha!"-- to imply that this is meant to be humorous. The person is clearly referring factually to an event in the past that was good times.

Either way, I think it's completely unprofessional for this "friend" to post about such activities on a major art publication's website. This is supposed to be the artist's moment of glory and it's being overshadowed by the fact that he skins cows with friends for fun--and whatever else would make this person want to "go back and do all the great things at the ranch one more time."

Okay, is it just me, or does that last sentence make you think there may have been some sort of Brokeback Mountain-style orgies taking place on the ranch?

Charming? Or Alarming?

i just sent the following ecard to the Photographer:


Too much?

Would you go on a date with me again if you got this?

Oh, I should mention that I wrote:

We need a do-over. Saturday? I owe you an apple pie. -naomi Can you tell I'm totally bored on the plantation?

Confusion

I'd like to bring your attention to the following email, which was waiting in my inbox when I returned home from my date with the Photographer last night (which did NOT go well, by the way--I think he found me about as interesting as an SAT textbook...I don't think he'll call. But, if he happens to read this, he SHOULD call, and I'll bake him a granny Smith apple pie).

This email comes from a man who I've referred to as "cum-face." Um....that's all you need to know. We went on two dates back in September, and that was the end of that. As you know, I never put a guy's number in my cell phone until he deserves it, so the process of erasing was pretty easy with this one--though the nickname he earned left me traumatized.

Anyway, I get this email from him in my alias account. As you read, keep in mind two things:
1. I never gave him either of my email addresses.
2. We HAVE NOT SPOKEN OR INTERACTED SINCE SEPTEMBER 2007.

Naomi.

How are you? Happy 2008.

I guess it's been a while. I left my record company in October. Been starting a company on my own, so I've been laying low.

It was great hanging out with you and you're a big part of why 2007 was so good. For what that's worth. Will never forget that sweater skirt your wore that night

chrz/douglas

Um, what? We went on two dates and then I was degraded--I didn't even LET him cum on my face. How could I make 2007 great?

And, ironically, I wore the "sweater skirt" to which he is referring on my date with the Photographer last night (and it is a sweater dress, for the record). Unfortunately, it didn't seem to have the same affect on him.

::Sigh::

can you TOP THAT?!

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???????