Pseudo Celeb Sighting!!!

Okay, guys, I swear this is not "Vampire Month" on the blacktress blog, but I can't help but share today's news. Bear with me.

I had lunch in the West Village today with a friend who just finished his final exams for this semester of law school. It was cool to see him, and I was way less autistic than I've been in my recent reunions with friends. I think it's because he's a Will Truman-esque character that I feel safe with--and who I plan to have represent me in future legal troubles (copyrighting the term 'blacktress,' perhaps?).

We were dining on Mexican (one of the cuisines I was deprived of down under, and am now eating with the ferocity of a woman carrying sextuplets), and in walked two gentlemen. One was short, the other was average, with facial hair. They were backlit by the sun and difficult to see at first, but I instantly recognized those faces.

Actors Adam Busch and Danny Strong, who were regulars on "Buffy the Vampire Slayer"-- one of my favorite television shows of all time.















Look at how cool they are! Adam with his spiked up hair and his intense gaze. Danny, looking sharp yet earnest with that tender smile. He's, like, 4'11 in real life, guys. And I totally don't care, he is the coolest.

Don't act like you're surprised. You know how I feel about vamps. And teen angst. And lesbian witches.

Needless to say, I was giddy as a school girl on a summer's day when I saw them. I could not stop leaning over to see what they were up to. I was trying to sharpen my bionic hearing, but couldn't catch exactly what they were ordering. Danny asked about onions and peppers, and I immediately made a mental note, just in case I ever invited him to a dinner party and needed to know his dislikes and/or allergies. The highlight was when Danny asked the girls sitting next to them how their guacamole was, and told them they inspired his order. They said it was good, and he actually got up and went to their table and tried their gauc!!!

I wanted to become those girls right away. Immediately. The jealousy was palpable.

I think what made it so intense for me was not only that they were on Buffy, but that on the show they played friends--and here they were in real life, just eating some Mexican, like.... TWO FRIENDS!!!

This simply proves what I've been saying for decades (television is reality), and what US Weekly has been saying for years (stars--they're just like US!)

I was too awkward and nervous to talk to them--who wants to be bothered while eating? So I just sorta smiled at Adam Busch as I walked out and he looked like, "um, why are you looking at me?" Which was all I really needed, actually.

I was tempted to ask them where Alyson Hannigan was, and if she needed a nanny for her offspring, but I figured it was best to quit before the authorities were called.


okay, I'm done sharing. Back to packing for tomorrow's journey to....the center of Caucasia.

If You Like Twilight, You'll Love DUSK

Since I’ve given up on men, I’ve started reading the Twilight books to get my fix of the good stuff-- I am all about the sexual tension and abstinence message. In fact, Twilight has inspired me to write a book of my own. I want to share a draft of the first chapter with you now, if you don't mind.

Here’s a bit of a backstory: It’s about a girl—stay with me—and she’s in love with this boy, but he’s not a boy, he’s a vampire. And he’s actually obsessed with the scent of her blood, and it drives him into a sexual frenzy, but he can’t have it or she’ll die. It’s a huge metaphor for blue balls. This is called…

DUSK

Beaut walked into her house in Spoons, Alaska, and the slamming of the door behind her was almost too much too bear. Although Gregory had just dropped her off 10 minutes ago, it felt like an eternity had already gone by.

Eternity.

That’s all Beaut was asking for. She couldn’t understand why Gregory wouldn’t just bone bite her just once, so she could become like him.

“Beaut, you okay?” Beaut realized she had been standing in front of the door with her eyes closed, lightly swaying, and almost touching her budding breasts. Her father Matt’s gruff, depression-tinged voice snapped her out of her thoughts of Gregory. Matt was a security guard at the local iHop, but everyone in the town came to enforce the law. At the moment he was holding a machete, which he’d been sharpening in the garage before he heard Beaut come in.

“Yeah, Dad, sorry.” She walked into the kitchen and set her bag on the table, turning immediately to the refrigerator. Hopefully he couldn’t see her bright red face.

Her red face.

Embarrassment was the only time Beaut’s pale skin got any color. Well, unless she was with Gregory. One look into his liquid topaz eyes and her face instantly flushed like a toilet—a toilet full of emotion. All of her lips swelled, and she wanted nothing more than to be close to him. But she knew her greatest desire—and Gregory’s, too—could be the very end of them.

You see, Gregory was a vampire. A 347-year-old vampire who didn’t look a day over 18. In fact, he was gorgeous in every sense of the word. His smooth Caucasian skin was colder than the Alaskan winter, but when he stepped into the sunlight, he shone like an Atlantic City stripper dipped in body glitter. Beaut could recall the first day she met Gregory. They were sitting in biology, studying human reproduction, and he refused to look at her. He was shaking slightly, and Beaut thought that maybe the diagrams had him aroused. She tried to ignore it, and smiled, but he just looked away. When class ended, he stormed out—but she could still see the protrusion through his denim cutoffs.

Just then, the phone rang, calling Beaut back to reality. She sprang up to answer it, hoping it was Gregory.

“Hello?” she panted desperately, like a crack addict hoping her dealer had the goods….of sex.

“Hey, Beaut, what’s up?” It was Noah, Beaut’s friend who lived in the trailer park a few miles down. Noah was Beaut’s only friend, and her heart welled up when she heard his voice. She could almost feel his burning hot satiny copper skin and his liquid onyx eyes on her as he spoke.

She walked into the living room, trying to avoid her dad’s gaze. It made him too happy when he knew Noah and Beaut were hanging out, and Beaut couldn’t explain why it was never going to happen.

You see, Noah was a werewolf. And there existed a decades-old feud between the werewolves and vampires—you know, like in the movie “Underworld.” Although it was scary, to her he was the same old tall, lanky, russet-colored Noah, and she loved him.

But not as much as she loved Gregory. Of this she was certain. After their chat Beaut got to work making dinner for her father, who was now sitting on a bearskin rug in the living room, wearing a loincloth. As she gutted the fish he’d caught the day before, the soft, wet insides of the fish mimicked her own softness and wetness, and her thoughts floated again to Gregory.

It was almost 6pm, and she knew Gregory would come to her room after she went to bed. Until then, she would have to keep her mind occupied with dinner, homework, and re-caulking the windows.

Beaut went to bed a little after 10. She was tired, but unable to close her eyes. She changed into the pink nightie she’d purchased at Victoria’s Secret a few weeks before, but hid under the covers. She wanted to tempt Gregory, but not too much. She closed her eyes and found herself drifting off to dreamland despite herself.

That night Beaut dreamed she was in the forest with Gregory. They’d gotten there quickly, her riding on his back. As they came to a clearing he slowed and lowered her to the ground. As she climbed down, they both noticed a wet spot on his back, where her vagina legs had been wrapped around him.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

Gregory grinned, the crooked smile Beaut loved. The fire from his liquid topaz eyes smoldered, lighting the embers that, before him, had died in the campfire of her heart. Even though she knew it would be trouble, she couldn’t help but want s’more.

“It’s okay,” he said.

He put his arms around her waist, and Beaut felt a giant throbbing surge of emotions. In one swift, confident movement, he lowered her to the ground and before she could catch her breath, her top was off, revealing her My Little Pony bra.

Gregory lowered his face to her neck, and Beaut instinctively lifted her hips. She could feel his breath on her neck as he took in her scent. He continued to move southward, and Beaut didn’t stop him. He reached her crotchal region love garden, and suddenly, Gregory turned angry. He looked up at her, his eyes turning red with fury.

“Beaut, why didn’t you tell me?!” He jumped up and walked away.

“I’m…I’m sorry…I forgot. I thought I was just spotting.”

Beaut had forgotten she had her period, and didn’t warn Gregory. It was always hard for him to be around her during her time of the month. As if the cramps, bloating, and fatigue in those 5 days weren’t enough for Beaut to deal with, she had to be separated from the only thing that mattered to her.

“Gregory, come back!!” Beaut yelled as she scrambled to get dressed. She couldn’t see him anywhere. She began to panic, and being the helpless twit she was, sat and sobbed, praying that Gregory would return.

Just then, Beaut woke up to feel an icy hand on her neck.

“Beaut, wake up,” Gregory said softly. She was shaking in bed, and he was worried. She opened her eyes slowly, making sure she was no longer dreaming. She smiled weakly. “Are you okay?” Gregory asked, concerned. Beaut sighed.

“I can’t even have all of you in my dreams,” Beaut answered, sitting upright.

Gregory saw her pink nightie and looked away, shyly. Beaut also became sheepish.

“You know if there was any way, I would—“ Gregory began.

“There is a way!” Beaut interrupted him.

“I can’t do that to you,” Gregory’s voice, which normally sounded like hot butter melting on a stack of iHop pancakes, became hard. “I want you to live. To have a soul. To not look like you’re going to a boy band concert every time you step out into the sunlight.”

Just then, Beaut kissed him, hoping her lips could change his mind.

They couldn’t.

So that's what happening folks. What do you think? It's currently slated for a Winter 2009 release.

AUTHOR'S NOTE, 10/19/09: Here's chapter 2!

I am Kevin Bacon.

These recent months of travel have further solidified what I already knew to be true: the world is getting smaller and smaller by the day. With Facebook taking over the world, and people twittering and flitting about, maintaining relationships is easier than ever before.

It also makes it damn near impossible to erase someone from your memory. I've found that the people I want to keep in touch with seem to not understand how to respond to emails and don't want to use skype (::cough::REDHEAD::cough::), but the dude you drunk pashed a month ago conveniently remembers your last name, how to spell it, and makes sure to get enough internet time to friend you on the ol' facebook.

I was first caught off guard a week ago, when I got a friend request from the 21-year-old Canadian I met in Darwin. You know, the one I made out with simply because I was bored and wanted to get the Weasley twin out of my system (it didn't work). He was a nice enough fellow, but there was no point in getting attached, and there didn't seem to be much going on upstairs, so I walked away with no dramas, and expected him to disappear into the ether. He'd asked for my last name and plugged it into his mate's phone, but what are the odds that a barely legal random you'd interacted with for a total of 4 hours would actually follow through?

Apparently, quite high. I believe his first wall post was: "hey, didn't think i'd ever find u, ty took your last name out of the phone, dumb ass. but then i remember u did comedy and i u tubed you, funny story. where are u now?"

The internet will be the death of me!!! I keep forgetting that in some circles, telling someone you're a "blacktress" is quite memorable--especially when that person is from Saskatchewan.

Just when I was done marveling at the spinning tea cups that are our small world, I was dealt another shocking blow of connections this very morning. Here's the go:
As you know, I was in St. Croix last week and met a random--the one who looked like Duane 'The Rock' Johnson. Last night I put up a few photos on f-book--you know, to incite jealousy in friends. In the background of a few of these photos was The Rock. This morning I get the following message:

Hi Blacktress

I'm a friend of one of your friends, and when she asked me to view your comedy video in AUS I added you as a friend. Just happened to open my FB home page and in your vacation pics saw a picture of my brother THE ROCK--he lives and works in St. Croix.. hes visiting NY now, just had a laugh about how small the world is. When he gets back from visiting friends I'll have to tell him. He'll laugh.

Hope you enjoyed your vacation! - Belle

Oh. my. god. I am the black female Kevin Bacon.

So, I immediately logged on to facebook (a nasty habit that began when I living on the other side of the world), and Belle happens to be online. We immediately start chatting, and I tell her about the drunk kiss and the fact that her bro was blowing up my celly this weekend, even asking to come to the stand-up show I had Saturday night. I am hesitant to tell her that he seems like a total toolbox and completely not good for me....until she brings it up.
Our convo went something like this:

Belle: Oh my god, this is too funny. I wish I could tell [our mutual friend] right now. I'm always telling her what a loser my brother is.
Me: hahahhaa, oh no! oh sweet jesus, i am starting off my nyc single life on the wrong foot.
Belle: Seriously. They should put up flyers around St. Croix, "do not kiss this man."
Me: I will do it. I will return to Pirate Island and warn other wenches.

[later, after more man-related banter, including her venting about her bro, I break out the TRUTH]

Me: Your brother is--no offense, I say this as an astute woman of color and writer who has kissed him on the mouth--a selfish man-boy who thinks of no one but himself.
Belle: you are my new best friend, lol.
Because it takes people years to see that about him.

Okay, guys, let's break this down: when a dude's own sister not only tells you he sucks, but then allows you to talk shit about him, you know you've dodged a bullet. I mean, this is out of control.
But also wonderful.
I'm going to start putting up pics of every potential suitor on my facebook page nad see which of my internet friends knows the clown. I'm sure one of them is bound to have some inside information, corroborating or debunking my beliefs. So far, I'm glad I trusted my gut and didn't return The Rock's phone calls. If he can't even be nice enough to his sister so that she at least lies for him, then you know he wasn't going to bring a damn thing to the blacktress' potluck.

My New Favorite Blog: Conversations With Deb

So, you know how I'm really into gchatting and not actually interacting face-to-face, right?

Well, I'm kicking it on the G-chat like the G(angsta) that I am, and notice a friend's new status message. I love when the status messages are links to huffington post and NYTimes articles, cause I am forced to learn about things and form opinions.

I love it more when they are links to viral vids or other blogs, as this allows me to further my procrastination.

Well, nothing could be better on a Sunday morning than Conversations With Deb. A collection of real-life ridiculous conversations writer and comedian Deb has had over the years, with a diverse group of people, ranging from bad dates to crushes to none other than Price is Right host Bob Barker.

Please know that all these conversations are true. It makes the laughter so much louder.

The Last Unicorn

It's Wednesday, and I leave the fair island of St. Croix tomorrow. It's been quite an adventure.
I anticipated quiet nights, but instead got Coors Lights.
I thought my disinterest in the male gender would emanate from me like a stinky pheromone, but instead I got hit on by a frat boy who resembled Duane 'The Rock' Johnson.

Old habits die hard.

However, I did discover a long-lost species of man that I thought had died. This is unsurprising, as many geologists, anthropologists, and mixologists discover species previously thought to be extinct when journeying to isolated islands. This man is no exception.

During my visit, the younger sister of KWalsh reconnected with an old flame from years ago, and came to us bitter old broads for advice.
"I don't really know what I want to do," she sighed, mildly confused.
"Well, what's his deal?" I asked, hoping the back story would enable me to give excellent advice.
"He was the drummer from last night," she reminded me. "He also teaches swimming to little kids. We have a great friendship, he's very honest and open, so I think it'll be drama-free, either way."

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold the phone, lady. You're telling me you've got a man who is creative, works with children, and expresses his emotions in an open manner, and you don't know what you want to do??

"Lock that shit down, girl!!!" I exclaimed.
This young, wide-eyed maiden did not know that what she had on her hands: the male equivalent of a unicorn. She was actually this close to holding on to something we'd all heard about, but thought wasn't actually real.
Until now.



"That bitch is a fucking unicorn," I explained to my young friend, who was still uncertain.
I mean I'd be proposing to the man within 3 weeks! (In fact, I've learned from certain redheads that failure to lock it down any sooner will result in him dating someone else and acting like you're a useless step-child of a woman.)

I can't remember the last time someone who possessed all those qualities made himself known to me in a sexy way, and actually stayed awesome after there was some P-in-V action. I'm about to make a documentary about this random and sell it to NatGeo (love that they abbreviate it--they're hip with the young people). Can you imagine the product tie-ins?
Unicorn Condoms (for his horn)
Uni-candy-Corns (Halloween fun!)
The possibilities are endless.

Speaking of unicorns and awesomeness, how effin' amped are you for Huge Jacked Man's new movie?! I am going to be in there like swimwear at 10:45am on Friday morning!! My need to see the movie opening day coupled with my dislike of large crowds, children, and talking during movies, requires I see it bright and early on the matinee tip.
I am totally gonna get prego at the end of it, I just know it.

Bea Arthur: Gangsta Geriatric

I have very little internet access on the island, so I was absolutely shocked when I hopped on the information super-highway just moments ago and discovered that Bea Arthur passed away 2 days ago!

As you all know, I am an old, weary broad. And Bea Arthur is my role model.

Look at her:

She is so sassy, and her shoulder pads give her the dominating appearance of a linebacker, which says 'don't fuck with me'.
It also says, "don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like BEA?"

Yes, yes I do.

The way she sulks about, that dry laugh, that beautiful baritone voice in which she chastised Rose for her stupidity, and tried to reign in Blanche's wanton sexuality. She is a strong black woman in a white woman's frame.

There are now only 2 Golden Girls left for me to idolize. This is very stressful for me. Luckily, Bea has left me pearls of wisdom to take with me for the rest of my life. Here's a little nugget from the great Miss Arthur:



Sniff, Swig, Puff. Done and done.

Dear American Airlines: Save the Drama for Obama

It's 2:17am. I write to you now from the Best Western Airport Hotel and Casino.

American Airlines can S a D. It is now, along with Delta, on my shit list.

In the last 6 weeks I have been on 8 planes, in 12 airports, and not once had a layover or delay...until now. And it's been more hardcore than I could have imagined.

I think you all know I have bad luck with flying. And while I always brace myself for some drama and foolishness, my recent rash of good luck on international journeys had me hopeful. Besides, my desire to get to the islands was so great, I figured I could will the airline into functioning normally.

Apparently, not.
It started off smoothly, although the Metrocard machine ate the $5 I inserted for my AirTrain ticket. I shook it off, trying to maintain the relaxed vibe I'd cultivated in my time down under. A seemingly long line at security actually moved quite quickly, and my 3-oz. bottles of lotion and shampoo were FDA approved. I only had an hour before my flight, so I did what any normal person does when they have time to kill: read 'Twilight' at the newsstand. Everything seemed aces until 4:35--the boarding time--rolled around.
"Ladies and gentlemen, there seems to be a problem with the fuel pump, and maintenance is checking now. We don't know how long it'll be, but we should find out shortly. Boarding will not take place now."
Ruh-roh.

When they don't know what's up or how long it'll take to handle a scandal, it's never a good sign. 20 minutes later, chick explains that there will be an hour delay, making it impossible for me to make my connecting flight.
How will I get my groove back now???? I thought as I waited on line to talk to the attendant. Just then, another voice came over the PA, telling us a new plane would be needed, and we wouldn't be leaving until 9:15.

Current time: 6:05.
Awesome.

We finally get going at 10pm, and upon landing, a flight attendant informs us that there is a problem getting the door to the aircraft open, and asked for our patience. A chorus of moans ensued, and I had visions of the weird guy across from me staring at me with glowing red eyes before mauling me with his bare hands.

Airlines are so fucking annoying. You pay them alot of money. They make you show up ridiculously early and tell you it's for your own good. This you do after packing a bag so strategically that you'd have to be part terrorist to make it work. Then they make you wait on crazy lines and treat you like an unwanted third-marriage step-child by people who don't like their jobs, and then force you to take off items of clothing as they judge your sketch factor. If you make it through all this, it is their job to provide an aircraft and take you to a destination at a time that they've set, no less. But time after time, they disappoint and screw it up, providing lame excuses and no remorse.

Reminds me of every relationship I've ever had.

So now it's almost 2:30 am and I have 6 hours until my 40-minute flight to St. Croix. I'm going to take a quick shower and get some quick zzz's and hope there are no bedbugs. I will step off the plane bleary-eyed and confused, and demand a mojito. After a couple of those, this American Airlines debacle will be a distant memory.

Until then, I rant.