Normal is not an option.

I have reached a new low. Only, this isn't as outwardly tragic as much of the events during the "Summer of New Lows." This is more of an internal low, an emotional low that I thought, as a grown ass woman, I'd be over by this age. I am seriously Aspberger's right now.

Let me set the scene.

So, I'm on the interwebs, just typing on some F-book walls--you know, the nightly usual. I switch tabs and notice that a certain crush is online (damn you, gchat list!). Our last date was a week ago, and he's currently in the South America for a week, on a business trip (damn you, Southern Hemisphere--you're always taking my men away at the most delicate times!). My course of action and thought process went something like this:

1. Aaaah, he's online!
[I immediately go invisible so that he won't know I'm online.]
2. Wait, why am I hiding myself? There's nothing bad about being on the internet at 11:45pm on a Wednesday night. Right?
[I go back to visible]
3. This feels oddly invasive. I should not be able to know he's online, I feel like I'm inadvertently stalking.
[I set my chat settings so that he "never" shows up in my chat list.]
4. Wait, maybe it is weird that I'm online so late. He'll think I'm watching web porn or something.
[I set my chat settings to block, so that he doesn't know I'm online.]
5. I wonder if he'll email me. Should I have emailed him? If he was having sex with Gisele Bunchen's cousin right now, he probably wouldn't be checking his email, so that's a relief.
Unless he was going online to write everyone he knows to tell them he'd just slept with a total Brazilian hottie.

Note: Never once did I think it was acceptable to IM him and say "hello, how's Brazil?"
Cause, you know, that'd be too logical, and bordering on polite. I mean, what if he--gasp!--knew I was interested in him even though I hadn't seen him in a week? Can you imagine how disinterested he'd be as a result of my interest?

It seems, gentle readers, that Sojourner can't handle her own truth of crushing. What is wrong with me? In my head, every woman in Brazil looks like Gisele Bunchen. They are all hot and lithe and oiled, in an effortless sort of way. And when you enter the country, customs officials check the duration of your stay. If it is longer than 28 days, you are required to undergo cosmetic surgery, so as not to ruin the national character by bringing down the general hotness of the country.

And this, my friends, is where the line between sanity and insanity can be drawn. This is also where you can draw the line between, "single gal in her twenties," and "future smelly cat lady."

Sometimes I feel clumsier than Fergie.


Why did this song come into my head just now?

I'm Confused

I don't understand why "Single Ladies" was the Video of the Year. Can someone explain it to me?

Look, I love dancing up in the club, telling men I don't know to "put a ring on it" as much as the next girl, and I definitely think of it as Song of the Year, but the video was black and white, with Beyonce and two other girls dancing in leotards. What's exactly innovative, groundbreaking, or visually stunning about it as a video?

Okay, okay, Beyonce's body--and her ability to do those moves in high heels!--but scantily clad women dancing has been a staple of music videos from the beginning. I'm seriously confused.

I was, however, really glad when she let Taylor Swift have her moment (did anyone else notice Perez Hilton touch his heart during the standing O?)--after all, Beyonce's always got a damn moment, she wasn't desperate for 2 more minutes of booty shaking. Beyonce shows that just cause you ain't in school (*cough* College Dropout Kanye *cough*) doesn't mean you can't have class.

But seriously, I feel handicapped. I also don't get why Taylor Swift won anything. I'm really off when it comes to current music. Leave a comment and break it down for a blacktress.

Monday Rhymes with Cray-Cray!

[KWalsh has just informed me that a newly single mutual friend has just joined Match.com]

Me: I am impressed by how quickly people rally. i just hate dating so much, i wouldn't wish it on anyone.

i just want a werewolf to have me imprinted on to him.*

and he'll just see me and take care of me forever until it's time for us to be wed.

KWalsh: hahahaha!

imprint me, werewolf!

i just wish old crusty men would stop hitting on me
Me: you're on pirate island. you can't get around the old and crusty
KWalsh: seriously! the fucking pirates here!

last night at the restaurant where i work, i was waiting on a family i know

and they were like "we are so sorry about uncle donny"

because he kissed my hand twice, asked when we are going to get married and then said in 5 years i would be "prime"

this man has a long flowing mane of gray hair and a beard

and questionable dental hygiene
Me: Oh god!

[I then fill her in on the latest confusion surrounding the fact that I have not been asked on a date by someone who most certainly should have asked by now. I am advised to play it cool and give him the benefit of the doubt.]

Me: all I need to be happy in a relationship is for the guy to tell me exactly how he's feeling about me and what he's thinking at all times.

is that too much to ask for?

KWalsh: ha.
yes

Me: See, the thing is, I like to believe I have mind-control powers, but sometimes they're faulty, requiring that the guy actually express himself, and that's when I get all frustrated. It's like I'm Professor X and he's Magneto wearing that helmet that blocks me.^
KWalsh: You have to relax and not be negative.

stop complaining!

Me: hahahaha

KWalsh: a boy likes you!

and he doesnt have a secret spring break fiance!

Me: What world do we live in where having a secret spring break fiance is even an option?

* for those of you who aren't 14-year-old girls or into vampires, this is a reference to Jacob Black, the werewolf hottie in the Twilight series.
^ This is a reference to X Men.

Clearly, if I was into 15-year-old boys, I wouldn't be single right now.

The Hunt is On....

It's currently 60 degrees, windy, and raining. The weather is an inconvenient truth.
I was hoping that, with summer starting so late, it'd be balmy well into September, but it looks like Al Gore has other plans for us.

You know what this onset of cold weather means, don't you?

It means I'm gonna have to start the hunt for the winter spoon earlier than usual.
(For those of you out of the loop, here's more on the winter spoon--or, what a male friend of mine called "wife season.")

I'm a bit out of practice for this hunt, as last year I avoided this dilemma by leaving the hemisphere and bypassing winter completely. This only proved the correlation between cold weather and neediness, as I wasn't trying to get serious with any fools in Oztown, even though it was the midst of holidays, my birthday, and I was on the other side of the world alone. It was just too hot to be all cuddled up!

Now that I'm back in the game, I'd hoped to be able to woo potential winter partners in these final warm days with my dresses on and whatnot, and then use a slutty Halloween costume to seal the deal (I'm thinking of going as a Girl with Low Self Esteem this year. All T and A).

Alas, it looks like I'm gonna be in my galoshes and my granny sweater, and I'll have to hope someone sees through my layers into the inside spoon that I can become.

But I have hope. This winter, however, is unlike any winter that has come before. We've got a black prez, which makes black the new black, and nerdy black people the new hotness--in other words, my stock is on the rise! I think I may have a better shot at getting one this time around.

Thoughts? Comments, suggestions?

Why I'm Taking Down My Internet Dating Profile. Reason #246

This post goes out to my newest follower (number 26!), American Girl in London. According to her info, she's moved out there to be with her beau, and I think that whenever she has doubts or gets nervous, she can look back on posts like these and know she's made the right choice!

Here is the entirety of an email I received from a man on the internet.

hi beautiful,so what you have been upto lately how was ur Long weekend mine was long :) i was in atlantic city playing poker and made just 114 dollars LOL.

g


I don't even know what to say about this. I think it speaks for itself. Some questions, though:
1. Was the space bar faulty on his computer?
2. He had no problem spelling out the other words in the email, so do you think he actually just doesn't know how to spell "your"?
3. Do you think he thought to himself, "Grammar? i barely even know her!" WHY IS THERE ONLY ONE PERIOD IN THIS EMAIL?! And why is the 'l' in long weekend capitalized? I'm sorry, that really gets my goat. If you don't know me at all, and our initial mode of communication is written, don't you think it would be behoovy of you to write using correct grammar, spelling, and punctuation? I mean, what else do I have to go on?
4. 114 dollars? What a weird amount to win.


Luckily I've found someone who's willing to joke about grandchildren--and he types so well!

The Courtship Phase

Here's an excerpt from a chat I had today with a gentleman caller. I think he may be the last unicorn--at the very least, he can handle Sojourner's TRUTHS. See for yourself:

Me: this computer will be the death of me. i wish i was on my laptop
Gentleman Caller: so... you know keyboards are cheap, right?
i have one i can give you.
[note: he is offering me electronics. sure, he probs has an extra, but why try to give me anything besides an STD or a reason to cry?]
me: hahaa, i'm in my mother's office, doing some legal work
if you want to give her a keyboard, i'm sure she'd appreciate it.
GC: i'd be happy to
me: but i have nothing to give your mother
[i crack myself up.]
GC: grandchildren
hahahaha
was that freaky?
maybe i should have left more of a pause


No, no it was not freaky. In fact, I just drove into Swoon City, population: ME!
Cause, really, he just basically reversed 'i wanna have your babies,' which is one of the finest songs of our time. Watch the video, and see the babies in bubbles.

Although he has no problem joking about procreation, he hasn't asked me out on a second date. Why hasn't he tattoed my name on his arm already?

Therapy--Without Health Insurance!

Tonight I had a stand up gig as part of a benefit for Planned Parenthood--or, as the young hip, pro-choice kids call it, PPNYC. I was a bit nervous, as I was unsure how the PPNYC crowd would appreciate tales about Ps in Vs without Cs. I knew abortion jokes were out (obvi), but the target demographic was unclear. I got there at 6pm, where I was preceded by two elderly women--could they handle Sojourner's truths? I also knew there was a political bent to the show, but I'm not a political comic (my existence is resistance, people!). I went in with some energy, but as I waited for the show to start, my energy started to wane.

I got the gig through a lady I know who attended the same high school and college as me, but we didn't really know each other because she was two years older. My new plan for world domination requires I say yes to everything I'm asked to do, and this show was no exception. I figured, being a client of PPNYC's Bronx location (where I get free BC--aka, my 'reminder I'm not getting any' pill), I might as well give back.

Some things I learned tonight:
PPNYC, all in favor of a good abbreviation, does appreciate a cautionary tale of a P in a V without a C.
The greatest advocates for women's health are Caucasian lesbians.
Always end the night with a drag queen.

For serious.

After the show, I met up with some of my main gays in Hell's Kitchen, and we popped over to Therapy, a gay club/bar/restaurant that I've always heard of, but never visited. I wasn't feeling too great about my set, so I was rather excited to distract myself with loud music and pretty boys.

Turns out, Therapy lives up to its name, as I was able to turn my frown upside down instantly. Tonight was "Cattle Call," a sort of talent show where contestants (all singers) competed for a $150 cash prize. The host was none other than Peppermint, a fabulous Black drag queen who brought the house down.

So, you guys know how when I was little I wanted to be a drag queen, right? As a young aspiring blacktress, I'd stay up past my bed time in the fall of 1996 to catch a glimpse of The Rupaul Show on VH1. I was obsessed. While I wore braces, glasses, and over-sized sweatshirts with Mickey Mouse on them, Ru was so glamorous and confident and just...well, I didn't know what it call it at the time, but now I know the only word I can use is fierce! I just loved how tall she was, her hilarious puns, and her love of inappropriate touching.

(I can't tell you how long it took me to choose a picture of Ru that I loved. I think if I did, it would scare you.)

Come to think of it, these are the same things people seem to appreciate about me nowadays, so perhaps I'm on my way. Yay!

Anyway, Peppermint--who is gearing up for her European album launch--spoke to my heart when she performed Aretha Franklin's "Think" and followed it up with Lisa Loeb's "Stay." She spoke to my dual racial identity, bringing in the sassy soul and the wispy acoustic guitar with equal aplomb.

After the show was over, I ran into Peppermint on her way out of the bathroom. I believe my exact words were, "Ohmygod, I want to be you, you are amazing, can I be your roadie on your European tour?"

I heart her so hard it's not even funny.

She laughed and hugged me, and I told her I was a blacktress. I realized that I can learn alot from the DQs I love--and I don't just mean how to be fabulous. The good performers work the crowd, and their energy is relentless. They know how to Bring it On, Bring it on Again (the sequel), and Bring it on: All or Nothing (seriously, they never stop with these movies. It's Star Wars for tween girls).

I need to bring that A game to all my stand up from now on, and regardless of how the audience reacts, I'll know that I gave 140%. And maybe, if I'm lucky, a delicate young blacktress will approach me outside of the restroom and tell me she wants to be me.

Ah, to sleep, perchance to dream...