Teen Mom's MOM in Jail!

Hahhaa. Someone clicked my last blog post as being "not funny." Listen, I never said it was all gonna be perfect, folks.

Anyway, I'm trying to get over my writer's block.
Okay, guys, I know I was supposed to be watching and live-blogging “Teen Mom.” The thing is, I got about halfway through an episode and got more depressed than during any episode of 16 and Preggers - I believe this is because now there are actual infants being raised in these households, and the dysfunction is just really really sad and the danger is evident.

Things I did manage to jot down during my first ½ hour of viewing:

- is it just me, or does farrah look like a lost kardashian sister?
- who is maci's random-ass black friend who they don't let speak?
- amber looks exactly like miss piggy. i do not mean this because she's overweight - her actual FACE looks like miss piggy. like, if she had that face on a thinner frame, she'd still be miss piggy to me.
- amber's parenting is amazing. she says to the baby, "the reason you're crying is because you're tired."
no, amber, you can't use logic on an infant.
- Tyler is the only man i'll ever love.
(is it weird that I’m using two 17 years olds who gave their unplanned baby up for adoption as my model for a healthy relationship?_


So, I’ve been catching bits and pieces of episodes where I can, and I really can’t handle Farrah (the lost Kardashian). She is soooo mean and rude to her mom and stepdad, and is constantly leaving her baby at home so she can go find a man. While I’d be pretty excited if I had no baby weight, either, the fact is, you can’t be holding a baby on your lap while you’re texting to a man named Shaq! Farrah, get it together, you don’t even have your Good Enough Diploma (GED)!

She’s cursing out her parents left and right, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise to me to get the following newsbrief:

TEEN MOM ALLGEDLY CHOKED BY HER MOTHER

Farrah’s mother apparently couldn’t handle it anymore. Considering her mom hit her in the face on her episode of “16 and Pregnant,” I wouldn’t it put it past mom to choke a child. This is so out of control, y’all!!

(Also, is it just me, or does Farrah’s mom look like a cracked out Blythe Danner?)

(Gwyneth Paltrow's mom)

(Farrah's mom)

For serious.


Anyway, this series is getting out of control! Also, I’m quite sad to see that Ebony isn’t on the series (love that the black girl’s name is EBONY. Perhaps I should change my name to NUBIA). Maybe this means she’s actually raising her child and not engaging in insanity. One can only hope!

Move Over Patsy Cline - I'm the one who's CRAZY

I'm sitting at my desk right now, muttering to myself like a schizophrenic. I believe my exact words were, "Okay, okay, come on, come on." I have this article to write - in fact, I've had it to write for over a month now - and I've got all of 3 measley paragraphs.

It's a balmy 45 degrees (Farenheit), so I'm wearing a thin cable knit sweater, and figured I'd cas it up with jeans - after all, I do work at a magazine. I'm hip, I'm with it.

Turns out the big boss from Colorado (aka, the overseer), who laid off about 50 people yesterday, is coming in today with his right-hand woman. This is probably the wrong time to be dressed down. And I'm over here with an article unwritten. I'm gonna totally get fired for wearing jeans, aren't I?

I'm seriously cracked out. Take, for instance, an excerpt from this morning's first gchat with Jaime (yeah, okay, it's only 9:30 and I'm already procrastinating. what of it?):

me: what is this show?!
my crush greg or my (not) crush tim?
Jaime: no, Brandon Gates
duh
me: SO MANY CRUSHES
WHO IS THAT PERSON?
BRANDON GATES
ALL CAPS
me: ALL CAPS ALL THE TIME
INTENSITY


What the hell is wrong with me? Who are these crushes? Why am I dressed like I'm hitting the streets when the overseer is due in any second? Why on earth would I blog on the plantation at such a delicate time? I'm a hot ass mess today.

I Should Have Never Ordered a Venti

I’m not really a coffee drinker. As you can probably tell from this blog, I’m naturally a bit of a spazz and my brain tends to move 60 miles a minute. However, on particularly sluggish days, a nip of caffeine is in order, and for some reason, this morning I awoke with a single-minded craving that was quite uncharacteristic. I left the house early and ventured to the Starbucks nearest to my office. I found myself fidgeting as I waited in line, like a crack addict. I heard the guy in front of me order ‘a grande coffee,’ and not being a Starbucks regular, I repeated his order, saying ‘large’ instead of grande. It’s the same thing, right?

NO.

I was given 20 ounces of caffeine, to which I added approximately skim milk, a sprinkle of cocoa, and 6 splenda. I sipped my sweet delight for about an hour, even reheating it when it got grossly cold. My experience is evident in the following gchat with Kwalsh

9:19am
[new status message: coffee is life]
me: holy shit, coffee is great
i feel this urge and energy to be productive
KWalsh: haha
welcome to the dark side!
11:09 am
me: ok, now it's cold
i need to stop drinking it
[new status message: coffee is death.]
11:25am
me: oh god, i think my heart's going to explode
me: my hands are shaking
i'm drinking water, in an attempt to dilute the potency

[Note that Kwalsh has not responded, and yet I’m still typing]

Kwalsh: oh jesus
how much did you drink?
me: i had a venti
walsh, i shouldn't have had a venti
Kwalsh: oh lord. switch to grande next time

Clearly, I don’t know what I’m doing. I went from a surge of productivity to a certainty that we're in the movie “2012,” and it's all gonna come crashing down. I’ve just chugged two glasses of water, as inspired by the Walsh family motto: “The solution to pollution is dilution.”

Of course, I will have coffee tomorrow morning, because I have an addictive personality and love a rush.

First Post of 2010!

Happy 2010 guys! I’ve really missed you; I haven’t blogged in a decade! 2009 was a wild ride from one hemisphere to the other – but let’s never speak of it again. I haven’t been on the plantation in over a week, but was quite pleased to arrive and find that our internet is down – there’s only so much work I can pretend to do when I can’t even check my outlook. Anywho—let’s get up to speed by writing a post in a word document.

Since last I blogged, things have been mostly copacetic. Christmas was spent seated in a recliner wearing an electric blanket (my one and only present from Santa) and watching “Taken,” starring Liam Neeson. I love action films, and came away with one vital piece of information: I have a deep-seated desire for Liam Neeson to be my real-life dad. Well, that, and never give a random TMI, or you’ll end up sex-trafficked, on a boat bound for the United Arab Emirates.

After Christmas, blacktress headed into the flurry of excitement that is the 7 days of Kwanzaa – which, as you all know, is Swahili for “After-Christmas sales.” Mother and I celebrated right, getting 40% off items at Banana Republic.

(I’m sorry, is it just me, or is any holiday invented by a dude named Ron in 1966 somewhat suspect? I just don’t know if I buy it. Plus, doesn’t “kinara” – in which the kwanzaa candles are held – sound a lot like ‘menorah’ + ‘kwanzaa’? You can’t call it your own and jack it from the Jews, people!)

I was thrown for a loop when, on 12/30, I received a facebook invite from the college bf to whom I lost my virginity. He’s still in purgatory, mostly because I don’t know how to handle this. While he’s a swell fella who I have no drama with (I know, a huge surprise!), I don’t know if he needs access to my f-book. I live my life by a few simple rules, one of which is: You can’t poke me on facebook after you’ve poked me in real life. Call me old fashioned, but it’s just how I roll.

I rang in 2010 with an uneventful mini-makeout session, only made more uneventful by the dude’s lack of follow-through. However, my most recent redheaded crush has lifted, as he had the gall – nay, the audacity - not to speak to a blacktress when she was looking hella good (you know, like the Gwen Stefani song). I realized that an imaginary relationship can only last so long if one party refuses to engage in conversation. I’m not cultivating crazy in 2010 – save the drama for Obama!

I was able to engage in many TV marathons, including Discovery Health’s “fat marathon” – the hour-long specials “I Eat 33,000 calories a day,” “Half-Ton Teen,” “Half-Ton Mom,” and “Half-Ton Dad” (not all in the same family), and my personal favorite, “The 650-lb Virgin,” – all of which I watched while eating pizza and cake. Ironic? Let’s ask Alanis Morissette.

[Sidebar: My office is freakishly quiet. What could these people be doing when we don’t even have access to the server? Clearly I have no work ethic]

Oh, guys, I just got the latest e-newsletter of New Voices Magazine – “THE magazine for Jewish students.”

Today’s message includes:


Don't you love the Holocaust?

Your movie theater does. Marked as "Oscar bait" whenever they come out, movies about the Final Solution have multiplied since Jerry Seinfeld made out during "Schindler's List" 17 years ago. Now Quentin Tarantino has decided to do the Jewish film execs one better, producing a spaghetti western starring the Juden. Miriam Mogilevsky takes a closer look.


But why worry about the Holocaust when Israel is on the eve of destruction? Sam Green reviews Rich Cohen's "Israel Is Real."


Don't let that get you down, though, because H&M is moving to Israel, says Beth Zalcman, and Americans should too.


Jewish media. No conspiracy.

THE site for Jewish college students.


Enjoy!

I don’t know why I get this magazine, or how I get on an email list in the first place. Is this some remnant of my relationship with the Israeli vegan investment banker? Did some audience member recall a bit in which I said “I can’t pass over those matzoh balls” and sign me up? Who knows. All I know is, I can’t put it down!!

Okay, it’s now 12:09pm and we’re finally back online. Time to earn my keep!

A Weekend to Remember - RIP Brittany!

I lost my cell phone this weekend and was freaking the F out. Somehow, between texting and making a call at 11:12am on Saturday morning, and getting on the train at 11:32am, I lost my damn phone. Around 5pm, a blizzard began as I headed to Queens to babysit. After tending to two young Caucasian males (I believe in starting the brainwashing early), I headed over to a friend’s house in the treacherous weather. As I walked in the Big Apple-turned-life-sized-snowglobe, I was tense and anxious. I felt like, without my cell, I was a walking target. I just knew that Saturday night would be the night I was stalked by a serial rapist, simply because I had no ability to call for help. I was acting like, prior to this moment, I had been living in a T-Mobile-created protective force field, and the only thing between me and survival was 2 bars.

Just when I thought the weekend could get no crazier, as I was perpetually late for things on Sunday, and slipping on black ice, I was informed of the death of Brittany Murphy Sunday evening. I am still reeling. This is just one more icon of our youth who has left us. At only 32, death from a heart attack seems completely insane in the membrane. Alas, the heart attack was the result of severe anorexia. Remember in Girl, Interrupted when she kept all the chicken under her bed???? WHY DIDN’T YOU EAT THAT CHICKEN, BRITTANY?!

Can we just talk about Brittany’s effect on every 20-something walking around today? When she appeared as Tai in Clueless, the newbie through which we viewed the world of California rich kids Cher and Dionne, she was instantly likeable. Her makeover – complete with baby tee and corduroy skirt – was the jam and the jumpoff (and the inspiration for much of my 6th grade wardrobe). And let’s not mention her lines, some of which were the greatest in film history:


- “Cher, I don't want to do this anymore. And my buns: they don't feel nothin' like steel.”

- "You know, I don't care either way — just as long as his you-know-what isn't crooked." – When the film came out, I was too young to know that this was a very real possibility, and I’m now too old not to know exactly where she’s coming from.

- “If I’m too good for him, then why aren’t I with him???” This is a line I’ve used many a-time in my personal life. Oh, Britt, you were forever asking the hard-hitting questions.

And, of course, the best ever: “You’re a virgin who can’t drive.”
Burn of the THIRD DEGREE.

After Clueless, she went on to lock it down in various films, with her wide eyes and Betty Boop vibe. I must say, I even loved her in 8 Mile.

I’m gonna have to pour a bit of my cranberry juice on the ground in remembrance tonight – or, wait, maybe I should put down some food, give Brittany a little nourishment.

Dear Britt,

I hope you are ROLLING WITH YOUR HOMIES in the sky, and know that I’ll be thinking of you – I HOPE NOT SPORADICALLY! The way you sang the Mentos theme song changed my life. When I was younger, I totally wished someone would have taken me out of my flannel and put me in some cute outfits while Jill Sobule played in the background. You are one of my idols. I will eat twice as much for you today.

Xoxo,
Sojo


Let’s check out Brittany at her best:

It’s cool, not trying to put a rush on you…

But I gotta let you know that I got a crush on… well, not you, this other dude.

Guys, I am totes crushin’ like a 14 year old. There’s this actor who was, like, made for me. FOR ME.

He is 6’4”, he has red hair (holla at a genetic anomaly!), and he is so pasty pale that he is damn near translucent.

He is so lacking in pigment that he appears to have no eyebrows or eyelashes – how does he fight off debris?! What about sweat?! He’s a medical marvel, and I must now how he survives. Maybe’s he’s one of the X-Men or something.

His skin is like porcelain, and looks as soft and smooth as vanilla pudding.
His hair is the color of honey and strawberry jam mixed together
His eyes are as blue as the ocean and the sky - no, the horizon line, where the ocean and sky meet

I am going on about his physical appearance because I have yet to speak to him for more than 2 seconds.
I met him through a mutual friend a couple months ago, and he seemed kinda cold, but this could be because our friend put me on blast, mentioning that when he and I first met, I hugged him and proclaimed, “you will be my winter spoon.” It wasn’t quite the impression I’d hoped to make, but I shook it off.

But I couldn’t get him off of my mind.
I think I know how Bella must have felt the first time she saw Edward.

This past weekend, a friend of mine told me she ran into this same redhead at a party and he referred to me as “a beautiful black woman.” HOLY SHIT.

Needless to say, the flame was rekindled.

I saw him last night at a party, and he was looking as good as ever, all pasty and piercing, with those eyes of his. It would have been a great time to walk up and say hello, now that I was armed with the knowledge that he was down with the brown. However, I was held back by the fact that, whenever I’m surrounded by improvisers, actors, and/or comedians, I become mildly autistic, painfully self-conscious, and my tongue turns to lead. Add that the fact that I wasn’t drinking, and you pretty much have me at the age of 13.

So, instead of re-introducing myself, saying hello, or complimenting him on his show like the strong black woman that I am, I just stared at him longingly/mildly creepily at random moments. This didn’t really bother me at first, because I know deep in my heart that I don’t need to date anyone at all right now, and if I never speak to him, he can never fail me (we all know how I emo I get when things don’t go well).

But after a while I realized that I was basically eye-fucking the poor pasty chap without consent, and the ultimate closure would be to speak to him and realize that he’s racist or something equally deal-breaking so I could stop idealizing. So, in an attempt to close the chapter on what was becoming my own personal Twilight, I told my friend about my crush and asked him what I should do. I believe my exact phraseology was, “How can I get in with ___? And by ‘get in with,’ I don’t mean his P in my V as much as a real conversation.” His advice was threefold:
-Mention Guns N Roses
-Tell him you’re Jewish
-Play with his elbow skin.


The last one was a mockery of my personal penchant for pinching elbow skin (weird, I know. Accept it.), and was just another way to set me up for embarrassment. Based on the first two suggestions, however, it would seem that so far my crush and I have absolutely nothing in common. This won’t stop me from an introduction, though. I’m thinking:
“When I was a little girl in Addis Ababa – I’m an Ethiopian Jew – I remember seeing Guns and Roses on the MTV VMA’s in 1992. Slash’s solo…. Am I right?”

I don’t know anything about said solo, but I’ll let him fill in the blank and get the ball rolling. A conversation is, after all, a two-way street… one that you pave over and construct manipulative roadblocks on to lead the driver (your crush) into the tunnel of LOVE.

I mean, whatever. It's just (just) a little crush (crush) - not like I faint every time we touch.
If you don't know what that line is from, let me take you back to the late 90s, friend.

Teaching tools

Ok, so I'm supposed to be watching 'Teen Mom' right now, but I don't have MTV access at the moment - but don't worry, I'll holla at it from the plantation and live blog it for you ASAP.

In penance, I bring to you the finest song of our time (brought to my attention by JJSiii). You have to listen to it.


I think this should be a teaching tool for Teach for America newbies everywhere - and even the old pros like Sorcia McNasty. You've got to speak to the inner city youth in the language they know - the language of hip hop. If you need proof, just watch "Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit." This song teaches wayward youth to do the basics: read a book, brush their teeth, and drink water - you need it! I think our literacy rates would increase tenfold if we had Project Mayhem making the lesson plans.

I am so obsessed with this song, I'm buying it a present for Kwanzaa.