Obituary

OBITS

It is with a heavy heart that I inform you that Paul, the octopus who "predicted" the winners of eight World Cup matches, died this morning.
Known for his uncanny ability to pick mussels out of boxes with flags on them (note: mussels are one of an octopuses favorite meals), Paul lived a very full life in his just two-and-a-half years, even becoming an honorary citizen of the Spanish town of Carballino. His favorite television show was "Two and a Half Men."



How will we know who'll win the next cup? How will we know if Jewboo is going to call me back?! He said he'd call, Paul. He gave me a kiss on the mouth with just a hint of tongue--but maybe he was turned off my this morning's email, which said "I got my period!! Yay!" He said he'd call! I'd been waiting for your response to my query for days, and now you're too dead to tell me!!!

Unfortunately, Paul had no wife, as most octopussies found him to be a bit of a media whore. (Known for scouring the ocean's depths, most octopuses aren't a fan of the limelight.) His life in captivity also means he had no children. He is survived by his agent, Chris Davies. "It's a sad day," Davies said. "Paul was rather special but we managed to film Paul before he left this mortal earth."

Wait, how did an octopus get an agent, and a blacktress can't even get a walk-on on 30 Rock?

I'm Eating a Slice of Carrot Cake at 10:45am

Hey there, Sharks and Jets,

I know, it’s been a week without bloggery. I’ve been feeling so damn bored/boring. Yesterday was definitely bringing back memories of The Summer of New Lows, as I had the following discussion with my life partner, KWalsh
me: oh thank god!
i've been waiting for you to appear on the internet all morning
katie bear, i need you
KWalsh: haha
whats up
me: pleaassseee come to new york. i will pay for your ticket
you can stay at my house
PLEASE
KWalsh: whats going on?
me: i hate everything. i am in a depressed malaise
is that even a thing?
KWalsh: of course it is
come to st. croix for halloween!
we are going to have a pizza party
me: i'm just......like, why am i even trying to exist?

This went on for another 30 minutes, and only ended when I realized I needed to pick up my anti-depressant prescription. I then chased my morning dosage (up 50 milligrams!) with a sip of lukewarm coffee.

Breakfast of champions, I tell ya!

This could have something to do with the fact that I’m two weeks behind on GLEE—that show always makes me feel good about the state of the world. The only thing that’s gotten me through it is the NYC Gubernatorial race. Everyone and their mom has decided to run, and most of them are a hot-ass mess.

I am kind of obsessed with this cray cray Jimmy McMillan, who is currently running for Governor of NY. For those of you followers who aren’t in NYC (and haven’t had all of your internet streams overrun with his youtube clips), I present to you the following, from the leader of “The Rent is 2* Damn High Party”:



Um, I cannot handle this Papa Smurf rocking the gloves. Do you think his facial hair is real? I feel like he’d be good friends with Dr. Tyrone Hayes. They both favor odd hair and are very self-righteous.

I love that I’ve been at work nearly two hours, and not a scrap of work has gotten done. I really should look alive, especially since the raise I was promised 5 months ago finally came through! Yes, y’all—Overseer and Massa came to an agreement, and my money was provided!!!

And, to top it off, Overseer came in the office yesterday and actually issued me an apology! AND, instead of being all deferent and whatnot, I just said “Thank you.” I am going to acknowledge your foolery and throw you a bone for owning up to it. I can’t stand having to tell a grown ass member of Caucasia about himself—he saved me some time.


So, you know, all in all, things are fine. I need to stop being jealous of comedian/improviser friends getting TV gigs and handle my (creative) scandal. The unfortunate thing is that most of the auditions “that fit my profile” on actor’s access seek “African American female, 35-45, a bit overweight, natural. ETHNIC HAIRSTYLES accepted.” Not only am I too YOUNG, but I’m not giving them enough “mammy” in my headshot! I think I’ll remedy this by eating a slice of pie. After all, it’s for my career.

How you be, boos? What are you doing this weekend?

*[yes, “2”]

It's Hard Being Young, Gifted, and Black!

Earlier this week, Scribe brought an interesting news item to my attention. Y’all know the blacktress isn’t exactly one for the topical or celebrity stories (that’s what Huff Post, Perez, and TMZ are for), but I found this quite interesting, so I thought I’d share.

It seems that 16-year-old college student Ralph Jones, a real bright whiz of a kid, has chosen to attend Florida A&M University after weighing his acceptances from such top schools as Cornell, Harvard, and Stanford. He’s now hearing a whole heap of protests from people who think he made the wrong choice.



Now, those of you who have followed the blacktress from the jump (or have spent great office hours procrastinating with the blog archives) know that, in 2008, I suffered from a blacklash when I called out Morehouse University for having a white valedictorian. Thanks to one Howard friend’s bf, the black listservs got wind of it, and I was blacklisted faster than a Hollywood writer during the McCarthy era. Of course, it was a rough going, and I had to stop the flood of comments to my direct email address, but I realize that when you’re Sojourner “You Can’t Handle The” Truth, some people will indeed be unable to handle the truth.

I actually wanted to talk about this because I wanted to shock some of my haters. I actually think Ralph made a great decision, and the dissenters need to back up off of him. Yes, y'all!! I still totally think it's a black-college FAIL to have a white valedictorian, but there's no denying that, for a Southern teen with engineering dreams, FAMU makes perfect sense. As you can read in the article, he has very sound reasons for his choice (hello, financial aid!). The boy’s only 16—he may be smart, but he still has some maturing to do, and will need extra support. Harvard, Stanford, and other Ivys aren’t going to give that to him. Yeah, he’ll get a "top-notch education," but he’ll probably get a B- on his first test, think he’s a failure, and drop out—and there will be no one there to tell him that he may be a bit young, but he’s also gifted and black!

Part of the lure of HBCUs is the network, and the sense of community that they offer—for a tyke who probably hasn’t even packed after-shave for is shower caddy, that community is a must. As Ralph notes, "When it comes down to it, the family feeling -- I didn't feel that at other institutions, because I visited a lot of schools." I get that. The black bond is real, y’all. Just last night, I experienced the power of it! I went into ACE Hardware store looking for some mouse traps, and an older black guy working there not only told me what to do and how to use the trap, he even ripped steel wool out of the bag it came in and gave me a piece!! Yes, y’all—homey straight-up gave me something I was meant to purchase from the establishment in which he worked!!! He was like, "you don't need this whole big bag," and just yoinked it, and said, "put it in your pocket"--holla at a random freebie! If I wasn’t a blacktress, that wouldn’t have happened (No, my boobs weren’t out. I was rocking my nerdy-pining-girl-in-any-80s-teen-movie look of my black glasses and ponytail). I mean, if my black cousins hadn’t made fun of me all my life for talking white, I might have felt like I was at home at an HBCU, too.
Alas, I’m much more at home anywhere that offers bagels at any time of the day.

So, Ralph, as someone who has also suffered a backlash, I salute you for going with your gut, and so clearly and sanely defending your reasoning. My only wish is that you drop that engineering dream and focus on films—someone’s gotta de-throne Tyler Perry, and you don’t seem like one for coonery.

xoxo,
Blacktress!

Columbus Wouldn’t Have Wanted it This Way

Hey gang! It feels good to be blogging again. Hell, after my weekend, it feels good to be showered and not reeking of menthol again! Yes, my boofaces (can I call you my boofaces?), I was sick, sick, sickie all weekend. It began Wednesday night with a scratchy throat. I came in to the plantation on Thursday, although I definitely had my fair share of daytime cold medicine. By Friday morning, all bets were fucking off, as I was feverish, every part of me ached, and I wanted nothing more than to sleep, but couldn’t breathe through my nose. My entire weekend was a wash, and I was too mad to have to cancel a hosting gig, miss a great networking opportunity, and generally lose the me-time the weekends allow. Not even the joy of "The Next Karate Kid" and "Sleepwalkers" coming on TV (I didn't have to Netflix them!!!) could brighten my spirits. I spent most of the sunny, warm weekend in my house wearing a turtleneck and sweatpants under the covers and hacking up a lung.

Yes, gross.

Although I wasn’t feeling great, I was definitely better by Sunday night, and vowed to come to work Monday morning. After all, I’d already missed one day, and there was so much to do. We hadn’t gotten Columbus Day off, but a few people would be out, so I could work in relative quiet/not scare anyone off with my mucus. It was, however, a struggle to get up and out, and even the shower water was a shock to my delicate system. I got in to work a bit early, and my self-congratulatory smugness was definitely spilling over into the unoccupied cubicles. I checked my emails and kept looking around—I’d had to unlock the elevator and the gate, but I love being the first one in. It was, however, already after 9 and no one was here. Weird.

Finally, at 9:30, my massa came to my desk. I went to say hello, but the intake of breath resulted in a coughing fit. When it had subsided, he said, “I didn't want to call you at home, but I gave everyone the day off today and said they didn't have to make it PTO [paid time off]".
OH HELL TO THE NO!!!

Let me get this gay: I dragged myself out of bed with my whooping cough to do work, and you gave everyone the day off? And, not only did I deprive myself of much-needed rest, but it could have been avoided if you or anyone else on staff had thought to call or email my ass?????
I can’t take this shit, y’all. Not only have I still not been given the raise I was promised OVER 5 MONTHS AGO, they now don’t even want to put me on the fucking office phone tree????
As fellow freedom writer Scribe put it, “your boss is the cuntiest ass in the history of assholes.”
Her words are like poetry—angry, vulgar, TRUTH poetry.

Y’all, I’m about to snap like a fucking Lifetime movie heroine. With a 9-5 like this, I see why J. Love ended up becoming a prosti-mom!

I’ve been trying to really let go of my rage, but this really was the cherry on the pie of a crap weekend. Do you know Jewboo is so damn dense and selfish that he didn’t even come see a blacktress once while she was bedridden—we haven’t seen each other in 6 days! Homey was like, “Well, if you need something, I’ll come…” Um, what I fucking need is a man who doesn’t have to be shamed into behaving properly. Jewboo is on thin ice. That behavior after 7 months and a key to the pad is just out of fucking order. He’s not dead to me yet, but he’s definitely in a coma and I’m putting his stuff on eBay just in case.

I’m feeling slightly better today, and downing OJ and tea like it’s my job—you know, one that actually pays me.

How y’all doing?

oPRESSion

So, I just got the following press release in my general email account at work. It makes me really angry--not only are we an art magazine (how on earth did we get on this email list?), but they are also willing to go to any lengths to corrupt what was meant to be uplifting and positive messages from public figures. The press release is from "tiaorg@comcast.net," and does not give the name of an organization or individual other than the first line mention--for a message he/she/they seem so adamant about spreading, why aren't the senders of the press release willing to be held accountable? And notice the repeated use of quotation marks whenever they use the word gay--like such sexual orientation isn't even real.

Okay, read for yourself, and let me know what you think.


Press Release/Statement
STATEMENT


DATE: October 6, 2010

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

“Gay” Lobby Shamelessly Exploits Teen Suicides

Lynchburg, VA – Matt Barber, Director of Cultural Affairs with Liberty Counsel, released the following statement today on the series of recent highly publicized suicides committed by allegedly “gay” identified teenagers:

“Anyone with a heart grieves deeply over these needless suicides. Taking one’s own life is never the right choice. There are thousands of teen suicides each year. Some kids just don’t seem to understand the permanence of it, or how it destroys the lives of those they leave behind.

“We all agree: harassment and bullying of children should always be dealt with immediately and firmly. And if laws are broken, offenders should be prosecuted – period. This is true whether kids are targeted because they’re perceived to be homosexual, conservative, Christian or for any other reason.

“Unfortunately – though not surprisingly – extremist ‘gay’ pressure groups, like the incongruously named ‘Human Rights Campaign,’ Ellen DeGeneres and other liberal activists are shamelessly exploiting these tragedies as a means to achieve their own selfish political ends.

“In a recent statement, Ms. DeGeneres said: ‘There are messages everywhere that validate this sort of bullying and taunting and we need to make it stop. We can't let intolerance and ignorance take another kids life.’

“Indeed, actual bullying and taunting must not be tolerated. But what ‘messages’ is Ms. DeGeneres referring to, and how do ‘we…make [them] stop?’ I’ll translate from liberalese to plain English. What Ellen meant was this: ‘Public defense of God's express, self-evident and unequivocal design for human sexuality must be stopped under force of law. Proponents of the Judeo-Christian sexual ethic are murdering ‘gay’ kids with their words.’

“Not only is this propagandist line of reasoning disingenuous, offensive and Orwellian, it’s utter nonsense.

“Joe Solmonese, president of HRC, took it a step further, directly blaming for these suicides Christians and the Mormon Church. To him, opposition to so-called ‘same-sex marriage,’ and defense of biblical sexual morality are the culprits: ‘Words have consequences,’ said Solmonese, ‘particularly when they come from a faith leader. This is exactly the kind of statement that can lead some kids to bully and others to commit suicide.’

“As Rahm Emanuel famously said: 'You never let a serious crisis go to waste. [I]t's an opportunity to do things you could not do before.' It makes me physically ill to watch as the HRC and other ‘gay’ militants lick their chops and rub their hands together over the tragic suicides of these troubled, sexually confused young men,” continued Barber. “Before they were even laid to rest, the radical homosexual lobby pounced leveraging these suicides to demand that government codify each of their extremist, social engineering demands. This is political exploitation at its slimiest and it pours salt on the wounds of loved ones.

“God’s message to young people struggling with same sex temptation or to those who feel the shame that naturally accompanies sexual sin is that suicide is never the way out. But there is a way out. It comes first through belief in Jesus Christ, and then through confession of sin; finally, repentance. As Jesus said to the repentant sexual sinner at the well, ‘Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more.’

“The families of these precious young people should know that Christians around the country are praying for them and will continue to pray for them in their time of loss. Scripture says ‘blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.’

“But Christians are also praying that these wicked and callous political vultures who seek to exploit these suicides become confounded and fail fantastically. Their mission is not one of ‘tolerance’ or ‘diversity.’ Quite the opposite: Their goal is to fan flames of anti-Christian bigotry and discrimination, evangelizing on behalf of their own perverted god: moral relativism. We simply won’t let them get away with it,” concluded Barber.

###

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Move Over Dr. Seuss...

Y'all, I am on struggle street. I have an uninvited houseguest, and he won't leave.
It has 4 legs, weighs about 10 ounces, and has beady eyes and a little tail. It is grey and sinewy, and it's pooping everywhere.
Yes, gentle readers--I have a mouse.

As you know, the blacktress doesn't do manual labor or nature in any form. This would include all of nature's inhabitants--especially rodents and insects. Now, don’t get me wrong—I think animals are cute and lovable and all part of the ecosystem and whatnot. I would never condone killing an animal for sport.
HOW.EV.ER—once you come into my house, you’re on my turf, and I will pull a George W. Bush and “smoke you out of your holes.”
(Well, actually, I’m putting steel wool in their holes, but you get my point.)
I do not fuck around when it comes to rodents and insects—anything that small doesn’t need all those legs unless it’s doing evil. Mice carried the plague, and who knows what they’re bringing in to my house.

I first found out about this mouse a couple weeks ago, when I came home and turned on the kitchen light to find it scampering across the back of the sink. I immediately flipped out, and bought some glue traps. A few days later, I opened the pantry to get baking ingredients (you know the blacktress likes to wifey it up from time to time) and found the little fucker perched on top of my bag of flour, having himself a grand old time. I immediately closed the door and went out for new supplies.

My mom came over the next day and together we tackled the pantry. This mouse sonofabitch had chewed a hole in the bag of flour, leaving the floor covered in a pile of white powder and mouse poop—it smelled like the dance floor at my favorite gay bar after they turned the house lights on at 4am. Madukes and I filled the two holes with steel wool, and put glue traps in the closet. The next day, sounds of an escape attempt convinced us that we’d gotten the little sucker. Later that night, my mother and I (yes, together—she has raised me to be unable to face any sort of rodent without backup) opened the closet to find….NO MOUSE.
The steel wool was across the floor, and there were tufts of fur on one of the glue traps.
This motherfucker is resourceful as hell.

I feel like, if this smart-ass mouse is gonna be up in my home, all strong and wily enough to extricate himself from the trap, he may as well be put to work. I’ve seen Cinderella. I know what these fuckers can do if they put their minds to it. Make me a fucking ball gown and take over my chores if you’re gonna live rent-free, rodents!!!!

It’s gotten to the point where I’m scared to go in the kitchen when I get home. Last night I tossed and turned, having dreams of Jewboo’s cats living in my house and trying to kill the mice for me. In my nightmare, the cats were ineffective, and I ended up with both mice AND cats running around everywhere. I cannot live like this!!!

Of course, everytime I say to someone “there’s a mouse in my house” they chuckle and make a Dr. Seuss reference. But there’s nothing funny about this situation, people. It’s like this:

There's a mouse in my house.
And it needs to know I'm not fucking around.
There's mouse poop by the can of soup
And I jump every time I hear a sound.
It ate the flour and made my mood sour
I’m going to have to cut this bitch
I can’t make food in the kitchen, this mouse must be trippin
I’m gonna have to turn into the wicked witch.
Snap traps are inhumane, but glue traps are insane
I wonder if God is putting my “strong black woman” label to the test
I’m about to borrow my man’s cats just so they’ll kill these rats
But getting them from Brooklyn to Harlem will be a hot mess.


(h/t to This Guy)


So, yeah, anyway, that’s what’s going on with the blacktress today. I am way behind on “Sister Wives” as it comes on the same time as Mad Men, and I must forgo reality trash for classy television from time to time. Don’t worry, though—that’s what the internet is for. I’ll be live-blogging soon.

Being a Blacktress is NSFW!

Oh god, this week is flying by, guys! I’ve been so swamped with work that I almost forgot to tell you the story of the cray-cray married guy who was all up in my George Foreman during the office trip. Let me start from the beginning…

So, from Tuesday, 9/21 through Monday, 9/27, I was in Laguna Beach, California, for work. We were hosting a 4-day art workshop and conference, where members of Caucasia who love pictures of fruit in bowls, sunlit landscapes, and portraits of fair maidens could learn from today’s top artists and network.

You may be thinking, “You got to go to California for a week, Sojourner?! You’re one lucky blacktress!” I thought the same thing when I walked into my swanky hotel room with its king-sized bed, flat-screen tv, and private deck. As I walked the grounds of the hotel and noted the two pools, two Jacuzzis, and spa on site, I thought my reparations had finally arrived!

Alas, I would have very little opportunity to take advantage of these amenities, as wearing my “EDITOR” badge made me a walking information booth to any and all passersby, and I had to cover as many workshops, lectures, and demonstrations as possible in hopes of getting content for future articles. Of course, that’s what they pay me for, so it wasn’t a problem. It was, however, a bit boring, as each artist’s work began to look the same, and after the first day, I’d stretched the limits of polite office-acquaintance conversation.

So, when I met the G---, the AV director who was shooting the weekend’s happenings, I was eager to have a conversation with a human who wasn’t looking to hustle some magazine coverage and who I didn’t sit in a tiny hovel with 40 hours a week. We met Friday afternoon by the pool during a break, and the fact that he was a tall bearded ginger immediately endeared him to me (You know I love me a pasty pale redhead). We mostly chatted about who’s office was more bootleg, and I told him a bit about moonlighting in comedy. He was nice and funny, and his wedding ring, coupled with my Jewboo, made the lines very clear to me. I made him show me pics of his son and asked him about his wife—pregnant with twins! It was very PG.

It reminded me of making a friend at summer camp—you know how you meet someone under specific circumstances, and you become friends in that world? There’s the instant bond and you’re vibing on everything, and you’re just so desperate for human connection that you're willing to overlook the fact that he was googling your name and talking about you to other people because you don’t want it to get awkward?
Yeah, just like camp.

When a coworker came up to me later that night and said, “Someone’s got a crush on you…” I laughed it off--but I was a bit shocked by the news of being Googled (I wondered what that tingling was below my belt earlier). G----- and I had hugged goodnight, with me calling him a “big ginger bear of a man.”
There is nothing sexy about that phraseology whatsoever.

So you can imagine my surprise when, after seeing if he wanted to meet for lunch by the pool the next day, he responded with, “Not sure when I’m done, but you by the pool would be fun.”
Is it just me, or does that read a little sexy-like? I shook it off, but could deny it no longer when I showed up to his room before the evening event and he said, “Stand-up, man… that seems like the hardest job in the world…i think you're...sexy.”
What?! A married 40-year-old man just told me I was sexy in a hotel room. I felt like I was in a scene from Mad Men. I laughed it off, pointing out the neediness inherent in anyone who chooses to make a career out of standing in front of people and asking them to laugh. He complimented me on my red dress (it was a silent auction and closing event—you know I had to bring it for the paparazzi), and I skidaddled. It felt icky, but I didn’t know what to say because nothing was explicit, you know?

Later that night, I left the after party after 5 minutes (With a week of schmoozing, I made it a point to pace myself when it came to the schmoozing), and received a text from G------ shortly thereafter. Any attempts to shake it off were immediately dashed when I read:
“I think you’re sweet. I really dig being around you. Til next time…”

Of course, there’s nothing sketchy about thinking someone’s “sweet” (and it’s the last way I’d describe myself), but for someone I’d known all of 30 hours, simply “being around me” had moved him, and I was squirming in my ridiculously large king-sized bed.
He was leaving the next day—thank goodness!—and I wrote back, “have a safe flight!” and he wrote:

“I’ll see you on gchat, although it’ll pale in comparison to the real thing….”

My god, did I turn him out, y’all?! He’s trippin’ like I’m his first blacktress! Of course, my long-time readers will know this situation is nothing new. But now that I’m Jewboo’ed up, in a REALationship that’s on the up and up, I just feel icky and gross. And I also kind of detest the male gender. You are fucking 40, with a tiny tot and twins on the way, and you’re telling a blacktress she’s sexy??? In the words of Whitney…… I swear, if Jewboo did some shit like that, he’d end up having a second bris!

What say you, gentle readers? Were his texts all harmless? Should he be ashamed of himself? At the very least, does he need to take a look at his marriage and get Dr. Phil on the horn?