Friday, November 12, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Young, Gifted, and BACK
Guys, I come to you now with my tail between my legs and my head hung in shame. I haven’t blogged in so long, you’d think I wasn’t an insecure narcissist whose primary form of procrastination was writing ramblings on the internet.
Since I last posted, there have been many changes afoot—I don’t even know where to begin!
1. On Friday, October 29th at 6:34pm, Jewboo called to tell me he GOT A JOB!!!
Yes, y’all!!! He’s got a sweet temp-to-perm gig at Columbia University! For those of you who don’t know, Columbia’s located in Harlem, which means that not only has Jewboo solved the “I’m broke-ass” problem, he’s also helped alleviate the “I love on the G train” issue! Other pluses to this new employment:
- Jewboo’s entire staff consists of strong black women and a black man named Junior. Our 8 months of dating have trained him perfectly for dealing with a strong black woman—and, should his superiors be prone to outbursts and mood swings, he will be able to respond by asking them if they are in “food distress.”
- When the gig goes permanent, Jewboo will be making 25% MORE THAN ME. Seriously. As an administrative assistant. It really makes me wish I hadn’t gone into debt going to a liberal arts university when managing an Outlook calendar is where the money is.
- With this newfound money, Jewboo can begin purchasing me foodstuffs of the baked variety. I’m ‘bout to get myself mad cupcakes, y’all!
- My mother can stop telling me that I need to “use this one as a back-up; don’t get attached.”
2. So, for Halloween, I decided to go as “slutty Condoleeza Rice,” complete with cheap corset purchased from H&M and a headband with a top hat. I was definitely a tramp, but luckily, my party of choice was a bunch of gays in a high school gymnasium in Chelsea. It was kind of amazing. The drag queens brought out their A game, and they actually taught me how to—
UGH, God, my fucking coworker keeps interrupting me, and I can’t get a blog in edgewise! He’s being such a fucking shunt*, and I having been wanting to cut him for days. My hatred has gotten so intense that Saturday night I dreamt we got into a fist fight. I wish he’d just never talk to me again—or only communicate with me via email. He’s just so damn….detail-oriented and “wanting to get your thoughts on” things that it just bothers the shit out of me. I swear to fucking god, I can’t handle being here.
*that’s Australian for “shitty cunt”
Okay, rant complete. Where was I?
Oh, right, HallowQUEEN. (How did I just start calling it this now???)
So, I’m dancing to remixed versions of every pop song I’ve ever known (when you speed up “Umbrella,” Rihanna sounds even more like a chipmunk than usual), in my trampy outfit, hanging out with two members of my BLONDtourage (white girls are excellent safety nets on nights when the crazies are out), when a guy crosses behind us to put is coat in a corner.
I freeze. My stomach twists in a figure-eight knot.
No, it isn’t one of the many former lovers I’ve had.
It was MY BOSS!!!
Yes, y’all! My boss was at the HallowQueen party, and decided to plant 4 centimenters from a blacktress! I immediately alerted the blondes and made sure to text my nearest and dearest. Jewboo’s response: “Isn’t yer boss a drag queen?” as though I shouldn’t have been at all surprised. One of the gals I was with was convinced he must have seen me, since he’d crossed several times to drop off his coat, go back to pull out his wallet and phone, and then go back to put something else in his pocket.
“Do you think he’d recognize me in this outfit?!”
I tried to continue dancing non-chalantly, but the night lost its luster. I wasn’t ready to be caught out dressed like a tramp by the man who signs my checks. I walked over to my bag to put my cell away when he turned towards me. I used my collapsible fan as a face shield (just like Condi would do), but it was a wrap.
Michael just looked at me, rolled his eyes and laughed, and said, “I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”
I swear, I’m only having former drag queens as bosses from now on.
Okay, there’s much more to report, but I gotta get back to work before the shunt comes over with another request. I’m glad I broke the block, y’all—how you been?
Since I last posted, there have been many changes afoot—I don’t even know where to begin!
1. On Friday, October 29th at 6:34pm, Jewboo called to tell me he GOT A JOB!!!
Yes, y’all!!! He’s got a sweet temp-to-perm gig at Columbia University! For those of you who don’t know, Columbia’s located in Harlem, which means that not only has Jewboo solved the “I’m broke-ass” problem, he’s also helped alleviate the “I love on the G train” issue! Other pluses to this new employment:
- Jewboo’s entire staff consists of strong black women and a black man named Junior. Our 8 months of dating have trained him perfectly for dealing with a strong black woman—and, should his superiors be prone to outbursts and mood swings, he will be able to respond by asking them if they are in “food distress.”
- When the gig goes permanent, Jewboo will be making 25% MORE THAN ME. Seriously. As an administrative assistant. It really makes me wish I hadn’t gone into debt going to a liberal arts university when managing an Outlook calendar is where the money is.
- With this newfound money, Jewboo can begin purchasing me foodstuffs of the baked variety. I’m ‘bout to get myself mad cupcakes, y’all!
- My mother can stop telling me that I need to “use this one as a back-up; don’t get attached.”
2. So, for Halloween, I decided to go as “slutty Condoleeza Rice,” complete with cheap corset purchased from H&M and a headband with a top hat. I was definitely a tramp, but luckily, my party of choice was a bunch of gays in a high school gymnasium in Chelsea. It was kind of amazing. The drag queens brought out their A game, and they actually taught me how to—
UGH, God, my fucking coworker keeps interrupting me, and I can’t get a blog in edgewise! He’s being such a fucking shunt*, and I having been wanting to cut him for days. My hatred has gotten so intense that Saturday night I dreamt we got into a fist fight. I wish he’d just never talk to me again—or only communicate with me via email. He’s just so damn….detail-oriented and “wanting to get your thoughts on” things that it just bothers the shit out of me. I swear to fucking god, I can’t handle being here.
*that’s Australian for “shitty cunt”
Okay, rant complete. Where was I?
Oh, right, HallowQUEEN. (How did I just start calling it this now???)
So, I’m dancing to remixed versions of every pop song I’ve ever known (when you speed up “Umbrella,” Rihanna sounds even more like a chipmunk than usual), in my trampy outfit, hanging out with two members of my BLONDtourage (white girls are excellent safety nets on nights when the crazies are out), when a guy crosses behind us to put is coat in a corner.
I freeze. My stomach twists in a figure-eight knot.
No, it isn’t one of the many former lovers I’ve had.
It was MY BOSS!!!
Yes, y’all! My boss was at the HallowQueen party, and decided to plant 4 centimenters from a blacktress! I immediately alerted the blondes and made sure to text my nearest and dearest. Jewboo’s response: “Isn’t yer boss a drag queen?” as though I shouldn’t have been at all surprised. One of the gals I was with was convinced he must have seen me, since he’d crossed several times to drop off his coat, go back to pull out his wallet and phone, and then go back to put something else in his pocket.
“Do you think he’d recognize me in this outfit?!”
I tried to continue dancing non-chalantly, but the night lost its luster. I wasn’t ready to be caught out dressed like a tramp by the man who signs my checks. I walked over to my bag to put my cell away when he turned towards me. I used my collapsible fan as a face shield (just like Condi would do), but it was a wrap.
Michael just looked at me, rolled his eyes and laughed, and said, “I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”
I swear, I’m only having former drag queens as bosses from now on.
Okay, there’s much more to report, but I gotta get back to work before the shunt comes over with another request. I’m glad I broke the block, y’all—how you been?
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Unable to MoveOn.org
So I know I’ve been way behind on bloggery, and I have much to catch you up on, but I forgot to post a little tidbit from “Sad Girl” (remember her from that time I went to 8th grade prom?). She’s since graduated high school and is living on her own. Adult life hasn’t been so good to her. It seems, you can take Sad Girl out of high school, but you can’t take the….sadness out of the sad girl.
I don’t know if you guys know about this, but I’ve been going through a really hard time lately. Work is a total bitch, and my former drag queen of a boss (that’s not meant to be derogatory, that’s just a fact) keeps telling me that I’m “sick and suffering.” Yesterday, the online editor got pissed at me because I finally told her why I don’t like her (she doesn’t respect my dominance). And Halloween’s coming up, and I have no idea what to be (a slutty fireman? A slutty bunny? Muslim film star Delta Burqa?).
Not that I have anywhere to go anyway. No one invites me out anymore, and it sucks. I got Netflix a few months ago to help quell the ache, but even movies have gotten boring.
I check my email every 5 minutes, hoping for an Evite to som—
Oh my god, guess what?! I just got an email from a guy named Chuck S. It’s titled “Come to my party in New York on Saturday?”
I LIVE IN NEW YORK! Chuck knows that, I’m sure, or he wouldn’t have invited me. I don’t know who he is off the top of my head, but I’m sure we met somewhere a year or so back, when I used to be social.
Ugh, thank god. I was freaking out over not having plans. Okay, now I’ll go to Ricky’s and get a costume. I wonder if anyone hot will be there. Maybe Chuck’s hot. Should I bring candy? Let me open the email and see the deets.
ARE. YOU. FUCKING. KIDDING. ME?
Hi,
We're just 5 days from the election, and dozens of races could come down to just a handful of votes. We could end up with narrow Democratic wins in a ton of close races, or a Republican takeover of our government, and it all comes comes down to which side has more volunteers getting out the vote.
I'm not going to let right-wing Republicans take over Congress.
So I'm hosting an election call party on Saturday in New York. I'm inviting people over to make calls to sign up volunteers for our candidates.
I can't do it alone. So if you've got a couple hours to spare this weekend—or even if you don't!--please, please, please come to my party. It's up to all of us in the next 5 days.
Why doesn’t anyone ever invite me anywhere fun?
Friday, October 29, 2010
Apparently, He No Longer Has a Hold on Anyone
Y'all, I got another rando press release today at work. The subject line was cut off, but what I could see read "SMOKEY ROBINSON MEDIA BLITZ S---"
What?! Smokey Robinson? Homey's still alive and blitzing it up?! I obviously double-clicked on that shizz post haste.
Apparently, Smokey has a new album out, y'all. It's called "Now and Then." This is exciting--the man's a legend, and he's still got it! I was ready to call up my mom and tell her the good news when I read the introduction. Tell me what's wrong with this paragraph, y'all (it has not in any way been altered):
Nashville, TN – Legendary hit-maker Smokey Robinson will commence a media flurry, visiting national media in Nashville and New York to promote his highly anticipated album, Now and Then, which hits Cracker Barrel Old Country Store locations on November 1st.
In addition, Smokey will tape segments for The Weather Channel, Fox Entertainment feed, LXNY, NYC Profiles, ABC Nightline, and Hannity.
Cracker Barrel?! They selling Smokey's albums in Cracker Muthafuckin' Barrel Old Country Stores?! Y'all, this is the man who brought us such mega hits as “Shop Around,” “Tracks of My Tears,” and “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me.” He is a living legend--and they can't even put his ish on Amazon?!
Smokey is too good for CRACKER BARREL! I call that restaurant "Barrel of Crackers," cause when I stopped at one by the roadside, I didn't see a black person anywhere. In fact, every person in the place turned and looked at us, which I know took a lot of work, because most of them didn't have necks.
And what's this "Weather Channel" foolishness? What about VH1 or BET?! And Hannity?! WTF?! Y'all, I can't cope with this foolishness. Smokey needs to get some new representation, stat.
Don't worry, Smokey--you still got a hold on Sojo!
What?! Smokey Robinson? Homey's still alive and blitzing it up?! I obviously double-clicked on that shizz post haste.
Apparently, Smokey has a new album out, y'all. It's called "Now and Then." This is exciting--the man's a legend, and he's still got it! I was ready to call up my mom and tell her the good news when I read the introduction. Tell me what's wrong with this paragraph, y'all (it has not in any way been altered):
Nashville, TN – Legendary hit-maker Smokey Robinson will commence a media flurry, visiting national media in Nashville and New York to promote his highly anticipated album, Now and Then, which hits Cracker Barrel Old Country Store locations on November 1st.
In addition, Smokey will tape segments for The Weather Channel, Fox Entertainment feed, LXNY, NYC Profiles, ABC Nightline, and Hannity.
Cracker Barrel?! They selling Smokey's albums in Cracker Muthafuckin' Barrel Old Country Stores?! Y'all, this is the man who brought us such mega hits as “Shop Around,” “Tracks of My Tears,” and “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me.” He is a living legend--and they can't even put his ish on Amazon?!
Smokey is too good for CRACKER BARREL! I call that restaurant "Barrel of Crackers," cause when I stopped at one by the roadside, I didn't see a black person anywhere. In fact, every person in the place turned and looked at us, which I know took a lot of work, because most of them didn't have necks.
And what's this "Weather Channel" foolishness? What about VH1 or BET?! And Hannity?! WTF?! Y'all, I can't cope with this foolishness. Smokey needs to get some new representation, stat.
Don't worry, Smokey--you still got a hold on Sojo!
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Remembrance of Things Past
OMG, guys. I’m really happy now. I got an email from my gyno!!!
Yes, guys, an e-mail! An e-mail is good because it means your test results came back negative. I remind myself of this with a little rhyme: If you didn’t fail, you get an email; If your phone rings, it doesn’t bring good things!
You know you’ve lived a little too hard if you’re really amped over STD test results. I’m not mathemagician, but I’d venture to say that one’s excitement over negative STD tests is directly proportional to one’s past sluttery. And, as many of you long-time readers can attest, Sojourner has definitely taken advantage of her freedom—and the legalization of miscegenation. As a hypochondriac, I get tested very regularly (sometimes I go in for a prescription refill and come out with two vials of blood drawn, just for the fun of it!), and the idea of an un-wrapped P in my V actually terrifies me, so my past, while varied, is relatively tidy.
Still, there were those nights….those Grease-like summer nights, when the club was dark and the booze was strong, and you didn’t know if that guy was on the up-and-up, but you hoped the amount of alcohol in your blood was so high that it would kill any foreign antibodies that entered.
Am I right, guys?
Anyway, I figure I just bought another 18 months of calm, especially now that I’m Jewboo’ed up and behaving.
Speaking of sluttery, I’m thinking of doing a trashy Halloween costume this year. I’m not really one for costumes (as a blacktress, I perpetually wear a mask….oooohh, that’s deep), and the idea of spending a lot of money or investing several hours in crafting a costume for one night of wear just seems silly. Besides, all the costumes for women are a slutty version of something really generic—you know, like a slutty fireman, a slutty witch, or a slutty slut.
I think, in honor of the slutty idiocy that is Halloween, my costume will be A Girl With Low-Self Esteem.
Booty shorts and/or booty skirt, the tiniest top you can imagine, and the need for endless male attention all night long.
I may end up having flashbacks.
Or, if I want to seem slutty-yet-cool, I’m thinking I can dress up as a Freudian Slip.
You know, wear a slip with my glasses and a name tag that says “Hello My Name is FREUD.”
What say you?
Yes, guys, an e-mail! An e-mail is good because it means your test results came back negative. I remind myself of this with a little rhyme: If you didn’t fail, you get an email; If your phone rings, it doesn’t bring good things!
You know you’ve lived a little too hard if you’re really amped over STD test results. I’m not mathemagician, but I’d venture to say that one’s excitement over negative STD tests is directly proportional to one’s past sluttery. And, as many of you long-time readers can attest, Sojourner has definitely taken advantage of her freedom—and the legalization of miscegenation. As a hypochondriac, I get tested very regularly (sometimes I go in for a prescription refill and come out with two vials of blood drawn, just for the fun of it!), and the idea of an un-wrapped P in my V actually terrifies me, so my past, while varied, is relatively tidy.
Still, there were those nights….those Grease-like summer nights, when the club was dark and the booze was strong, and you didn’t know if that guy was on the up-and-up, but you hoped the amount of alcohol in your blood was so high that it would kill any foreign antibodies that entered.
Am I right, guys?
Anyway, I figure I just bought another 18 months of calm, especially now that I’m Jewboo’ed up and behaving.
Speaking of sluttery, I’m thinking of doing a trashy Halloween costume this year. I’m not really one for costumes (as a blacktress, I perpetually wear a mask….oooohh, that’s deep), and the idea of spending a lot of money or investing several hours in crafting a costume for one night of wear just seems silly. Besides, all the costumes for women are a slutty version of something really generic—you know, like a slutty fireman, a slutty witch, or a slutty slut.
I think, in honor of the slutty idiocy that is Halloween, my costume will be A Girl With Low-Self Esteem.
Booty shorts and/or booty skirt, the tiniest top you can imagine, and the need for endless male attention all night long.
I may end up having flashbacks.
Or, if I want to seem slutty-yet-cool, I’m thinking I can dress up as a Freudian Slip.
You know, wear a slip with my glasses and a name tag that says “Hello My Name is FREUD.”
What say you?
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
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?
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?
Friday, October 22, 2010
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”]
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”]
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