Farewell, Friends!!!

This latest incident with the blog has prompted me to get out of the blogsphere. It seems that people in my daily life can't handle my truths, and minutes of happy typing are becoming the impetus for lectures, diatribes, and relationship collapses. This blog has been so much fun to write, and brought wonderful things into my life--like Eli Reed, who I wouldn't have ever met in Australia if she hadn't found this blog before I even moved over there--but the fallout on the northern hemisphere is just rough.

Hopefully this is a phase, but until I can figure out how to write what makes this readable/enjoyable in the first place without causing strife with friends, possibly losing my job, and ending my relationships, I gotta take a break.

What Do You Want From Me, World???????

Hey y'all!
How was your weekend? Hanging with my Jewish fam this weekend was fun and far too short. I love acting like a tourist in the suburbs, and the fam is happy to oblige. Not only did we get dessert at Dairy Queen and Sonic, we also saw some Amish riding down the street in a horse and buggy. I have gotten my suburban fix for the remainder of the year.

[A PORTION OF THIS POST HAS BEEN REMOVED DUE TO READERS NOT KNOWING HOW TO BE COOL. ONE PERSON COULDN'T BEHAVE, AND NOW THERE'S NO EMOTIONAL CONNECTION FOR ANYONE.]

After all, I'm not Bradley Cooper.

Although he is limitless, my mom wouldn’t want me to marry him.

I got into work this morning (an hour late—score!) and found a FB message from THE AUSTRALIAN?
Remember him, y’all?
Nope, not the redheaded Weasley.
Not the racist one.
Nope, not Kebab Boy.
Not the American guy who went to Australia after our first two dates and never called again.
The first one. The man that started it all.

I fucking hate facebook.
As you know, it all went horribly wrong with the Aussie, with my visit to his homeland resulting in a complete severance of contact (funny, that). I still think of him with a twinge, but it happens once every three months, and is only in a, “I hate that he thinks I’m the crazy one!” kind of way, not a swoony way. I haven’t spoken to him since we had a White president.
Turns out two NYC pals I haven’t seen in ages just had their babies and I sent along my congratulations via wall post (as you do in this internet age). For this act of pseudo-human-interaction, I received the following:











Subject: Hello

Hey [BLACKTRESS],
How are you? Saw you on [new parents’] photo post.
Hope you're doing great.
[D-bag]

WHY?????? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?
Hey, Folger’s, I got a new jingle for you:
“The worst part of wakin’ up / Is an asshole who won’t shut up!”

I think what's most insane about it is the attempt at a casual hello--as if seeing me on a "photo post" was the same as seeing me at a party or something. And he hopes I'm doing "Great." What if I wrote back and said, "I'm doing good, not great--gotta drain my labia three times a day."
Hmmm.....perhaps that would prevent him from contacting me forever.....

Of course, I couldn't deal with this alone at my desk. I promptly alerted KWalsh to the situation.

me: THE AUSTRALIAN FRIENDED ME ON FACEBOOK
KWalsh: ewwwwwwwwwww
me: DUDE, I CAN'T FUCKING COPE WITH THIS WORLD
ok, i'm done with the caps
KWalsh: haha
me: and his profile pic is a glamour shot
like, out of control
what do you think his mental illness is?
KWalsh: hahahaha
being australian?
KWalsh: i think men have amnesia about the shit they do
like, 2 years passes and suddenly they're like "oh yeah, her! cool!"
like don't remember any of the strife
oorrrrrrr they didnt think it was crazy dramatic in the first place
normal
me: we were never friends! He is a crazy biatch
KWalsh: i know but i think he thinks you were friends
in his retroactive narrative
me: but that's so strange
we met at a bar, had a torrid affair, then he went back to Australia
he sent me his penis over the internet and tried to have phone sex with a 16-hour time difference while he was in a relationship
when became single again, he came back to nyc 8 months
we had another torrid three-day affair
and then when i said i didn't want to be his friend in australia, he said i was "fucking crazy"
KWalsh: i know these are all FACTS
but i think he is just conveniently remembering that you're his mate in the US
me: that doesn't compute in my brainhole

And it still doesn’t, guys. I mean, all for living and letting live, but there's a huge difference between that and "sure, show up in my minifeed and keep tabs on my performance schedule as though we have a mutual respect that makes that unobtrusive."
See how many more words that is--clearly, it's very different.

In other news:
I was asked to do a voiceover on the plantation last week for a craft event. Because our setup is so broke and busted, me and the video guy had to record it locked in the bathroom. Of course, you know my work ethic--I'm in it for the bennies and the blog fodder. With that in mind, I have provided a few choice outtakes from the recording session:

Family Matters

Happy Friday, y'all!

So, I'm taking this summer Friday and heading off to PA, to visit Jewboo's parents. I could barely sleep last night, which is nothing new given my anxiety levels. But I realized, as I jumped up and got everything done this morning, that maybe I wasn't anxious as much as excited. I love visiting the 'rents; middle-aged Jews hold a special place in my heart (probably all those years of private school), and Jewboo's parents think I'm the next best thing since sliced challah. Nothing makes me feel like a vital contributor to the human race quite like Papa Jewboo telling me I'm a "catch."
It's also really nice to get out of the city and get the scent of homeless-man urine out of my nostrils.

Today is almost a year to the day that I first met the parents. As some of you may recall, that was certainly a trial by fire, as I ended up in the ER within 12 hours of arriving. (Learn from my mistake, ladies: Always use the vaginal suppository.) Although I was mortified for days, the upside of that hot mess was that the standards for a "good visit" are pretty low--as long as I don't end up hospitalized or lose the ability to breathe, we'll all have a gay ol' time!

Have I mentioned that Jewboo's mom makes me nervous? She's not mean or anything, she's just kinda quiet and doesn't really have patience for bullshit. Yes, okay, she's a strong black woman in a white candy coating, and for that I love her--but I also feel this need to "crack" her. With robotic, straight-faced, non-emotive folks, there's always a part of me that wants to be the one to make them laugh. I want to get a serious guffaw. I want to get a thigh slap and a gasp for air outta this woman! But of course, as with any relationship, too much wanting makes for creepiness and awkwardness.

I'm trying to play it cool and just chillax. I'll let you know how it goes, though. Wish me luck!

xoxo,
blacktress!!

Four Times a Blacktress....A List

Hey gang!

God, I feel like I haven’t blogged in forevs. There’s so much to share; I don’t even know where to begin. Let’s just go with the highlights:

1. Brooke Shields is my new BFF!
Fer reals. Saturday morning, I was meeting up with some friends at noon, and was a bit early. To kill time, I went to the nearby Dean & Deluca for an iced tea. As I approach the door, a tall woman and a shorter bald man (her main gay?) beat me to the door and head in. I catch a glimpse of the woman’s face, and instantly I recognize her. Holy shit, it’s Brooke Shields! I walk in behind them and order my iced tea with lemon slices, trying not to stare.
Okay, Blacktress, be cool. Don’t be creepy; celebrities like living in New York because we don’t stare. But I can’t just not act like Brooke Shields isn’t two feet from me, asking about the soup of the day.
Brooke’s asking the guy what’s up with the soups, and I’m thinking, Brooke, it’s 95 degrees. Why on earth do you want soup? She’s such a goose.
The waiter offers to let her taste the soups and it turns out one of them in a succotash.
The moment was now.
“What’s a succotash? Is it like a gumbo?” I asked.
Brooke looked at me, square in the eye, like I was a real human. She tilts her cup down toward me to show me the very unattractive combination.
“Oh, it’s creamy.”
“Yeah, but it’s got bacon in it,” she says, making a face.
“Guh.”
After tossing the taster in the trash, she comes back over and whispers, “You know, the pizza place next door has lemons. They’ll give you a slice if you ask.”
I laughed. "Good call," I said, as if we were besties.
Brooke, I can't just roll up to a pizza place asking for a slice of lemon. It’s not like it’s a lemon factory! And even if it was, I don’t think they’d just be giving away the product. It was so cute, the way Brooke thought I could do something that she can do.
Me: Can I have a couple slices of lemon, please?
Pizza Guy: What?
Me: Slices of lemon….for my tea?
Pizza Guy: We don’t have that.
Me: Brooke Shields said I could get a slice of lemon here.
Pizza Guy: What? No, no, we don’t have that here.
Me: Are you trying to make a liar out of Brooke Shields?
[I am then forcibly ejected from the establishment.]

Brooke looks just as good in person, y'all. She's a glamazon.

2. Whoopi Goldberg hates people / The View is just like Kindergarten


I haven’t had a blog post up sooner because Monday I wasn’t at work (we all know that’s where the good writing gets done). My mom ordered tickets for The View, like, two years ago, and they came in the mail last week. She was going to toss them when I stopped her--When else would I get to see Whoopi, Joy, and Sherri IRL? Thanks to the magic of facebook, the third ticket went to a precious Greek gay man that I met at a commercial audition a couple months back. After waiting in line for three hours, we got into the theater and ended up in the front row (turned out to be right behind the camera, though--sadface!). During the commercial breaks, we were allowed to ask questions (and eat the Keebler cookies and juice given to us before filming.) My mother raised her hand instantly.
“I have a question for Whoopi and Joy,” she said. “My daughter and her friend are young comedians trying to break out, and I wondered what advice you would have for them.”
“What kind of comedy?” Sherrie asked.

“Stand-up,” I said.
“You just gotta keep getting up,” Joy said. “I would do six sets a night. I’d go from Laugh Factory to Improv to next one and the next. That’s how you get good.”
Whoopi, on the other hand, did not. Look. Up. The. Entire. Time.
Apparently, she’s slightly Aspberger-y. When someone asked about relationships, Whoopi went on a tangent about how she never wants to live with someone ever again. “I’ll love you to death, make love to you on top of the Empire State Building,” she said, “but you can’t live with me.” The audience laughed, but Whoopi wasn’t joking. It’s amazing how someone who has won a Grammy, a Tony, an Emmy, and an Oscar could dislike crowds so much.
(There goes my plan to make her my mentor. Kathy Griffin, it’s on you!)

Joy Behar, however, is now my new favorite cast member. She was so chill and normal. I did, however, fall into a fear-spiral thinking of her advice. I did a show at 10:30pm Sunday and I was knocked out for the next day, not to mention six sets a night. What about showing up for work and actually doing stuff? What about getting your laundry from the washer to the dryer? Who has that kind of time?! Or, better yet—who doesn’t have that kind of time and actually makes it in the comedy biznass?

3. We have a new summer intern. He is 15, has swoopy bangs, and recently got his braces off. He was out of the office for about a week (homey gets more vacay time than I do!), and just came back in today--with his girlfriend. Apparently, he was seeing her in LA and his dad told him he had to come home, so he brought her with him. She has curly black hair and is cute as a button. I have been calling them “Gomez and Bieber” all day long.
Yes, I put the GF to work.

4. New TMI from the Massa.

During a 1on1 meeting with my boss this morning, I asked him who posed for a painting he’d done, which was now on his desk. This innocuous query leads to a 5-minute monologue about this young guy who was “obsessed” with him. “I mean, it happens, I’ve come to accept it. I’m a good-looking guy, I seem like I have my shit together; I get it,” he says. “Then it got all messed up. He told people that I fucked him. He was telling everyone I fucked him—and I didn’t.”

[I needed him to stop saying “I fucked him” but he wouldn’t.]

You Smell Gross. We Can Make You Pretty.

That’s basically what every fashion, gossip, and celebrity magazine has been telling me for the last two months. Each issue contains no less than 6 pages on the new “must-have summer scents,” guaranteed to make you smell less like sweat and more like sweat and grapefruit. To save you the time and the agony, I’ve compiled a round up of the best new toilet waters.

As always, The Hairpin's loss is your gain. Happy Friday!

Guerlain Aqua Allegora Jasminora

This limited edition fragrance is the newest addition to the French perfume house’s Aqua Allegoria line. It’s floral and light, with a bit of musk and amber to make you feel like a classy walking pheromone. Allure magazine implores you to, “Close your eyes and take a whiff. Thanks to the bergamot and white musk that balance out a strong jasmine note, this heady scent makes you feel like you're in a garden by the ocean.”
You know, that garden by the ocean you always played in as a child in 18th-century Scotland.

Annick Goutal Paris Petite Cherie Limited Edition

The latest creation by Annick Goutal—“a woman with a remarkable destiny. … After many years studying music, she decided to embrace the opportunity to become a model, a path which aligned perfectly with her innate sense of refinement and genuine elegance.” (remarkable!)—smacks of roses, pear, and even freshly cut grass (yay!). As US Weekly notes, "Perfumes that contain notes of rose are very feminine. They're perfect for an outdoor wedding." Unless the flower arrangement is lilies—in which case, you’re just trying to steal the bride’s thunder.

Bliss Eau de Toilette

Time to chuck your mesquite-cayenne-brown sugar glazes, ladies! InStyle recommends this scent for those who want to be “party ready,” advising that you “spritz on fragrance that won't overpower the food, like this soft Bliss scent. With notes of cucumber and dewy greens, it's almost like a palette cleanser.”

Bonus: this fragrance also makes a nice digestif.

PS: What’s a dewy green?


Versace Versense



This musky scent from the Italian powerhouse is probably worth the $65 price tag. Cosmopolitan recommends it, so you know it’s gotta be good: “Want to conjure up a night with a hot Italian? Spray this light musk.”
Does she mean, like, Practical Magic style?

Celebrity Scents


Reveal, by Halle Berry

“Reveal is an invitation for women to share their story, to reveal some parts of themselves that they have not yet expressed,” Berry says.

But, you know, not the part of them that smells natural or bad.

Laugh Often, by Reese Witherspoon for Avon

This is part of a perfume trio called “Expressions,” a collection that “celebrates life, laughter and love and all the happy moments with the fragrances Live Without Regrets, Laugh Often, and Love to the Fullest.”

Due to underwhelming popularity, Witherspoon will be collaborating on another trio, tentatively titled, “Empowerment”:

Look At Me When I’m Talking to You, I Drink to Feel Pretty, and Dance Like You Know Everyone Is Watching.

(Reese is only laughing once in this pic. How often is that?)

Signature Summer, by David and Victoria Beckham

(I feel like they didn't appear in ads for this fragrance because, if you don't know what they look like, you shouldn't be buying it anyway.)



Who wouldn’t want to smell like these two? "With Signature Summer we wanted to create two summer scents that reflect us as individuals and as a couple," said David Beckham in the press release for the new scents. "The fragrance for men is very modern and masculine and therefore forms a nice contrast to the women's fragrance."

Because men and women are opposites, you see? Like a yin and yang, or a scratchy wool and fine cashmere, or soccer and pop singing. Reviewers note that the men’s scent “is a successful, metrosexual blend of citrus, floral and masculine notes.”

You know, like the smell of crisp $100 bills, leather, and semen--with a nice throw pillow.

Just Checkin' In

Hey gang!

Today’s been super busy. I had a show last night in the East Village and didn’t get home until after midnight. I didn’t eat dinner until 30 minutes after that, and, well, let’s just say that this morning I got to the plantation long after I was supposed to.

The show last night went well, although I was a bit rusty—hadn’t been on stage in a couple of weeks. I did, however, have a great time at the voiceover. My one line was:
I couldn’t find a hospital—forget about how I was going to get there.

I said this 50 times. I am not exaggerating.
Everyone was nice, but very brusque—they were just trying to get it done and move it on. The producer who booked me looked like the seamstress in The Incredibles, but was really nice.


I got there 10 minutes early, thinking that would give me time to get settled in, check my face, etc, but they were waiting for me when I got out of the bathroom! I got the “script” and went right into the booth. A lovely woman named Paula sat in the booth with me, giving me “a person to play to.” She looked just like Gena Rowlands, and I felt like I could trust her.

As I said the line, emphasizing different words each time, Gena Rowlands mouthed direction, such as “Slllooooooooowwwww,” when I needed to not talk so fast; “Toss it!” when she wanted me to ‘let go’ of a word; and leaning in when I reached a word that need emphasis. It ended up only taking 15 minutes, and when I told her this was my first job, she said, “Oh, you’re great!!!”

I wanted to tell her that I loved her in The Notebook, but I didn’t think it was the right time.

Today I got a call from an artist who is kind of obsessed with me. I met him over a year ago, and ever since, he likes to randomly call up and try to get published in the magazine. But instead of just selling himself, he insists on trying to inflate my ego. The thing is, he does so by saying things that are vaguely insulting and overtly lascivious. A couple weeks ago, during our painting event, he stopped by the opening reception. I tried to avoid him, but he made a beeline for a blacktress.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he said, pulling me away from the safety of my fellow staff members before I could even respond.
“Did I do something to offend you?” he asks. “Because you seem angry with me.”
“What?” I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Um, are we sharing a bunk at summer camp? Why is he trippin’ like we have some bond?
“You always call me ‘sir’ and seem to be so formal,” he explained.
“No, [Carl,]” I said. “I enjoy calling people sir, and I tease you because your ego can handle it.” [The man insists being called by his full name in all correspondence—middle initial and all.]
“Oh, I see. Well, you’re good. You’re a funny one.”
He then proceeds to introduce me to every artist that passes by, whispering to them after we shake hands. Finally, I call him out. One artist explains, “Oh, he just said how beautiful you were.”
Um, HR violation!
When the other guy leaves, Carl proceeds to tell me about a “Stunning, brilliant black woman,” I should get to know. “She’s just like you,” he says, leaning in. “I love a smart and beautiful woman.”
[Note: Carl wears large round glasses and looks like a science teacher from the 1980s. He is a close talker and his breath often smells of red wine and patchouli.]

Oh, and did I mention that he also told me he has “an honorary brother card”? Of course, I demanded he take out his wallet and show it to me. All he could scrounge up was his discount card to an art-supply store.

So, when he calls me up today, he begins with a discussion of how talented I am. “I recently saw Robin Williams on Broadway,” he says. “And he’s got 5 speeds. You, you’ve got 10. Whoopi’s got 20, but you’ll get there.”

This man has never seen me perform. I am not at all interesting at work functions. I certainly don’t think comparing me to either Robin Williams or Whoopi Goldberg is appropriate or even flattering, because it’s so far off and based on so little information.
He ended the conversation the way he always does--by telling me how “impressed” he and his wife are with me. I think this has something to do with being “well spoken.”

Follow the Sound of My Voice!

Hello My Darlings!!!!*

(*I mean that in the wholesome-super-excited-you-are-my-favorites! kind of way, not the creepy, Lady Gaga, clap-for-me-I'm-Tinkerbell kind of way.)

How was your long weekend? I love a good celebration of freedom as much as the next abolitionist, but I must say, getting amped for America isn't really my thing. I find fireworks somewhat boring, the sound of explosions puts me on edge, and, although I will happily attend a stranger's barbecue, I am not eating meat some rando purchased from god knows where at 50% off.

Yes, I'm high maintenance.

I mostly just chilled this weekend, and just as it started to feel like a bit of a vacay, the weekend came to a close and the Sunday--or, in this case, Monday--Shakes started to roll in. I am, however, in a really good mood this morning, primarily because.....I AM RECORDING MY FIRST VOICEOVER GIG AT 2PM!

Did I tell you guys I was taking voiceover classes? This has been going on for about 3 months, so you certainly should know, but then again, there's nothing racist, awkward, or dramatic about it, so it may not have crossed my mind as a blogging option.

I've been taking lessons with a strong black woman who wrote the book on working as a voiceover artist--literally, she wrote the book:

And she even got Niles Crane to do the Foreword! This woman makes it happen!

She's been in the biz 20 years, is really nice, and she's a strong black woman. She's like a supportive Vanessa Williams figure, guiding me through the unknown land of voiceover, helping me get over my fear of failure and need for perfection, laughing whenever I ask her to adopt me, and getting me gigs! The lady's paying for herself, and I don't even have my demo reel yet!

This gig came through one of her other students, who was asked if she knew an African American voice talent for a non-union radio spot. On Wednesday I sent along my one and only clip--something I'd recorded for my job (you know the plantation puts me on double duty with no compensation), and my comedy reel, thinking it was no skin off my teat to attach a file. I didn't expect to get it, considering there was nothing "ethnic" about my voice, and the promo wasn't at all what they were looking for.

So you can imagine my surprise when I got a phone call Friday morning, saying I was booked!!!!

Best. Friday. Ever.

It's a health insurance ad for regional radio in the Midwest. I've got one line, I'll be in the studio for 30 minutes, and I'll be getting some hundreds of dollars!!!! Y'all, this might become my new dream. Voiceover is hard to break into, but lucrative as all get-out. When the producer called, she told me the price as though I'd be offended. "It's just one line, I know, but you're still important!"

Um, for half an hour of work, you're paying me more than I make in 2 days of toiling for former DQ massa. You don't have to remind me that I'm important!!!

That's at 2pm today. Of course, my biggest concern this morning was what to wear. I know, I know, this is for radio--and boy, don't I got the face for radio! (har, har)--but I still gotta bring it on: all or nothing, you know?

How are you this fine Tuesday morn?