A Win. A Loss. A Random.

*****[This post was supposed to publish on Friday, but apparently I clicked 'Draft' and not 'Publish'--whoops! I guess I've been getting too wrapped up in Shark Week.]*****

Happy Friday, friends! Over the last couple days a lot has gone on in the world of the young, gifted, and black woman—and like I always say, Ain't I a Woman?


Let’s start with the good news.

Two female African American police officers have made history by becoming the first top cops to command a city precinct.

Deputy Inspector Juanita Holmes and Capt. Vanessa Kight are now the top cops at Brooklyn’s 81st Precinct in Bedford-Stuyvestant.

YAY!!! Talk about some strong black women! DI Holmes has already been with the precinct 27 years. Apparently, she's not getting too old for this shit!

Now, for the sad news:

A Black High School Student in Arkansas Can't Be Valedictorian Because...SHE'S BLACK.

For reals, y'all.

Kymberly Wimberly, 18, got only a single B in her 4 years at McGehee Secondary School, and loaded up on Honors and Advanced Placement classes. She had the highest GPA in her class, but was forced to share the honor of valedictorian with a white student with a lower GPA. She and her lawyer argue that the school's refusal to let her be sole valedictorian was part of a pattern of discrimination against black students.

Wimberly's mother, the school's "certified media specialist," says in the federal discrimination complaint that after her daughter had been told she would be valedictorian, she heard "in the copy room that same day, other school personnel express concern that Wimberly's status as valedictorian might cause a 'big mess.'"

There are a number of things wrong with this picture, but only one that makes people giggle over and over again: the girl’s name.

Because yes, you read it right—her name is KYMBERLY WIMBERLY. (#WhyBlackPeopleCan'tHaveNiceThings)

Before you start calling me a discredit to the race, let me be clear: the real tragedy is the blatant racism and discrimination that is preventing a young, gifted, and black woman from receiving hard-earned honors. She's also a teen mom, which shows that she's driven, dedicated, and won't let a baby hold her back. She's a role model!!!! Denying Kym Wim of the chance to stand before her school after years of hard work and share her experience, strength, and hope tells black children everywhere that there's no point in trying. (#NoWeCan't)

But why on earth did her mom name her Kymberly Wimberly? How much did THAT have to do with people's ability to accept her as sole valedictorian? You're already on thin ice by making a life in the home of the Little Rock Nine--why not at least give your daughter a fighting chance with a non-rhyming name? Mama Wimberly wasn't even allowed to bring her grievance to the PTA meeting, which you know ain't right. But if you came into my PTA meeting and I knew you'd named your child Kymberly Wimberly, I probably wouldn’t let you speak, either. Your judgment would be questioned at every turn.

And now the case is all over the internets, and the most common comments are:

Her mother should be sued for naming her daughter Kymberly Wimberly.

Kymberly Wimberly, what a great name! Hope she runs for president one day.

That's screwed up and all, but what kind of name is Kymberly Wimberly?
Reply: I think maybe that is why it would cause a "big mess". Everyone would think it's a joke.

Po' Kym Wim! She overcame Arkansas, teen motherhood, and poor parental judgment and still can't catch a break. (#WeShallOverCome,JustNotToday)

In other news......

I just got the most random FB msg ever. If this isn’t love in the digital age, I don’t know what is:

hi pretty baby how was your i hope every thing is fine,i am passing by i saw your pics and how beautiful it is,and i want to appreciate your beauty. my name is Thomas brown i am honest,kindly and lovely man ,baby i am single in my palace,baby u are the true vine,and Ur love is the vine dresser ,u are the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valleys, to chat with me thomasbrown2014luv@yahoo.com, i will be waiting for reply bye

This guy clearly wants to give me the herp and steal my identity. What is a "true vine" and a "vine dresser"?

How I'll Meet My Lover

Hey friends!

I've been hemming and hawing about what to blog about this week, fearful that I'd end up sued for libel and/or dumped on the streets of Harlem. I realize that the only fair game is celebrities and myself, as well as anyone who won't assume the worst of me. With that, I must share this juicy bit of info I got from a comedy-club booker just moments ago.

Neil Patrick Harris—or, as I like to call him, Heterosexuality's Greatest Loss—lives in Harlem.

Yes, y'all! NPH/HGL was one of our earliest gentrifiers. I knew we had a connection that extended beyond my brain’s fantasyworld.
(Note to self: I'll have to write him a letter and thank him for bringing black folks brunch.)

How did I get this info, you ask? Well, the booker called me about a showcase his club is doing for an NBC casting person. We got to chatting a bit and discovered we lived in the same neighborhood. My response:
“Oh, you’re one of the ones who jacked up our prices!”
Booker: Yup. I’ve been here about 10 years. Doogie Howser is here, too.
Me: Wait, what? SHUT UP. NPH lives in your building?
Booker: Huh?
Me: Neil. Patrick. Harris.
Booker: Yeah.
Me: You are my new best friend. I hope you don’t mind if I stalk you now.

He then goes on to tell me that, although NPH/HGL has a hip pad downtown, he uses his Harlem apartment “as a homebase.” When he was hosting the Tony Awards this year, he had the extended fam staying there, away from the limelight and the paps!

Apparently, he’s lived uptown since his post-Doogie days. Guys, what if NPH was right behind me in line at the Uptown Juice Bar? What if he also bought quarter waters at the bodega?* What if he, too, used to enjoyed a good Jamaican beef patty after a long day? And, most important—has he been to the iHop that opened on 135th street?????

I’ve always felt a kinship with him—like Dr. Howser, I enjoy unwinding at the end of a long day with a good ol’ recap on my computer. Like Barney Stinson, I have a slutty history and daddy issues. And, as a host, NPH and I will go to any length’s to wow the crowd—including rapping.

He did this with zero preparation. It was written on the spot after all the winners were announced. The man is a true professional.

I’m sure I’ve already blogged about my goal to become NPH’s au pair, so I won’t bother outlining that fantasy again. But guys, the fact that NPH is regularly within a mile of me brings me one step closer to achieving my dream! Can you imagine me with the twins?!

Photo courtesy JJSiii

I don’t know how I’ll make this happen. I’m thinking my best bet is through his partner, as he can likely travel incognito and just walks around the neighborhood. I am willing to take my time to befriend him, as it will allow me to know NPH through his lifemate. When we finally meet—hopefully at a bourgie Harlem restaurant offering “Haute Soul Cuisine” or some crap—it will be like we’ve know each other all our lives. The babies will reach for me as if they already know I’m the Corinna Corinna to their Molly Singer.

The whole fam will come to my stand-up shows, and I’ll have to make sure my friends don’t embarrass me in front of NPH, but he’ll be so cool and down to earth, it won’t even be a big deal. We’ll regularly “do brunch” and they’ll call me when the twins are finicky and they don’t know what to do. I bet they’ll even start celebrating Kwanzaa!!!

A gal can dream, right?

Oh, and by the way—I got a slot on the showcase. Hopefully you’ll get to see Blacktress on 30 Rock -- It's about time Tracy Morgan got some competition.


*If you understand this reference, I heart you. Please come to my aid the next time my negrosity is questioned.

Brokeback Blacktress!

Emphasis on the BACK!

I swear, I'm not trying to be the blacktress who cried wolf. All weekend, I've just been struggling. I just can't fight the urge to blog. I think I finally get Jack Twist's struggle, as I, too, wish I knew how to quit you!
And by 'you,' I mean 'internet-fueled narcissism.'

I just can't not tell my truths. I feel like the little boy at the end of Shane.



Only, instead of screaming "Shane, come back!" I'm yelling, "Blog!!!!!"


After an empowering talk with my therapist, I realized that silencing my voice isn't the answer. Although there was a fallout from the last post (and, surprisingly enough, it had nothing to do with my mom's words), most of the folks who can handle my truth got where I was coming from. I can't let misinterpretations freak me out. BUT....

I can't just call myself "You Can't Handle the Truth" and then get all butt-hurt when people can't, in fact, handle the truth. I've gotta own it. So, with that, I will keep my emotions reigned in and try not to bring up anything hurtful to people I care about. I was advised to start a separate, password-protected blog where I can pour out my feelings, but that's definitely not what I'm trying to do--I'm not some 14-year-old in 1995 with a LiveJournal. There will be no emo poetry here. There will, on occassion, be a touch of emotion, but my tone will be much clearer in the future-- let's see if it's not too boring.

Don't give up on me, gentle readers! I promise I'll keep bringing the fun and fresh, and I urge all those with an issue to leave a comment so that I can clarify things before relationships get ruined! It's the only way to keep love alive!

Okay, back to pretending to work. I'll have a real post soon--after all, Amy Winehouse would have wanted it that way.

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.]