Sojo's Lost her Mojo!

To give you a sense of where I'm at lately, here's an excerpt from this morning's conversation with a coworker. 

Coworker: How are you doing? 

Me: You know...as well as as can be expected at my age. 

That wasn't ironic, guys. I am feeling more broke down than my 96-year-old grandmother! I think it's because my most recent shows have been lackluster. I feel like I'm not funny anymore. Now that I'm cohabiting, I'm basically hanging out with cute cats and making lists of furnishings to buy--snoozefest! I mean, Jewboo does the dishes without being asked. He sweeps regularly. When I call his name, he usually responds "Yes, dear?" WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF COMEDIC FODDER IS THAT??? 

Oh lordy lordy (look whose forty!)--leave it to me to find a problem with an agreeable live-in lover.
I jest, gentle readers--things are good with him and they shouldn't be any other way. But this creative wall has got to come down. I know I can't be tapped out--and I'm certainly no flash in the pan. After all, ain't I a woman and ain't I a blacktress?

Maybe I need to take another international journey into Caucasia? Or I need to re-read the complete works of David Sedaris? WHAT CAN REJUVENATE MY SOUL??????


Suggestions are most welcome.

Does it actually get better? Cause this is a F'D UP.

I've been on the fence about having kids for years now, but this latest display of horrendous bullying has me tying my tubes in a figure-eight knot my damn self, Prometheus style. I can't even sit through the whole thing, but just look at this video taken on a school bus in Greece, New York: kids are saying vulgar things to the bus monitor! 




 We can't go telling kids that "it gets better" when a 60-something-year-old woman is being ripped apart!

What happened to, at the very least, respecting (and fearing) your elders? If you even looked at my grandmother sideways, you were going to get put in your place and mom wouldn't even flinch. I'm not into corporal punishment, but as the great truthteller Chris Rock says, every kid needs a good whooping on four key transgressions: lying, stealing, cursing, and disrespecting. Just set it straight once and it's never happening again. It's what I like to call terri-fucking-fy you. If you just invoke a stress response, a Pavlovian fear, it's a wrap. When I was hanging with my old-lady friend (she's 86) and some of her peeps (that's how I roll--with the Soft Food Crew), she was telling me about a kid being rude on the subway. Her friends chimed in with other stories about rude young adults.

"I've found that there are two groups of people who are consistently courteous and helpful: European tourists and young black men." BOOM! Are you shocked to hear it, readers?! Can you handle the truth?! I wasn't surprised, but I wanted to know more.
"It's because many of them were raised by women and particularly their grandmothers--they were either in their home or their sole caregiver."

Socioeconomically speaking, that checks out (and here, too). No doubt the kids in this video have little home training. I hope they suffer the consequences for their actions--and get some intensive therapy. Or maybe Greece, New York, should bring back the fucking gladiators and have these kids fight to the death--you know, separate the wheat from the psychopaths.

What do you think?

How do you know when you've found "the one"?

When he tweets:


@Blacktress Every month, Tyler Perry’s Madea goes through her minstrel cycle.

Whose Got Two Thumbs, One One of Which Isn't Working? THIS GIRL!

I must be honest and say that part of the reason I haven't blogged about the D is because of a medical condition. For weeks now, I've had intense-yet-sporadic pain in my dominant hand that effects all five fingers and even extends up to my elbow! But on this high-deductible "health-insurance plan" I'm not running to the doc unless there's oozing or hallucinations. When I got back the results from my physical and heard that my white blood cell counts were extra-low, I figured with the hand pain and the wack immune system it could only be one thing--bone cancer (natch). Still suffering PTSD from last year's medical madness (and ensuing debt), I was still trying to get answers without running to the doc every ten seconds.

Plus, you guys know how much I love genetic anomalies and medical mysteries. Well, add to that a dash of hypochondria and an apathy toward my day job and I really can get to the bottom of a host of personal ailments.  Here is an email I sent to my doc last week:

Yes, y'all--I created my own visual aids. These are the lengths I will go to in order to avoid a co-pay in these trying times.

And yes, I called my doctor "K-Cho." We're cool like that.

Unfortunately, my excellent PowerPoint presentation couldn't get me out of living life on life's terms. Doc replied a couple hours later:

Wow, that’s an impressive email with nice illustrations! Unfortunately, hand and wrist pain is much better diagnosed by exam than xray. Plus the xray will be useless without correlation to the exam if an xray is even needed. Most hand/wrist pain don’t require xrays if there hasn’t been any trauma/injury.


And boy, was she right! I went into her office yesterday and a few simple tests revealed De Quervain's tenosynovitis. 


"I had a feeling that's what it was based on your description," she said.
"So what you're saying is that my diagrams were an excellent representation of where my pain was and I should perhaps enroll in medical school?"
K-Cho didn't answer, but I'd like to think that's because the answer was obvi.

Apparently this is common among athletes who grip tools (rackets, ski poles, etc) and those who do frequent manual labor, such as hammering. Since I fit into neither of those categories, I can only assume it's because of all the typing and playing Bejeweled on my bootleg phone--or....
"Um, could it be from too much....texting?" I asked tentatively.
Doc looked up knowingly and said, "Could be."

Guys, I have a textually transmitted disease (TTD). 


I thought I was careful. I always used T-Mobile protection! My phone is so broke and busted, it's always been tough to text, but I was willing to stick it out because we'd been through so much together. But now it's destroying my ability to pursue my livelihood! How can I hold a microphone with this level of pain?!

I've been prescribed a regimen of RICE, advil, and even rehabilitation exercises--and I am dedicated. I'm not dying, I'm living with DQT--a TTD that will no longer hide in the shadows.
But this means I've gotta lay off the hard stuff (emotional texts) and the soft stuff ("running 10 min late!"). But I've got one of those ergonomic cushions at the office, so I'll try to get in as much blogging as possible while I can!

I miss you. Call me!

It's a Nice Day for a White (Person's) Wedding....

Who knew I was such a Billy Idol fan?

Tomorrow night Jewboo and I will be attending the wedding of two friends of mine. It's our first and, so far, only wedding of the year, so we're excited. This may also have to do with the fact that it's only 40 minutes outside of the city by train, which means we won't end up stuck in some godforsaken airport for 12 hours.

I've decided I really like going to weddings because I've learned how to make it all about me. Here's a quick tip sheet:

Making a Wedding Work for You: 2012 Edition, 
by Sojourner 'you can't handle the' Truth
(dictated but not read)


- You know there will be photos galore, so save yourself hours of de-tagging the following weekend and use the upcoming nuptials as an excuse to look your MOST FIERCE. I'm super excited to get a mani/pedi/waxi/everythingelseineedtobebeautiful this afternoon!


- After all the flight delays and drama last year, I've decided to only attend weddings within driving distance. With this power comes great flexibility to add a little more vacation to your destination. We're just staying at a hotel one night, but I called to request an early check-in. We'll get to hit the gym/pool, take a nap, and squeeze a brunch in! Who says it's not my special day?


- Ask the DJ to play a few Zumba tunes! You'll engage the fuck out of your core!


- Instead of drinking games, play eating games! Ever wonder how many buttercream cupcakes you can eat in an hour? Now's your chance to find out!


- Bring 250 business cards and 12 copies of your reel. You never know who's related to Ryan Seacrest!


- If you're like me and hate discussing your job/daily life/deferred dreams, stay away from people in your age group and find the oldest person in the room. Chatting up Aunt Irma is guaranteed to bring laughs--and maybe even a self-esteem boost (bonus points if the person is so old that they lived in the Jim Crow era and are shocked at your mere presence).

Now that the truth-telling is over, let's have a little Friday fun with a photo montage!

The Theme: Awkward Wedding Photos

Is this the cover of a Nickelback album?

Why is this supposed to be cute? She actually looks scared. 

CAPTION CONTEST! What do you think he's going through here?

Wake up, Rog! (his name is Roger, don't you think?) 

So what if it's your second marriage--give her your all!

I love everything about this. 

Okay, Japan, I get that the subservient woman is a thing 

but must she be pocket-sized?

F'd by FB!*

*(Fucked by Facebook, obvs)

The biggest challenge about moving in with Jewboo has been the sleep situation. I can't quite stretch out and his alarm goes off about 30 minutes before mine, which means I'm roused (but not aroused!) 30 minutes before I normally would. Then there are the cats, who are both soooo cute but so squirmy--except for the obese one, but he's so big that when he lays on the covers you can't move them at all--that I feel like I'm parenting 6-month-old twins. This morning was no different. After trying to go back to sleep--and having a weird lucid dream about a monkey appearing in my home and me repeatedly trying to jump from one high piece of furniture to the next (and then remembering that monkeys can jump and my attempts at escape were futile), only for the cats to appear and me worrying that the monkey would eat them--I decided to just get up and make my morning oats!

Clearly I was still delirious because I then thought that the best way to pass the time would be to see what was happening on Facebook. What began as a casual scroll through my newsfeed soon became a self-inflicted torture porn of albums celebrating engagements, weddings, pregnancies and babies. I don't know why I thought my day should begin with Facebook. I was already so fragile after a weekend spent in the D for G-unit's 96th birthday (more on that in the next post) and while I was gone I received texts informing me that one of my coworkers had given his notice (damn him for getting free!) and my Coyote Average co-host and co-producer would no longer be hosting, producing, or living in New York City. I know that in both cases these are the right decisions for both of them, but seeing people move closer to their dreams just reminded me how slowly I'm progressing.* Plus, I was gonna be losing my gal pal to the world of touring comedy! 

In other words: Go-go-gadget failure complex! Or, as Harry Potter would say, accio abandonment issues!

Wait--did I tell you the VO agent I met with decided they didn't want to "go forward with a relationship" and that I've gotten no other responses to my demo reel?

Yeah, that happened. 

Look, I know the TRUTH of the matter: What appears in a newsfeed doesn't capture anyone's daily life--of course everyone's photos are smiling, attractive, and showing milestones--those are the moments when someone actually has a camera! If we were really presenting our true selves, every album would pictures of people looking at other people's facebook albums. 

And we'd all look like this:

(This is how I look in my head)

But I can't help but feel like I missed a damn memo. Hetero weddings?! Babies?! Babies havin' babies?! Babies having gaybies?! Gaybies having Prada Pampers?! Guys, isn't the world going to hell in a handbasket? Do we really want to provide more energy sources for the Google-created robots that will take over in just a few short years? I don't know, maybe I'm just too narrow-minded, but I didn't see this coming. Did you?

*God, I'm so self-centered I disgust myself. 

Guys, I'm, Like, Really Well Spoken

Hey friends! I finally recorded my voiceover demo! It starts out with some solid stereotyping and then moves into my true self--you know, showing the range a blacktress needs in these trying times. Give a listen and pass it along to that uncle of yours who works in the biz:


 


I recorded it on May 24 and I already have a meeting with an agent scheduled for THIS AFTERNOON! I'm trying not to get too excited, since it really is all a crapshoot, but I must say it's validating to get such a positive--and prompt--response. Perhaps I can start to live the dream instead of living the dream deferred!

Abrupt transition:

Yesterday I went to a goodbye party for one of my favorite high school teachers (whose son I used to babysit and affectionately refer to as Lil' Massa), which was held in the place where it all began--high school.

(By "it" I mean the self-loathing and outsider tendencies that would eventually lead me to telling un-handle-able truths.)

I didn't know anyone except for a couple teachers and one other guy from my year. We caught up and it turned out he and his wife--a fellow high school classmate--just had a baby 6 weeks ago. As he showed me pictures of their cute baby in their bright, tastefully decorated Brooklyn brownstone (that they own), I realized how far removed I was from this world. One pic showed mom leaning over the baby with a camera.

"Funny story," my friendquaintance begins. "He needs a passport photo and it has to be of him with his eyes opened, not crying, not flailing, and against a white background, so this was a chill moment."

Yes, the baby needs a passport--why? Well, because he and mom are spending the summer in France, of course. #keepingupwiththekardashians

I'm not surprised, really. I understand that wealth begets wealth--and France isn't the pinnacle of 'success' (however you define it)--but I was immediately shuttled back in time to the bar and bat mitzvah days, when I wore the same dress to the afternoon and evening parties and no one else did the same. I mean, here I was, praying that my decision to pay for me demo wasn't a waste of my savings, and there's a fetus still reeking of placenta who needs a passport and all I've got to look forward to this summer is a trip to the D (where it's so, so cold).

Needless to say, I ate a slice of banana bread and two slices of chocolate hazelnut cake as I tried to make my day job sound as exciting as summering in France.

As he rattled off the list of classmates who'd come to see the baby, I was mostly just shocked that they were all still friends. It's crazy how shit doesn't change. I chimed in with whatever I'd managed to glean from Facebook, but my heart just wasn't in it. I knew that I didn't want to be a consultant or a VP or a lawyer (but I did wish I could work for Google), but the ability to navigate the world with the ease that financial security brings would be pretty dope right about now. Granted, I am part of the 99%, but I'd blocked out the fact that I spent most of my formative years with the 1%, and it's probably why I am obsessed with amenities.

Well, this isn't really going anywhere, so I'll stop typing. Here's hopin' I end up as the voice of Seagram's gin and guice, now with ginseng!