I am Ashlee Simpson. Or Voldemort--whichever you prefer.

Yesterday I finally bit the bullet and set up a tumblr account! I'd been putting it off forevs, especially since it would have meant transferring every single Blacktress post onto the new account. Even though Blogger is the new Geocities, I can't bear to let go of this safe space, and will be using Tumblr basically as a networking tool, since all the cool comics are in on it. Blacktresscomedy.tumblr.com will be where I post pics, vids, and links (and use words like 'pics' and 'vids') that move my spirit (to LOL or vom!).

I must say, Tumblr's weird. It's basically a newsfeed for people who want to read just a bit more than 140 characters. I feel like its tagline should be, "Tumblr: For when Twitter just isn't enough."

It's certainly not fit for extended musings and self-indulgent ramblings (save that ish for Wordpress--am I right?!), but that's fine because I've got enough going on--this "internet upkeep" is so much work! (#firstworldproblems)

Between the blog, the twitter, and now the tumblr (not to mention my "job" and "human interactions"), I'm being pulled in so many directions. I was just sharing the tumblr news with a friend and she was worried that I'd stop sharing TMI on the blog. It was then that I explained--and realized--a deep truth about myself: This blog is my horcrux. A part of my soul is in these webpages (mostly the slutty, awkward part, but still). Tumblr will be just one more location you'll be able to find the pieces, pieces, pieces of me.*

I mostly want to use it to create photo albums but since Tumblr is structured like a newsfeed, I'm not sure how it'll work.  I'll have to figure out how to use the system to showcase my favorite photos of middle-aged men holding animals against their will and disapproving transracial adoptees in the arms of their Caucasian parents. 


But don't worry--if there's anything I can figure out, it's how to work a Caucasian system!  Hope you will follow me or friend me or just generally F me.



*that's how you call back to a title, people!

New York, I Love Hate You

I am so over this damn city.

I got on the train this morning and, honestly, there was nothing particularly special about today's rush-hour madness. I spent 30 minutes clutching my purse to make room, apologizing for my every movement and occasionally my own weary sighs, and trying to move in ways that would let the dude behind me know that we shouldn't be touching butts--you know, the usual. But I just hit a wall of Danny Glover-ness (I'm too old for this shit!) combined with Samuel L. Jackson fed-up-edness (I'm sick and tired of these muthafuckin' snakes on this muthafuckin' plane!!!) that I can't get through.

Listen, I know it's "the greatest city on earth," and I sure as hell wouldn't want to live in another city in America, but we're selling ourselves short, people! And the worst part is that these low standards are acceptable. Living in New York City and taking public transportation, I smell human excrement on a daily basis--sometimes several times a day--and this is commonplace. WTF??! This ain't Calcutta! This sure as hell ain't 14th-century England during the bubonic plague--why is there excrement in the streets?! We're worth more!

This started getting to me when I was walking to the subway and saw this homeless guy. He's tall and skinny and looks about 70 years old (thought he's probably 40) and he's balding with basically two long matted dreadlocks. When I saw him on the platform, my first thought was, "Aw, shit, this guy again. I better get a damn seat so he doesn't touch my shoulder and call me 'beautiful miss.'" Y'all, this man is not violent or loud, but he is relentless. But the point is: Why do I have a history with a hobo??? I am not, nor have I ever been, impoverished (praise black Jesus). I have never dated a hobo or performed at a hobo benefit. And yet I see this person and can immediately recall his life story and personality quirks as though he were an old school chum. I'm not okay with this! Of course, the fact that I'm annoyed by him just gets me one rung closer to hell, and I'm not proud of it, but this is how NYC gets you. You get inoculated to pain, y'all.

Yesterday after work I was getting into the train at 28th street and I saw two men on the steps, standing a few feet apart from each other. Black guy was standing further down, White guy was standing toward the top (I'm ID'ing them by race to make it easier to describe, don't worry!). On the other side, a guy was trying to exit, so I waited for the clog to clear. The guy came through but the other two men didn't move. The Black guy waved the white guy down and told him to come closer. I'm thinking these two are going to walk down so I start going down but they stop about 4 steps up from the subway platform. The Black guy reaches into his sock and pulls out a baggie. The white guy peels off some bills and hands him cash. I interrupt this exchange with, "Excuse me, um, can I get through? thank you."
Y'all, I walked through a drug deal!! LIKE I'M JUST STRAIGHT OUT OF A SPIKE LEE JOINT AND DON'T GIVE A F#?!%

I didn't realize this until a minute after I swiped my Metrocard--and that's what really got me. Growing up in pre-gentrified Harlem as the child of a mother who worked in family and criminal court, I am anything but cavalier, and I know that killers are around every corner (oh yeah, I'm a drama queen who grew up on Lifetime movies). I never thought I'd see the day I'd burst through an interracial illegal drug trade. That guy could have pulled anything out of his sock (like a weapon!) and I woulda been up in the crossfire! I need to go back to Australia so I can get my head back on straight and appreciate this place. Who's with me?

How to go from a "Maybe" to a "Hell to the No"

Just when I think these artists can't get to me, an email comes in that amazes me to no end. 

We got a submission from a woman a while back and unfortunately can't do much with her work, so we sent a perfectly succinct rejection letter that read:

Dear [Cray Lady],

Thank you for submitting your artwork to our magazine. We don’t currently have an opening to feature your artwork. But the drawings are most impressive, and if the appropriate occasion arises, we will be in touch.

Sincerely,

[A respectful and competent adult who serves as the editor of this magazine.]


Maybe that was a bit impersonal, but we don't have all day to be buttering up egos. 
Apparently, we're also mentally ill. Her response:

Look at my web site I am included in every major museum collection in the country  you do not think you can do an article ?   What are you thinking [Cray Lady]. Connection

Sent from my iPhone

I have no idea what "connection" means. I also don't think that you can be that bitchy when you seem to lack a grasp of basic punctuation and grammar. I swear, they are TOO MUCH. 

I have EXHALED!

Whew child! You know these last couple weeks have been straight out of the Mayans Guide to the End of the World (now in paperback). With Hurricane Sandy and the election, I didn't know if it was okay to keep breathing, let alone have dreams! Luckily, I can now write to you with the comfort that comes from knowing that our president is not Mitt Romney and our VP is not Paul Ryan--and that my vagina is still a safe space!

Look, I'm not someone who believes Obama is a god (although I do wish he could be my dad and Joe Biden be my baby daddy!). But I am almost 100% sure that Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan are minions of Satan, so I'm happy with how things went down. For me personally, as an able-bodied, heterosexual, college-educated female in NYC, I'm somewhat sure that if the Republicans had gotten their way, I would have been inconvenienced, but mostly ok--I'd currently be packing up all my shit, figuring out how to break my lease, and asking around about how to find work in Canada (would they love a blacktress?). Plus, Jewboo probably wouldn't want to move and then we'd have to negotiate a long-distance relationship (which would probably work well since I wouldn't be able to afford birth control). I really didn't feel like starting over, so I'm glad I get 4 more years in America. Perhaps by then I will be a powerful celebrity in the vein of Brangelina and able to help the Dems hold it down yet again. 

Of course, many of us have joked about moving to Canada when the political climate got colder than life in the D, but I am for SERIOUS. I know Obama has let folks down, but I never expected him to be a magical negro, so I'm cool. And, quite frankly, I hate that the race was even close in some states. It proves that there's still so much to be done, and it's crucial that the energy that built over this election (and actually carried over on election day) be maintained as the president struggles to work with many Republicans who are dedicated to his demise. I found an NYTimes opinion piece that succinctly articulates why Tuesday's results were so hopeful:

Still, Mr. Obama’s victory did not show a united country. Richer Americans supported Mr. Romney, while poorer Americans tended to vote for Mr. Obama. There also remained clear divisions among voters by gender, age, race and religion.

African-Americans and Hispanics overwhelmingly supported Mr. Obama. White men voted for Mr. Romney; he won among those who said they opposed gay marriage, wanted to outlaw abortion, or favored mass deportation of illegal immigrants. None of those are majority positions in this country anymore. ... The polls were heartening in that they indicated that a solid majority of Americans believe abortion should be legal, and that half of Americans now say their states should recognize marriages between same-sex couples.

Of course, I added the underlines. To me, the election of Romney/Ryan would have been indicative of a growing hatred for minorities of all kinds (ethnic, racial, socioeconomic, sexual orientation)--and I would have had to get the hell out of dodge.

Besides, do we really think it's okay for one man to have his own planet and his own country?

Inside the Mind of Paul Ryan - A Collage

Y'all, why is this election even close? We need to stop bullshitting and be real about who these Republicans are--angry White men who think they're the dispossessed. 

I feel like Romney gets ample attention in these final hours, but his potential VP is ignored. This cannot stand! Paul Ryan is so bitchy, he needs his own show on Oxygen. I have assembled a few of his best facial expressions. (Yes, this is how I spent the day before election day.)

Chris Rock: Always Speakin' Truth to Comedic Power

Please forward widely to the most Caucasian people you know--especially the ones over the age of 55. We're down to the wire, people!

Stir Crazy Blog Post!!!

(You can tell it's cray by the excessive use of exclamation points.)

Hey guys! It's Halloween and day 3 of life indoors post Sandy. Surprisingly, Jewboo and I have been getting along swimmingly--besides that small spat where I called him a dick for not letting me hang my wet delicates* on his wooden suit stand. I think it's because neither of us have had to spend our days sitting at a desk doing something that we don't like. We have way more patience for each other--and ample time to sleep. I don't even want to tell you how many times the question "Did you take half an Ambien?" has been uttered in our household.
BALLS! This blog post just reminded me to take my birth control and antidepressants! Dammit, Sandy--with all the days morphing into one long gray Tuesday, I can't keep up with anything. Lord knows if I go too long without my dolls, I'll become a whirling dervish and these two cats and Jewboo won't stand a chance.

Speaking of my dolls--just found out I have nearly $2,000 in doctor bills to pay! Of course, the natural response to this is "Don't you have insurance, Blacktress?" and the answer is, unfortunately, yes! And yet somehow, the MRI and in-depth eye exam I needed to make sure my brain wasn't cancerous is actually going to run me a month's salary. If this ain't some bullshit, y'all, I don't know what is. I firmly adhere to the position that if the medical tests don't find anything wrong, you shouldn't have to pay for it. (I bet Mitt Romney's rolling over in his grave.^)

I'm not about to pull a tacky Mitt Romney and try to make the hurricane about me. My debt is nothing in the scheme of things--the fact that I've had internet and electricity and my home is in one piece, has me praising Jesus more often than a Southern woman born before 1955.  I only even mention my bills bills bills because I just opened my mail and was thrown for a loop. What do you think I should do? Remember: the season for turning tricks has just passed, so there goes that option.

On an up-note: there's no sign of power in the area surrounding my office (including our building), so I've got an unexpected 5-day weekend. Perhaps I can finally get that screenplay done and sell it for millions??? Or maybe I can  figure out how to monetize the ridiculously cute cat photos I've been taking over the last four days?

Guys, the cat is in the hamper. I'm sorry, but you'd have to have no soul to not be moved by this. Look at his big ol' eyes! I can see why White people want to adopt third-world orphans--those eyes burrow into your soul.

In summation: The only hurricane I care to be bothered with is one played by Denzel Washington. I hope you've made your donation to the red cross! If you're not sure where to direct your efforts, here's a link! 
 



*not a euphemism

^ Because the real Mitt Romney died in a forest fire 27 years ago and the cyborg put in his place is relentless in his bid for presidency, which will usher in phase one of the Robot War.