Doctors, Greeks, and Hugh

Monday, 23 February 2009.

Oh em gee, there's so much to blog about, I don't even know where to begin. I'll start with Friday and see where that takes us. Okay, guys, I'm gonna get real with you for a second. Friday I went to the doctor cause I'd been having issues with my lady parts.
"Ew, blacktress, please don't go into a vagina monologue!" you're probably thinking.
I know, I know, TMI. But I have to tell you this craziness. Besides, I figure you guys know about most of the Ps in my V, so you can't be that squeamish.

Anyway, I go to the doc and explain the situation. She's kinda cold, which I absolutely hate in doctors--bedside manner is everything! Especially with a lady doctor. I mean, if I'm gonna drop my pants for anyone, medical professional or otherwise, I want us to have a chat and I want you to tell me I'm pretty. I don't ask for much.

After the debriefing, oddly enough she does not ask me to de-brief. She goes, "Okay, I'm going to have you take some tests at home, and then bring them back to me on Monday."
UM, WHAT?!
You want me to do my own medical testing?! Do I look like Doogie Howser?! Do I remind you of the sassy black attending on "Grey's Anatomy"? What makes you think this is something I should do? Besides, lady, what am I paying you for?!
This is what you get in a land of free healthcare.

Doogie would never make me do this.

She hands me two cups for me to TAKE HOME and pee in, and then hands me some kit and tells me how to go about putting a swab in my V, then closing it up in the sterile container.
Then tells me to drop it off at a lab.

Okay, look, I know it was almost 5pm on a Friday, but homegirl is still on the clock! I never in my life heard of taking a medical test home and then dropping it off, much in the manner of a pizza.
What is this take-home test nonsense?! Am I in 5th grade? Doesn't she know that if she gives me a take-home test, I'm going to cheat? (my desire to appear intelligent always trumps my sense of honour) Clearly I will swab my mouth instead of my vag and pour apple juice into my pee cup.
Just because.

I was so annoyed and baffled, and basically just asked her if I could go into the office's bathroom and do it there. She goes, "Well, it won't get the results back faster."
Um, paging Dr. Bitch, you're wanted in "GET THE HELL OUT!"
After all, they have to drop samples off anyway, and what do I look like on my morning commute with cups of urine?! One false move in the rush-hour crowd and it's pee for everyone!!!

So, I was given antibiotics and will not know the real status until next week. Good lord.

With yet another round of antibiotics to begin, I figure the best way to handle this is to get my drink on before I start a week of dry living. I headed down to Sidebar, my old plantation, and chatted with some staff and had a couple dranks.
Alone.

This is a big theme of my Oz life, but I'm actually getting quite comfortable with it--I'm becoming quite the strong black woman. I even go to restaurants alone. It's not so stressful being by myself, and I don't really care what drunken teen backpackers think of me.
That is, until a random starts talking to me.

I'd noticed this guy sorta staring at me for a while, but I didn't think anything of it because he was unattractive. I had been talking to some acquaintances for a bit and then was alone at the less crowded bar. Suddenly, he sidles up to me.
"Hello, where are you from?"
The backpacker's go-to opening line.
He tells me he's from GREECE.
Uh-oh, spaghettios. I think y'all all know how I feel about a Greek man.
He then follows up his opener with, "You drink alot."
Um, thanks for noticing my addiction, weird rando.
"No, it's good."
Why is it good?! It's not gonna get you anywhere! I think as I give him short answers, trying to silently explain to him that just because I'm alone doesn't mean I'm desperate for attention. I talk about my travel plans, cause that's simply fun for me, and he then goes, "Oh, I want to go traveling in two weeks, too, but I have no one to go with. It's hard traveling alone." He then suggests we travel together.
OH MY GOD. What's with Greek intensity?! What would make him think that was a good idea or an appropriate request? I get being a rolling stone, meeting people as you travel, becoming friends and having adventures. I do not get rocking up to a girl at a bar, telling her she drinks alot, and then asking if you two can go travel together.
Does. not. compute.
"Um, I'm gonna go over there," I said, before quickly running over to some people I only sorta know and asking them to talk to me for 10 minutes while the odd boy got the hint.
While with them, I talked about my redheaded love, which still hasn't died. It's both sad and tender.

I went home around midnight (cause I'm just that cool), and while on the bus home, I composed the following note to self using as a text message:
"I am watching the woman in front of me make her own topsy tail. Seriously, a topsy tail. Of her own accord. Ew. Then, not happy with it (thank god) she has her boyfriend put her hair in a ponytail. Is he gay? I thought to myself at first. I would never let a hetero male touch my ponytail. You've got to get the right tension, smooth out the bumps. You have to know me!"
Do you guys remember the topsy tail?



Then, later, I thought, "Why is a girl with a topsy tail in a relationship and I'm not?"

Clearly, I'm in a weird head space.

Sidebar: I'm watching the Oscars now (it's just playing here), and my eggs are getting fertilized just watching Huge Jacked Man's opening number.

Follow Me...Follow me to my bedroom

That's a lyric from a song by Craig David.
But that's not the point of this post.

If you notice, about a week ago I added a new feature: "follow this blog." I'm quite excited to see that I now have 10 followers, as I was unsure if anyone would end up flocking to the blacktress. However, my intense narcissism and God complex requires I have at least 12 followers, so I can call them apostles. As follower you'll say aBREAST of the blacktress's latest bloggery, which must be a good time. Since I'm not a daily pop-culture blogger, clicking the "follow this blog" on blogger lets you know when to spend your workday procrastinating, allowing you to procrastinate in an efficient manner.
Efficient procrastination?! WTF, blacktress?! you're thinking.
I just blew your mind, didn't I?

Speaking of followers, elite gay visionary/music reviewer/person who told me to start a blog in the first place--JJSiii--is up for the role of Queerty's music reviewer. You should definitely read his review (he's in the top 5!) and the other 4, then vote for him. Quite frankly, he loves music, isn't condescending or pretentious, and supports a blacktress-what better reviewer for a gay website?!

Holla at it and vote for him here.

xoxo,
blacktress with a god complex

Apparently You CAN Silence Sojo....

I'm pissed, y'all.

I went in to work today and during a total lull I went to put up a post about my shenanigans the previous night. Much to my dismay and horror, I saw that the IT bitches have BLOCKED ACCESS TO MY BLOG!

The blacktress has been blacklisted. Hell to the no!

This ship is no longer cruisey--not cruisey at all. Thank god this is only a two-week gig.

If I'd had access to my diary earlier today, I would have recorded the following:

1. I am currently drinking hot chocolate out of a green mug with a picture of a sheep on it that says "Thinking of Ew." I remember why I hate office life.

2. One of my main tasks is to input names into the ships' security systems, so deliveries can be made and people can hop off and on. On today's list was 'McCarthy, Andrew." Is the Pretty in Pink hottie working for cruise ships now?! I wondered as I plugged him into the database. I then spent a large portion of the morning wondering what Andrew McCarthy would do on a cruise ship. Does he perform scenes from the film on the Lido Deck after bocce tourneys?

Oh my god, I heart him.

3. Today at work, I got a call from drag queen Portia Turbo, who I worked for during Fair Day. The call went something like this:
"Sojourner, gorgeous, it's Portia Turbo, how are you?"
"Great, how are you?"
"Good. Look, sweetheart, we love you, and we want you to work as a Gaydar Girl at the Mardi Gras Harbour Party next Sunday. Can you do it?"
"Will Verushka Darling be there?"
"Of course, gorgeous!"
"I'm there!"

Guys, I have been requested to act as a Gaydar Girl for the Harbour Party. Am I on my way to becoming a gay icon? This is everything I've ever wanted! What if I become a famous blacktress, but I'm only famous in Australia--then I can come home to NYC when I want to 'get away from it all.' Can you imagine?!

See, these are the things I would have shared in real time if only the massa of the ship had let me. What really pisses me off is that someone sitting near me listens to the radio all day. And we're not talking smooth Mozart sounds. Before 11am I heard MGMT's 'Electric Feel' and 'Don't Stop the Music' by Ri-Ri. I may as well have been in the club with such distracting grooves! How is it okay to listen to fun pop hits that could distract other colleagues but not okay to check email and update blogs during ridiculously long stretches of boredom?! Shit, I wrote most of this on a series of post-its on my desk--they can't make me work. You don't own me!

Sidenote: The best part about the pop music is that it can only be coming from one of two people: Jessica, a young girl who has yet to say hello to me; or Paul, who is known as 'Boots' (as in "Puss in")--a middle-aged man who regularly leaves at 3pm and doesn't say much.

I think it's him.

On an up-note, me and the boss-lady actually chit-chatted today. Turns out my kewpie doll is only 22 years young and has never left her home country. She also revealed that she "doesn't know what she's doing," which makes a lot of sense, since she can't quite delegate. When I complete basic tasks quickly and efficiently, she tries to bolster my self esteem with such phrases as "You're doing a good job!" and "Well done for thinking ahead!"

Um, sweetie, I've been reading on my own since I was 4. Don't get it twisted.

She's nice, though, and as far as "bosses" go, she causes no stress. If only I could get some fucking internet access! Don't they know I'm a future gay icon?!

The Boob Tube

Oh my god, just when I thought Australian TV was crap, it goes and surprises me like nothing else.

I'm at home now, trying to take my mind off the fact that Mr. Weasley has yet to respond to an email I sent three full days ago. I'm trying to silence the voices in my head that say, "see, this is why you'll die alone"-- which involves watching television.

Now, I'm normally a "Neighhbours" girl. I mean, it featured Natalie Imbruglia AND Kylie, for goodness sake--anyone who's anyone in Australia has been on this show. "Home and Away" is the other big soap, and it's based in Sydney, while "Neighbours" is based in Melbourne." The rivalry is very East Coast/West Coast rap.
Hardcore in every way.
I made a call early on, when I first saw "Neighbours" in England, and my allegiance has been unwavering.
Until now.

I was just watching the last few minutes of "Home and Away," as I waited for 'How I Met Your Mother'. I don't know what happened beforehand, but all the teens were in a tizzy over some list that some bitchy blonde girl wrote. Apparently, she wrote who was cute and who was not, which you know had everyone all upset. I don't know the characters names, but you know, pretty white kids with problems, no real difference. Basically, the bitchy blonde girl wrote that another bitchy blonde girl, "thinks she's hot." So BBG #2 went up to her and was like, "How could you say that about me?"
BBG #1 is all, "What do you mean?"
BBG #2 says, "I don't think I'm hot," all angry-like.
Then, in a total unforeseen turn, BBG #1 goes, "You don't? Well I do."
THEN GRABS THE GIRL AND KISSES HER!!!!

HOLLA AT TEEN LESBIAN KISSES BEFORE PRIMETIME!!

Guys, it was so amazing. Okay, to be fair, they totally cut away after she pulled her in, then showed the end of the kiss in a long shot, but still! It wasn't even 7:30pm. Tweens and teens were awake, and probably sitting down to dinner with "Hom(o) and Away" in the background! Why is Australia so cool? Is this almost as good as Degrassi?! I can't recall teen lesbian kisses on basic cable on the Northern Hemi. Can anyone jog my memory?

It almost makes me want to not leave, but then I remember I'm bored.

I am A Gaydar Girl!

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You Can't Silence Sojo!

Mwaahahahahahaha.

Although I am unable to access gmail, I can get onto my blog.
Silly, silly slave—I mean, cruise—ship. They’ve underestimated how much I like talking about myself and my deep-seated need to share my emotions in a public format.
Today is my first full day. I got in at a quarter to 9, and was shocked and disappointed to find that everyone else was already here. I mean, it’s a Friday, guys? What happened to that laid back Aussie work ethic?! You work for a cruise line for goodness sakes—why aren’t you cruisey*?!
The day has gone relatively slowly, but after asking if I could be of assistance, I decided to use the down time to work on an article I’ve been procrastinating on for ages. I actually got it to a point that’s acceptable, and I’ve decided that the score is: THE MAN – 0, BLACKTRESS – 1.

After handling my own scandal I got down to handling the cruise ships’. This basically consists of sorting mail that passengers and crew will pick up when they arrive in Sydney, as well as scheduling doctor’s appointments and reserving hotels for crew between landing and embarking on their next voyage. Luckily, I have an excellent telephone voice, and had a great chat with a man at a certain hotel chain who didn’t speak much English. Every time he went to check something, instead of saying, “Please hold,” he would say, “Please may I hold you a moment?”
Yes. The answer that question is always yes.

My dear sweet Kewpie doll boss is very low-key, and always starts each task with, “Sojourner, when you get a moment, can you….?” Even if I’m sitting there picking a hangnail.

Um, yes, yes I can start that posthaste.
I guess I could start gearing up for the weekend, but the weather here is wretched! WTF, y’all?! It’s supposed to be summer time and the livin’ is supposed to be easy! It’s been 60 degrees, rainy and windy. In other words: it’s a cold mess. I’m tempted to just stay in tonight with a bottle of wine and some good eats, but then remembered that there’s nothing good to watch on TV, and that wine sometimes makes me cry—awkward! But it’s also really dreary and no one lives near me, so I’m not sure what to do. And it’s hard to look cute when you’re damp, you know?

Okay, better get back to this spreadsheet.
Good times!


For more on the concept of cruisiness, look here.

Temporary Insanity

Blacktress' Log, Star Date 12 February 2009.

Yesterday I got a phone call from Oliver, from Escalibre, a temp agency I'd signed up with over a month ago. I had my initial interview with Oliver, a dreamy blonde Brit with a dry humour. Most of our 50-minute interview just involved cracking jokes and talking about my time in Sydney thus far.

After getting mad bored with no temp gigs showing up, I started stalking Oliver much in the manner of a schoolgirl who has just lost her virginity to an asshole jock. I called regularly, trying to sound breezy, but subtly pressuring him for any job offers. Like the cool cad he is, he would totally make a couple of funnies, get me all comfortable, then take an emotional scythe to my throat as he told me there were no jobs available.

I finally realized that I couldn't force him to love me--I mean, find me work. So I decided to play it cool. And it turns out that good things do come to those who wait. And it is darkest before the dawn, and all that other crap.

I got a call to come in and work for a prominent cruise ship company, which will remain nameless just in case someone on staff likes to Google him/her/hirself when no one's looking. Of course, when I was first told I'd be working for a cruiseline, my reaction was two fold:

1. Will I be performing great diva hits on the Lido deck nightly at 7pm? I'll do anything but Etta James, as she's liable to cut a blacktress.
2. Ship...ship...ship...why does that fill me with dread? Oh yeah--SLAVERY!!!
Where are you taking me, Oliver?!

Clearly I overreacted.

I got in today at 10:30 am, where I was greeted by a smiley HR woman, who found it funny that I didn't want to look at my ID photo before it was printed. I mean, hello, business casual and chunky sweater--what's there to see? Any way you slice it, it's a hot mess.

I was then handed over to Sarah, who doesn't look a day over 12. In fact, she looks like a kewpie doll.

Imagine this doll dressed in a cardigan and A-line skirt, and give her a ponytail. That's my boss.

Luckily, she's as sweet as she looks and today was pretty low-key, which was good. Of course being a member of the talented tenth, work was crazily easy, and I found myself wanting to check my email during a lull.
After typing in gmail.com, I was greeted with the most heinous image I have ever seen:

ACCESS DENIED
BLOCKED BY SURFCONTROL.

WTF?!

How the hell am I supposed to get through my day without gmail?! I got in at 10:45, had a 45-minute lunch, was practically kicked out at 5:15pm, and still got everything done that had piled up. Without the ability to procrastinate and psychoanalyze every letter of every email from Fred Weasley, I'm going to have to actually work. Quickly and efficiently.
Ew.
Then they'll realize I'm kind of bright and probably give me responsibilities or something.
This is not what I signed on for!

So, I'm calling out to you, readers. What can I do to procrastinate just enough that they don't want me to do extra things? Maybe I'll just stay up really late and go in so tired and lame that every task actually ends up taking 2 hours to complete.

Questions, comments, suggestions?