The Fuhrer of My Heart?????

Last night I was reminded why I always date awkward dudes who aren't particularly attractive to anyone but me.
It is because I am really awkward around hot people. Hot men especially.
Remember how I lived in the quaint Sydney suburb of Lilyfield, with a flatmate who was a hottie-mchot-hot German guy?
He was so hot, it was awkward for me to live with him. Seriously. I didn't poop for about 6 weeks. I was also really awkward, and since he was mostly studying and not too chatty, we would have sporadic 10-minute conversations where I babbled like an overexcited schoolgirl and he spoke with sharp German efficiency.
One time, I came upstairs and he was in the common area at his computer (per usual), wearing no shirt. I got really flustered and excited, and said, 'Dude, why are you not wearing a shirt? Put on some clothes.'
Unfortunately, he did not know it was Opposite Day, and what I really meant was, 'Dude, can you please take off your pants as well, and spoon me?'

He has the features I have discovered are quite common in the German man: a chiseled jaw and lips like a girl. Seriously, I have been swooning over these strapping lads. I love it!
Anyway, he is back in his homeland and I got to see him last night. I was really excited to hang out, even though we weren't close, mostly because he's just so damn fine, you know?

He suggested we head to a place called Winery, which warmed my heart because he knows I don't like beer, and I know that's all he drinks. It was a cool spot, where you only pay 1 euro for your glass, drink as much as you want, and pay what you feel you should. It might actually have taken the place in my heart that was once reserved for the Bourgie Pig, which has simply become to bourgie for me to afford.

Anyway, we were meeting up with some of his friends, which prevented me from probing deep into his soul as I'd hoped. I was late to our meeting, and being an efficient German, he chastized me thoroughly. I don't know if this is possible, but he was actually hotter than I remembered. This instantly caused me to start rambling about what I'd done so far, and how huge my crush was on Berlin, and my time with the gay mafia (I can't say more about them, for obvious reasons). This ridiculous rambling and interrupting took place whenever we'd start to chat throughout the night.
I was so rude and silly. Of course, because I want him so bad that I can't really think clearly, I have told him about man drama--you know, I'm trying to de-sexualize him and treat him like a gal pal, in hopes of making myself less weird.

It does not work. Now I just feel like this really hot guy knows way too much about me.
Like the fact that I was worried about "my vag hanging out" while riding a bike in a short dress through the streets of Berlin.

I did get to know much more about him, though. Apparently he has siblings, is getting a master's degree (can i call it a 'fuhrer' degree?), and has had his heart broken by a girl. He may have lived on struggle strasse briefly (more on that later). He has a lot of female friends, but not in the sketchy way. He is really funny and we spent an inappropriately long time quoting 'Team America'.


He is certainly a unicorn.
And he lives across 6 times zones.
Clearly this is the safest crush I can have at the moment. Nothing has happened, there is no way he could hurt me, our interactions have only been positive, and he doesn't have red hair! There's no chance in h-e-double-hockey-sticks that he would ever want me, and I can simply think of how pretty his face is.
I think the cold storage shed where my heart used to be can only deal with this much risk at the moment.
Who have I become?

Am I a Lovefool.... for Sweden?

Hello Readers,

I am blogging to you live from INSIDE CAUCASIA. The mood is tense--primarily because I can't really figure out how to type on this Swedish keyboard.

I am currently in Sankt Eriksplan, in Stockholm, but away from touristy stuff. I'm staying with a friend's cousin--and I think I have a mad girl-crush. I'm not sure if it was when we were looking for a pub and she referred to former party-hard self as a 'club fox,' or when she stole a poster advertising Britney Spears' upcoming Stockholm concert off of the subway wall, but all I know is, I'll never be the same again.

It was quite sunny and nice our first few days, but now Swedish weather has reared its ugly head--it's cold and rainy, and we decided instead of going to a pub or a club, it was better to rent a movie, drink Absolut pear flavored vodka with Fanta, and eat candy. You know, the logical alternative.

The movie was a Swedish film called 'Let the Right One In.' It involved tween human-vampire love and was surprisingly gory and random. It was also kind of tender, as it would be when 12-year-old Oskar asks his vampire lady friend if she "wants to go steady."
Nothing about this country is average! They are a cold people, still grappling with race issues, but also have a knack for design. I mean, it really is ingenius. I've stayed in a studio apartment with three other women and everyone's had a place to sleep! Talk about structure and space maximization!
I would expect no less from the people who brought us IKEA.

In fact, there heaps of things I can thank this cold nation for:
H&M
Ace of Base
The Cardigans (love me, love me, say that you love me!)
Beloved children's book character Pippi Longstocking
The Nobel Prize
Smorgasbords (heaps of all kinds of foods, meant to be eaten in order, from salty to sweet--brilliant!)
VIKINGS (I love to pillage and plunder)

However, I would have to ask someone about the whole 'active white supremacist population.' It makes me a bit scared to look some dudes in the eye.

Journey to the Center of CAUCASIA

In approximately 5 hours I will board a plane bound for Stockholm, Sweden, where I will spend 2 weeks. This will be plane number 14 in approximately 9 weeks. It will be my third journey into a different time zone. It will be frequent flyer miles 5,298,001-8,515,210.

I'm excited.
And fearful.

Not only will this be my first trip with one of my best friends--and the first time I've traveled with someone since developing my comfort and habits as a lone wolf/blackpacker--but I'll be in Scandinavia. The epicenter of Caucasian culture. Where pigment is a mere figment of the imagination!

I'm scared it's going to be very.... Village of the Damned.

AAAHHHH!!!! Inside Caucasia!

One friend said to me, "You go to the whitest vacation spots." Well, I'm sorry if this diminishes my 'negrosity,' but I believe that only by going deep inside Caucasia can I truly learn their ways. Like Nicholas Cage in Face/Off, I will go deep undercover--incognegro, if you will--and find out about Swedes. Packing list features:
-Hip boots, to combat the 40-degree temperatures.
-Sunglasses, to fend off the Swedish paparazzi who'll think I'm Michelle Obama.
-Eclipse, the third book in the Twilight series. After all, nothing prepares you for Caucasia like pasty vamps.
-The movie Juno, freshly uploaded onto my iPod. I'm not really sure why. Maybe cause it shows what trials and tribulations Caucasia can get through with a few smartly placed quips?


Okay, I'm off to finish packing and learn key Swedish phrases (such as "Do you have a girlfriend?" and "I'd like red wine, please"). Wish me luck! I hope to have hard-hitting news from my journey into the center of CAUCASIA* very soon.


*I hope my use of 'Caucasia' doesn't offend anyone. I mean, some of my best friends are White.

Stars-- They're Just Like ME!

Okay, this is getting out of control. Today, I walked into my favorite Chinese restaurant on the Upper West Side for lunch, and who do I see but actress Brooke Smith (not Hogan), who played the tough-as-nails heart surgeon who started a lesbian relationship with Sara Ramirez on Grey's Anatomy!!

I heart TV lesbians. Almost as much as I heart real-life ones.

Anyway, this restaurant has been a fixture in my life since I was a wee lass, and I even followed it when it changed locations. Their new spot is always half empty, even though they have a $6 lunch special that's NOT greasy or made of cat intestines! It's a real diamond in the rough.

So, I walk in and think I recognize this woman, but she was looking a bit sallow (you know the stars are without their makeup), and I wasn't sure. As I took my seat, she started talking and the voice proved it was her. As I texted a couple friends and tried to listen in on her conversation, I realized she was having a heart-to-heart with a (possibly gay) male friend. She was going through something intense. Snippets included:
"I never really felt like I belonged, so usually when I'm on set I just sort of retract."
What, she never felt like she belonged?! But she's been on Grey's! And Weeds!!
"I was just being myself, and this is why this is so hard and surprising."
I'm insecure, too!!!!!

I couldn't catch all of it, but I get the sense that there was some relationship that could never be, and that she wasn't expecting, but it didn't end the way she wanted it to (or maybe I'm projecting?).

I couldn't believe Brooke was just chilling with a best gay having a tender talk over cheap Chinese. Clearly this actress understands the plight of the blacktress. As they rose, he gave her a deep hug and they held each other tight, before walking out arm in arm. Oh my god, haven't I been there?

I've decided I'm getting a poster of her and putting it over my bed.

Pseudo Celeb Sighting!!!

Okay, guys, I swear this is not "Vampire Month" on the blacktress blog, but I can't help but share today's news. Bear with me.

I had lunch in the West Village today with a friend who just finished his final exams for this semester of law school. It was cool to see him, and I was way less autistic than I've been in my recent reunions with friends. I think it's because he's a Will Truman-esque character that I feel safe with--and who I plan to have represent me in future legal troubles (copyrighting the term 'blacktress,' perhaps?).

We were dining on Mexican (one of the cuisines I was deprived of down under, and am now eating with the ferocity of a woman carrying sextuplets), and in walked two gentlemen. One was short, the other was average, with facial hair. They were backlit by the sun and difficult to see at first, but I instantly recognized those faces.

Actors Adam Busch and Danny Strong, who were regulars on "Buffy the Vampire Slayer"-- one of my favorite television shows of all time.















Look at how cool they are! Adam with his spiked up hair and his intense gaze. Danny, looking sharp yet earnest with that tender smile. He's, like, 4'11 in real life, guys. And I totally don't care, he is the coolest.

Don't act like you're surprised. You know how I feel about vamps. And teen angst. And lesbian witches.

Needless to say, I was giddy as a school girl on a summer's day when I saw them. I could not stop leaning over to see what they were up to. I was trying to sharpen my bionic hearing, but couldn't catch exactly what they were ordering. Danny asked about onions and peppers, and I immediately made a mental note, just in case I ever invited him to a dinner party and needed to know his dislikes and/or allergies. The highlight was when Danny asked the girls sitting next to them how their guacamole was, and told them they inspired his order. They said it was good, and he actually got up and went to their table and tried their gauc!!!

I wanted to become those girls right away. Immediately. The jealousy was palpable.

I think what made it so intense for me was not only that they were on Buffy, but that on the show they played friends--and here they were in real life, just eating some Mexican, like.... TWO FRIENDS!!!

This simply proves what I've been saying for decades (television is reality), and what US Weekly has been saying for years (stars--they're just like US!)

I was too awkward and nervous to talk to them--who wants to be bothered while eating? So I just sorta smiled at Adam Busch as I walked out and he looked like, "um, why are you looking at me?" Which was all I really needed, actually.

I was tempted to ask them where Alyson Hannigan was, and if she needed a nanny for her offspring, but I figured it was best to quit before the authorities were called.


okay, I'm done sharing. Back to packing for tomorrow's journey to....the center of Caucasia.

If You Like Twilight, You'll Love DUSK

Since I’ve given up on men, I’ve started reading the Twilight books to get my fix of the good stuff-- I am all about the sexual tension and abstinence message. In fact, Twilight has inspired me to write a book of my own. I want to share a draft of the first chapter with you now, if you don't mind.

Here’s a bit of a backstory: It’s about a girl—stay with me—and she’s in love with this boy, but he’s not a boy, he’s a vampire. And he’s actually obsessed with the scent of her blood, and it drives him into a sexual frenzy, but he can’t have it or she’ll die. It’s a huge metaphor for blue balls. This is called…

DUSK

Beaut walked into her house in Spoons, Alaska, and the slamming of the door behind her was almost too much too bear. Although Gregory had just dropped her off 10 minutes ago, it felt like an eternity had already gone by.

Eternity.

That’s all Beaut was asking for. She couldn’t understand why Gregory wouldn’t just bone bite her just once, so she could become like him.

“Beaut, you okay?” Beaut realized she had been standing in front of the door with her eyes closed, lightly swaying, and almost touching her budding breasts. Her father Matt’s gruff, depression-tinged voice snapped her out of her thoughts of Gregory. Matt was a security guard at the local iHop, but everyone in the town came to enforce the law. At the moment he was holding a machete, which he’d been sharpening in the garage before he heard Beaut come in.

“Yeah, Dad, sorry.” She walked into the kitchen and set her bag on the table, turning immediately to the refrigerator. Hopefully he couldn’t see her bright red face.

Her red face.

Embarrassment was the only time Beaut’s pale skin got any color. Well, unless she was with Gregory. One look into his liquid topaz eyes and her face instantly flushed like a toilet—a toilet full of emotion. All of her lips swelled, and she wanted nothing more than to be close to him. But she knew her greatest desire—and Gregory’s, too—could be the very end of them.

You see, Gregory was a vampire. A 347-year-old vampire who didn’t look a day over 18. In fact, he was gorgeous in every sense of the word. His smooth Caucasian skin was colder than the Alaskan winter, but when he stepped into the sunlight, he shone like an Atlantic City stripper dipped in body glitter. Beaut could recall the first day she met Gregory. They were sitting in biology, studying human reproduction, and he refused to look at her. He was shaking slightly, and Beaut thought that maybe the diagrams had him aroused. She tried to ignore it, and smiled, but he just looked away. When class ended, he stormed out—but she could still see the protrusion through his denim cutoffs.

Just then, the phone rang, calling Beaut back to reality. She sprang up to answer it, hoping it was Gregory.

“Hello?” she panted desperately, like a crack addict hoping her dealer had the goods….of sex.

“Hey, Beaut, what’s up?” It was Noah, Beaut’s friend who lived in the trailer park a few miles down. Noah was Beaut’s only friend, and her heart welled up when she heard his voice. She could almost feel his burning hot satiny copper skin and his liquid onyx eyes on her as he spoke.

She walked into the living room, trying to avoid her dad’s gaze. It made him too happy when he knew Noah and Beaut were hanging out, and Beaut couldn’t explain why it was never going to happen.

You see, Noah was a werewolf. And there existed a decades-old feud between the werewolves and vampires—you know, like in the movie “Underworld.” Although it was scary, to her he was the same old tall, lanky, russet-colored Noah, and she loved him.

But not as much as she loved Gregory. Of this she was certain. After their chat Beaut got to work making dinner for her father, who was now sitting on a bearskin rug in the living room, wearing a loincloth. As she gutted the fish he’d caught the day before, the soft, wet insides of the fish mimicked her own softness and wetness, and her thoughts floated again to Gregory.

It was almost 6pm, and she knew Gregory would come to her room after she went to bed. Until then, she would have to keep her mind occupied with dinner, homework, and re-caulking the windows.

Beaut went to bed a little after 10. She was tired, but unable to close her eyes. She changed into the pink nightie she’d purchased at Victoria’s Secret a few weeks before, but hid under the covers. She wanted to tempt Gregory, but not too much. She closed her eyes and found herself drifting off to dreamland despite herself.

That night Beaut dreamed she was in the forest with Gregory. They’d gotten there quickly, her riding on his back. As they came to a clearing he slowed and lowered her to the ground. As she climbed down, they both noticed a wet spot on his back, where her vagina legs had been wrapped around him.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

Gregory grinned, the crooked smile Beaut loved. The fire from his liquid topaz eyes smoldered, lighting the embers that, before him, had died in the campfire of her heart. Even though she knew it would be trouble, she couldn’t help but want s’more.

“It’s okay,” he said.

He put his arms around her waist, and Beaut felt a giant throbbing surge of emotions. In one swift, confident movement, he lowered her to the ground and before she could catch her breath, her top was off, revealing her My Little Pony bra.

Gregory lowered his face to her neck, and Beaut instinctively lifted her hips. She could feel his breath on her neck as he took in her scent. He continued to move southward, and Beaut didn’t stop him. He reached her crotchal region love garden, and suddenly, Gregory turned angry. He looked up at her, his eyes turning red with fury.

“Beaut, why didn’t you tell me?!” He jumped up and walked away.

“I’m…I’m sorry…I forgot. I thought I was just spotting.”

Beaut had forgotten she had her period, and didn’t warn Gregory. It was always hard for him to be around her during her time of the month. As if the cramps, bloating, and fatigue in those 5 days weren’t enough for Beaut to deal with, she had to be separated from the only thing that mattered to her.

“Gregory, come back!!” Beaut yelled as she scrambled to get dressed. She couldn’t see him anywhere. She began to panic, and being the helpless twit she was, sat and sobbed, praying that Gregory would return.

Just then, Beaut woke up to feel an icy hand on her neck.

“Beaut, wake up,” Gregory said softly. She was shaking in bed, and he was worried. She opened her eyes slowly, making sure she was no longer dreaming. She smiled weakly. “Are you okay?” Gregory asked, concerned. Beaut sighed.

“I can’t even have all of you in my dreams,” Beaut answered, sitting upright.

Gregory saw her pink nightie and looked away, shyly. Beaut also became sheepish.

“You know if there was any way, I would—“ Gregory began.

“There is a way!” Beaut interrupted him.

“I can’t do that to you,” Gregory’s voice, which normally sounded like hot butter melting on a stack of iHop pancakes, became hard. “I want you to live. To have a soul. To not look like you’re going to a boy band concert every time you step out into the sunlight.”

Just then, Beaut kissed him, hoping her lips could change his mind.

They couldn’t.

So that's what happening folks. What do you think? It's currently slated for a Winter 2009 release.

AUTHOR'S NOTE, 10/19/09: Here's chapter 2!

I am Kevin Bacon.

These recent months of travel have further solidified what I already knew to be true: the world is getting smaller and smaller by the day. With Facebook taking over the world, and people twittering and flitting about, maintaining relationships is easier than ever before.

It also makes it damn near impossible to erase someone from your memory. I've found that the people I want to keep in touch with seem to not understand how to respond to emails and don't want to use skype (::cough::REDHEAD::cough::), but the dude you drunk pashed a month ago conveniently remembers your last name, how to spell it, and makes sure to get enough internet time to friend you on the ol' facebook.

I was first caught off guard a week ago, when I got a friend request from the 21-year-old Canadian I met in Darwin. You know, the one I made out with simply because I was bored and wanted to get the Weasley twin out of my system (it didn't work). He was a nice enough fellow, but there was no point in getting attached, and there didn't seem to be much going on upstairs, so I walked away with no dramas, and expected him to disappear into the ether. He'd asked for my last name and plugged it into his mate's phone, but what are the odds that a barely legal random you'd interacted with for a total of 4 hours would actually follow through?

Apparently, quite high. I believe his first wall post was: "hey, didn't think i'd ever find u, ty took your last name out of the phone, dumb ass. but then i remember u did comedy and i u tubed you, funny story. where are u now?"

The internet will be the death of me!!! I keep forgetting that in some circles, telling someone you're a "blacktress" is quite memorable--especially when that person is from Saskatchewan.

Just when I was done marveling at the spinning tea cups that are our small world, I was dealt another shocking blow of connections this very morning. Here's the go:
As you know, I was in St. Croix last week and met a random--the one who looked like Duane 'The Rock' Johnson. Last night I put up a few photos on f-book--you know, to incite jealousy in friends. In the background of a few of these photos was The Rock. This morning I get the following message:

Hi Blacktress

I'm a friend of one of your friends, and when she asked me to view your comedy video in AUS I added you as a friend. Just happened to open my FB home page and in your vacation pics saw a picture of my brother THE ROCK--he lives and works in St. Croix.. hes visiting NY now, just had a laugh about how small the world is. When he gets back from visiting friends I'll have to tell him. He'll laugh.

Hope you enjoyed your vacation! - Belle

Oh. my. god. I am the black female Kevin Bacon.

So, I immediately logged on to facebook (a nasty habit that began when I living on the other side of the world), and Belle happens to be online. We immediately start chatting, and I tell her about the drunk kiss and the fact that her bro was blowing up my celly this weekend, even asking to come to the stand-up show I had Saturday night. I am hesitant to tell her that he seems like a total toolbox and completely not good for me....until she brings it up.
Our convo went something like this:

Belle: Oh my god, this is too funny. I wish I could tell [our mutual friend] right now. I'm always telling her what a loser my brother is.
Me: hahahhaa, oh no! oh sweet jesus, i am starting off my nyc single life on the wrong foot.
Belle: Seriously. They should put up flyers around St. Croix, "do not kiss this man."
Me: I will do it. I will return to Pirate Island and warn other wenches.

[later, after more man-related banter, including her venting about her bro, I break out the TRUTH]

Me: Your brother is--no offense, I say this as an astute woman of color and writer who has kissed him on the mouth--a selfish man-boy who thinks of no one but himself.
Belle: you are my new best friend, lol.
Because it takes people years to see that about him.

Okay, guys, let's break this down: when a dude's own sister not only tells you he sucks, but then allows you to talk shit about him, you know you've dodged a bullet. I mean, this is out of control.
But also wonderful.
I'm going to start putting up pics of every potential suitor on my facebook page nad see which of my internet friends knows the clown. I'm sure one of them is bound to have some inside information, corroborating or debunking my beliefs. So far, I'm glad I trusted my gut and didn't return The Rock's phone calls. If he can't even be nice enough to his sister so that she at least lies for him, then you know he wasn't going to bring a damn thing to the blacktress' potluck.