Monday Rhymes with Cray-Cray!

[KWalsh has just informed me that a newly single mutual friend has just joined Match.com]

Me: I am impressed by how quickly people rally. i just hate dating so much, i wouldn't wish it on anyone.

i just want a werewolf to have me imprinted on to him.*

and he'll just see me and take care of me forever until it's time for us to be wed.

KWalsh: hahahaha!

imprint me, werewolf!

i just wish old crusty men would stop hitting on me
Me: you're on pirate island. you can't get around the old and crusty
KWalsh: seriously! the fucking pirates here!

last night at the restaurant where i work, i was waiting on a family i know

and they were like "we are so sorry about uncle donny"

because he kissed my hand twice, asked when we are going to get married and then said in 5 years i would be "prime"

this man has a long flowing mane of gray hair and a beard

and questionable dental hygiene
Me: Oh god!

[I then fill her in on the latest confusion surrounding the fact that I have not been asked on a date by someone who most certainly should have asked by now. I am advised to play it cool and give him the benefit of the doubt.]

Me: all I need to be happy in a relationship is for the guy to tell me exactly how he's feeling about me and what he's thinking at all times.

is that too much to ask for?

KWalsh: ha.
yes

Me: See, the thing is, I like to believe I have mind-control powers, but sometimes they're faulty, requiring that the guy actually express himself, and that's when I get all frustrated. It's like I'm Professor X and he's Magneto wearing that helmet that blocks me.^
KWalsh: You have to relax and not be negative.

stop complaining!

Me: hahahaha

KWalsh: a boy likes you!

and he doesnt have a secret spring break fiance!

Me: What world do we live in where having a secret spring break fiance is even an option?

* for those of you who aren't 14-year-old girls or into vampires, this is a reference to Jacob Black, the werewolf hottie in the Twilight series.
^ This is a reference to X Men.

Clearly, if I was into 15-year-old boys, I wouldn't be single right now.

The Hunt is On....

It's currently 60 degrees, windy, and raining. The weather is an inconvenient truth.
I was hoping that, with summer starting so late, it'd be balmy well into September, but it looks like Al Gore has other plans for us.

You know what this onset of cold weather means, don't you?

It means I'm gonna have to start the hunt for the winter spoon earlier than usual.
(For those of you out of the loop, here's more on the winter spoon--or, what a male friend of mine called "wife season.")

I'm a bit out of practice for this hunt, as last year I avoided this dilemma by leaving the hemisphere and bypassing winter completely. This only proved the correlation between cold weather and neediness, as I wasn't trying to get serious with any fools in Oztown, even though it was the midst of holidays, my birthday, and I was on the other side of the world alone. It was just too hot to be all cuddled up!

Now that I'm back in the game, I'd hoped to be able to woo potential winter partners in these final warm days with my dresses on and whatnot, and then use a slutty Halloween costume to seal the deal (I'm thinking of going as a Girl with Low Self Esteem this year. All T and A).

Alas, it looks like I'm gonna be in my galoshes and my granny sweater, and I'll have to hope someone sees through my layers into the inside spoon that I can become.

But I have hope. This winter, however, is unlike any winter that has come before. We've got a black prez, which makes black the new black, and nerdy black people the new hotness--in other words, my stock is on the rise! I think I may have a better shot at getting one this time around.

Thoughts? Comments, suggestions?

Why I'm Taking Down My Internet Dating Profile. Reason #246

This post goes out to my newest follower (number 26!), American Girl in London. According to her info, she's moved out there to be with her beau, and I think that whenever she has doubts or gets nervous, she can look back on posts like these and know she's made the right choice!

Here is the entirety of an email I received from a man on the internet.

hi beautiful,so what you have been upto lately how was ur Long weekend mine was long :) i was in atlantic city playing poker and made just 114 dollars LOL.

g


I don't even know what to say about this. I think it speaks for itself. Some questions, though:
1. Was the space bar faulty on his computer?
2. He had no problem spelling out the other words in the email, so do you think he actually just doesn't know how to spell "your"?
3. Do you think he thought to himself, "Grammar? i barely even know her!" WHY IS THERE ONLY ONE PERIOD IN THIS EMAIL?! And why is the 'l' in long weekend capitalized? I'm sorry, that really gets my goat. If you don't know me at all, and our initial mode of communication is written, don't you think it would be behoovy of you to write using correct grammar, spelling, and punctuation? I mean, what else do I have to go on?
4. 114 dollars? What a weird amount to win.


Luckily I've found someone who's willing to joke about grandchildren--and he types so well!

The Courtship Phase

Here's an excerpt from a chat I had today with a gentleman caller. I think he may be the last unicorn--at the very least, he can handle Sojourner's TRUTHS. See for yourself:

Me: this computer will be the death of me. i wish i was on my laptop
Gentleman Caller: so... you know keyboards are cheap, right?
i have one i can give you.
[note: he is offering me electronics. sure, he probs has an extra, but why try to give me anything besides an STD or a reason to cry?]
me: hahaa, i'm in my mother's office, doing some legal work
if you want to give her a keyboard, i'm sure she'd appreciate it.
GC: i'd be happy to
me: but i have nothing to give your mother
[i crack myself up.]
GC: grandchildren
hahahaha
was that freaky?
maybe i should have left more of a pause


No, no it was not freaky. In fact, I just drove into Swoon City, population: ME!
Cause, really, he just basically reversed 'i wanna have your babies,' which is one of the finest songs of our time. Watch the video, and see the babies in bubbles.

Although he has no problem joking about procreation, he hasn't asked me out on a second date. Why hasn't he tattoed my name on his arm already?

Therapy--Without Health Insurance!

Tonight I had a stand up gig as part of a benefit for Planned Parenthood--or, as the young hip, pro-choice kids call it, PPNYC. I was a bit nervous, as I was unsure how the PPNYC crowd would appreciate tales about Ps in Vs without Cs. I knew abortion jokes were out (obvi), but the target demographic was unclear. I got there at 6pm, where I was preceded by two elderly women--could they handle Sojourner's truths? I also knew there was a political bent to the show, but I'm not a political comic (my existence is resistance, people!). I went in with some energy, but as I waited for the show to start, my energy started to wane.

I got the gig through a lady I know who attended the same high school and college as me, but we didn't really know each other because she was two years older. My new plan for world domination requires I say yes to everything I'm asked to do, and this show was no exception. I figured, being a client of PPNYC's Bronx location (where I get free BC--aka, my 'reminder I'm not getting any' pill), I might as well give back.

Some things I learned tonight:
PPNYC, all in favor of a good abbreviation, does appreciate a cautionary tale of a P in a V without a C.
The greatest advocates for women's health are Caucasian lesbians.
Always end the night with a drag queen.

For serious.

After the show, I met up with some of my main gays in Hell's Kitchen, and we popped over to Therapy, a gay club/bar/restaurant that I've always heard of, but never visited. I wasn't feeling too great about my set, so I was rather excited to distract myself with loud music and pretty boys.

Turns out, Therapy lives up to its name, as I was able to turn my frown upside down instantly. Tonight was "Cattle Call," a sort of talent show where contestants (all singers) competed for a $150 cash prize. The host was none other than Peppermint, a fabulous Black drag queen who brought the house down.

So, you guys know how when I was little I wanted to be a drag queen, right? As a young aspiring blacktress, I'd stay up past my bed time in the fall of 1996 to catch a glimpse of The Rupaul Show on VH1. I was obsessed. While I wore braces, glasses, and over-sized sweatshirts with Mickey Mouse on them, Ru was so glamorous and confident and just...well, I didn't know what it call it at the time, but now I know the only word I can use is fierce! I just loved how tall she was, her hilarious puns, and her love of inappropriate touching.

(I can't tell you how long it took me to choose a picture of Ru that I loved. I think if I did, it would scare you.)

Come to think of it, these are the same things people seem to appreciate about me nowadays, so perhaps I'm on my way. Yay!

Anyway, Peppermint--who is gearing up for her European album launch--spoke to my heart when she performed Aretha Franklin's "Think" and followed it up with Lisa Loeb's "Stay." She spoke to my dual racial identity, bringing in the sassy soul and the wispy acoustic guitar with equal aplomb.

After the show was over, I ran into Peppermint on her way out of the bathroom. I believe my exact words were, "Ohmygod, I want to be you, you are amazing, can I be your roadie on your European tour?"

I heart her so hard it's not even funny.

She laughed and hugged me, and I told her I was a blacktress. I realized that I can learn alot from the DQs I love--and I don't just mean how to be fabulous. The good performers work the crowd, and their energy is relentless. They know how to Bring it On, Bring it on Again (the sequel), and Bring it on: All or Nothing (seriously, they never stop with these movies. It's Star Wars for tween girls).

I need to bring that A game to all my stand up from now on, and regardless of how the audience reacts, I'll know that I gave 140%. And maybe, if I'm lucky, a delicate young blacktress will approach me outside of the restroom and tell me she wants to be me.

Ah, to sleep, perchance to dream...

A Rant.

Okay, so you already know how much I love repressed Caucasia, as embodied in the television show Mad Men, right? Well, I tucked in for another riveting episode last night, as part of "Dysfunctional TV Sundays" (True Blood, followed by Mad Men, then topped up with back-to-back episodes of To Catch a Predator). I was immediately displeased with the episode, as the characters' constant drinking coupled with my hangover triggered my gag reflex like none other. Normally I support Don Draper's addictions, and I'm placing bets on whether Betty's baby will come out with flippers the way she drinks, but last night was just too much.

I thought it couldn't get any worse until Roger Sterling decided to entertain his garden party guests with a song performed in black face. I kid you not.

Now, okay, I know the show tells the story of a time gone by, when men were men, women were women, and the races didn't mingle. But it's the early 60s in New York City. Was blackface the thing to do? Was it really how the Caucasian elite entertained themselves on a Saturday afternoon? And, to top it off, it seemed none of my fellow Mad Men-viewing friends seemed to notice or care, judging by their status messages related to the show. Was it really only awkward for me? God, I feel so black right now.

I am so over viewing ignorance, regardless of whether or not it's a period piece. This could be because, ever since I got my hair braided, it seems that a little bit of Australia has returned with me to NYC. Caucasians seem to think it's acceptable to touch my head, and the neverending questions have me on the verge of screaming "WIKI BLACK HAIR CARE, PLEASE!" Or, when my friend said to me, "see, the thing is, I like you cause you're not one of those uppity black folks."

Um, is it okay for me to cut a bitch, or would that be setting back the movement?

Okay, I'm done with my rant. How was your weekend?

Help!

I still haven't seen the movie The Hangover.
This is okay, because I'm living it. (I know I've said this before, but this time, it's personal.)

This is gross.

The time is now 3:08pm.
I may still be drunk.

I may or may not have kissed a district attorney last night. Whether or not this was to avoid litigation, I do not know.

It turns out I put my lipton iced tea in the freezer, not the fridge, and I'm now staring at it, waiting for it to thaw so I can consume the entire liter.

I am a hot mess. Thank you 99 Below, for not asking me if I want another drink, and instead just magically presenting it before me. Thank you for giving me a bar stool, so that I don't know I'm drunk until I stand up at 3am.

I'd go on and write something actually pithy/witty, but my brain can't move that quickly at the moment, so do your best to fill in the humour.

I'm gonna go vomit and look for my self esteem. Later.

Choose Your Own Blacktress Adventure!

Thanks to all those who submitted suggestions for today's blog. The suggestions were:
Serendipity
Tomatoes
Beets
Red Lobster
Spiders
"Ted Kennedy is not like the other Kennedys. Look at him, he's different!"


My god, what a wealth and diversity of input--this is what life's supposed to be like in a post-racial America, people. Good work!!!

So, I write to you now from the 96th Street Public Library, using your words as my muse. Here goes. Although I don't have a good personal story, I think I am finally ready to write the next installment of my Twilight parody. Take in the latest bit of.....

DUSK - Chapter 2
(for those of you just tuning in, you can check out chapter 1 here.)

Beaut woke up, groggy as usual. After her fight with Gregory, Beaut was unable to sleep, unable to do anything to calm her nerves. She tried masturbating, which often relaxed her, but even in her liquid dreams, Gregory's amber eyes glowed with anger. She pulled on a t-shirt and jeans, and pulled her hair back, too lazy to brush it. She put on some chapstick, but that was about all she could handle before heading down to breakfast.

Surprisingly, her dad was already at the table, eating a lobster tail. He wasn't wearing any pants.
"Dad, what are you doing?" Beaut asked as she reached in the cupboard for cereal.
"Aw, you know I'm not much of a cook, Beaut," he said sheepishly, wiping the melted butter from his chin. "Plus, I woke up early and this thing just tangled itself up in my net. I had to eat it while it was fresh."

Fresh.
Fresh and untouched like Beaut's womanly body, which hungered for wholeness, for fullness, for Gregory. She thought about last night, before things went sour. She was sure he felt what she felt, and he'd give in to her wishes in time. Maybe he doubted her sincerity, she wondered as she poured milk into her bowl. She sat across from her dad, hoping he hadn't suddenly developed Gregory's ability to read minds. She chewed slowly, thinking of what she could say to make Gregory understand how deep and true her love ran.

"....We should just get away for a couple weeks, for Spring Break, what do you say, Beaut?"

Beaut snapped to attention, and realized her father was talking about taking a trip. For two weeks. There was no way Beaut could be away from Gregory that long. Of course, he'd be able to find her no matter where she was. Whether they went by plane, train, or automobile, he could effortlessly catch up with them. But how to explain to her father her need to go to bed early, her muffled moans, her secrecy?

"That sounds cool, dad, but I was planning on hanging out with friends here."

Matt suddenly became grim, getting the same look on his face that he had when he had a case at the station that he couldn't crack--or when he really had to go to the bathroom.

"You want to hang out with that Gregory Sullen," he said, sighing, and pushing his plate away from the table.

Beaut said nothing. She couldn't bear to lie to her father, so she preferred to say nothing at all.

"Beaut, I've tried to be a cool dad about all this, not butting in, giving you two personal time, keeping my drinking to a minimum in his presence," he began. Beaut took her cereal bowl to the sink to avoid her father's gaze as he went on. "But I just don't like the idea of you getting so serious with this Sullen boy. He's not like the other boys your age. He's like....like Ted Kennedy, the way he's different from the other Kennedys. There's just something off about him--and I don't like his attitude towards the school's hot lunch program."

"Just because he doesn't eat, dad, doesn't mean there's something wrong with him!" Beaut slammed her bowl down, showing an uncharacteristic anger. She hated when her father started in on Gregory, and when he dragged the Kennedy family into this conversation. He never even knew them, just like he didn't know Gregory.

Know Gregory.

That's all Beaut wanted, was to know him--in the biblical way. To feel his cold skin against her heat, to wax his marble skin with her...whatever part of her was analogous. She wasn't really sure, she'd had so little experience. But she knew she'd figure it out if she was only given the chance.

Beaut didn't say all this to her dad, though. She just let him finish.

"But he doesn't eat anything, Beaut. I've never seem him touch meat, which at first I thought was a bit queer, but I've heard of vegetarians, so I let it go," he said, standing and raising his voice. "But when I didn't even see him eat produce--beets, tomatoes, spinach, he just glances right over 'em!-- I know something's not right. Don't talk to me like a fool."

"Fine, dad," she said, averting her eyes so as not to see his dangling junk through his thin boxer shorts. If she didn't want him to talk to him like he was a fool, she wouldn't say anything at all. "I'm gonna be late for school."

Beaut grabbed her jacket and headed out to her car, an old jalopy that was once used to transport geriatric patients to and from the hospital. It couldn't go more than 40 miles an hour, but she loved it. As the car hummed along the road to school, Beaut began to relax. She was excited to see Gregory, and hoped he wouldn't still be angry. She'd already had enough arguing for the day, and wanted nothing more than to know she was loved.

She looked for a parking spot, and instantly saw Gregory. He was leaning against his car, a shiny black Escalade, that he'd gotten from rapper Tupac Shakur as a gift after helping him in a gang fight. He'd offered to change Tupac to one of his own, but the rapper refused, seeking an end to the thug life. Every time she saw his car, or got a glimpse of the spider tattoo on Gregory's shoulder blade, her desire was reignited. It was all she could not to jump on him right there in the lot, rip off his Miu Miu jeans, and have her way with him.

He walked to her door and held it open for her, ever the gentleman. She smiled and he kissed her gently on the lips.

"Gregory, about last night, I--"

Just then the first bell rang. She groaned and Gregory laughed, the haughty laugh of someone who no longer had to even pay attention in class, let alone be on time. But he trotted along quickly, dragging Beaut with him.

"We'll talk about it later," he said.


Who wants more sexual tension?????? I know I do!

Improvised Blogging

So, I'm feeling at a loss guys, unsure of what to write about. In a new and innovative twist, I'm going to go to YOU, the readers. Here's what I'm thinking:

Let's go back to the improvisational comedy roots. In the comments section, write a suggestion. Any word, doesn't matter what it is, or even a sentence/phrase/or random tidbit from the papers. I'll look over the suggestions and see what they inspire me to write. I PROMISE you I will use a suggestion, and I PROMISE you'll have a new blog post by the day's end--that is, IF you give me suggestions!!!

In a way, it's like Choose Your Own Blacktress Adventure!! What fun!

I'm not kidding. Leave a suggestion.

The Summer of New Lows

So, as I said in my previous post, this summer is definitely falling under the category of "Summer of New Lows." This title comes from fellow blogger and strong black woman KWalsh, with whom I can always share the lowest of the low moments. As we are both in a transition, surfing the interwebs at all sorts of hours, and trying to put the recess in recession, the opportunities for self-loathing are abundant. However, we make lemonade out of these lemons, mostly by entertaining each other (it probably also helps that she lives on an island, and goes to the beach as often as most people brush their teeth).

But for some reason, the website "Texts From Last Night" (TFLN) doesn't seem to find us hysterical. In one of our mind-meld moments, we revealed to each other that we'd submitted texts to the site and were brutally rebuffed. After all, we'd done some pretty f'ed up ish, and who was TFLN to say that we weren't raunchy/crazy/racist enough for the world to know? I mean, they even have a section called "NEW LOW"--for those moments when "hot mess" just doesn't cover it.

So, as Sojourner has always had to do, I am making my own forum for self-expression, refusing to let the white man silence my voice as it shouts new lows. And, as is often my goal on this blog, I share my lows, so you may find a moment of joy (which, ironically, is the first word my cell comes up with when I try to type 'low' with the T9 feature).

Here are some texts from The Summer of New Lows-- or as I like to call it, TFTSNL.


Judge not lest ye be judged. (note: when demanding something of someone, quoting the bible is always a good start)


(917): new low: drinking red wine and eating taco bell* at 3pm on thursday.
you are not alone in this.


(917): made out with a businessman from minnesota last night.
(860): it was sunday!
(917): i know. i reek of booze and bad choices.


(917): i forgot to mention the epic fail of last night's hook up. he was covered in body hair and had a belly button ring.
what's wrong with me?

(860): eating mozzarella straight out of a five pound bag. summer of new lows!

(917): always chase your birth control with port. it doesn't really matter when you're not getting laid.


(860): looking at the ex-bf's wedding pics on facebook. new low


*Never do this. Your stomach will hold a grudge like a middle school girl.

If I lived in Charlotte....

So, this summer has proven itself to be the Summer of New Lows (more on that later). I'm actually in a place of acceptance, as I roll solo and try to keep myself entertained in this jobless world. Much of my time involves sitting at bar 99 Below, where I chat with Ollie, a 6'6" Irishman who I like to refer to as 'heterosexuality's greatest loss.' He's also, in true Irish fashion, a champion drinker and thanks to him I now have the tolerance of a sailor on leave! Every trip to 99 Below ends with a boost, either from the buzz of too much Jameson, or the meeting of a random, such as the 45-year-old married guy last Tuesday, who told me that the only reason I was single is because men my age can't handle what a dynamic woman I am.

Anyhoo, so Friday night, after a dinner with a friend, I headed to 99 Below.
Yes, by myself.
Yes, at prime bar-hopping hour.
This is no different than walking the streets of Sydney on my own, and at least I get free drinks when I'm at 99. I also find it much more tolerable to interact with strangers than frenemies, so this solo roll is often my own doing.

So, I'm planted at the bar, chatting up Ollie, when these two random dudes come up to order their Budweiser. Ever the enabler, Ollie goes, "you want shots, fellas?" The shorter one with the spikier hair turns to me and asks, "do you want one?" Never one to turn down a free drink, I agree, and of course, the group shot makes us all new best friends.

The DJ is playing early 90s jams, starting with Montell Jordan, and going all the way from Boyz II Men, to ABC, to BBD--the east coast family! We're singing along and their reminiscing about college, and the dudes automatically assume I'm their age, cause I know all the words. They made some joke about "the 25 years olds on the side who just want to hear The Killers," and I fake laughed, waiting for the right moment to tell them I'm in that age bracket.

Spikey haired dude introduces himself as Ryan, and he tells me he's visiting his buddy from Charlotte, NC. His friend Mark, who has lived in NYC 7 years, is quite standoffish, but I don't mind cause he has an overgrown soul patch.

Not one to go down the same road twice, I instantly ask Ryan why he's not wearing his wedding ring. He's taken aback, as he hasn't mentioned a wife. He laughs, and explains that it's back at Mark's house.
"You're good," he says.
Ryan goes on to say how much he loves NYC, and how close he and Mark are. "Seriously, it's my two daughters, then this guy."
Um, what about his wife? I think I need to get Dr. Phil on the horn, cause this marriage sounds like it's full of hate-fucking.

As we talk, and after I reveal my age, Ryan says, "you're the smartest person I've ever talked to at a bar." Clearly, this is true, but it's also sad. What is with men's low standards for people--and women especially? As soon as I string together a sentence--and especially if it ends in a punchline--the dude loses his shit and can't cope. The rest of our conversation was so magical, I feel as though it must be transcribed.

Ryan: What are you doing here by yourself?
Me: I'm a lone wolf.
Ryan: What? You're not here with anyone?
Me: I live on the edge, on the fringes.
Ryan: I don't understand what you're doing here alone.
Mark (suddenly at attention, super excited): Dude, this is what I'm talking 'bout! This is what's so awesome about New York! Hot girls all over the place, none of them have boyfriends. Hot girls, just sitting by themselves, dude!
[I laugh, the sad laughter of a clown]
Ryan (looking wide-eyed and thrown, as though he just found out one of his daughters was pregnant): Dude, that is crazy.
Mark: That's why I fucking love this city!
Ryan (to me): If you were in Charlotte, you'd have 17 boyfriends right now.
Mark: You'd have a husband, 6 kids, and a big ol' house, baby.
Me: Um, can I fly back with you tomorrow, Ry?
[laughter ensues]
Mark: So, does that mean I can take you out for dinner on Sunday?
Me: What?
Mark (to Ryan): See how they do? (to me) Seriously, dinner Sunday?
Me: Oh, I can't, I'm busy.
Mark: What about Monday?
Me: I have an improv class, 7 to 10.
Mark (to Ryan): And that's another thing about New York, dude--every one of them's a fucking actress!!
[They laugh as I playfully hit Mark kinda hard in the shoulder and am not joking at all.]
Me: Whatever, dude. Okay, then, what about Wednesday?
[I'm not even all that interested in this dude, but his reverse psychology is working like a charm, and it really gets my goat when someone hears I'm a blacktress or comedian, and instantly writes off all my positive traits as being "on," or full of shit.]
Mark: Oh, um, I can't. I have to travel for work.
Me: Where?
Mark: I'm going to Dubai.
Me (to Ryan): And that's why I can't date in New York. They've all gotta go to Dubai!!
[laughter ensues]
Ryan: You're seriously the smartest woman I've ever met.
Mark: See, dude? They're all busy though. That's the thing that sucks. They've all got an improv class and a show and an opening, and a wine and cheese party?
Me: What?
Mark: You heard me, wine and cheese!
Me: Whatever, dude, you know you love it. You love that I'm fucking busy, cause it makes you think I'm cool as hell.
[Mark cracks up, and high fives me.]
Me: So, why are you single, if NYC is so great? You're southern and, what, 37? What's your damage?
[Mark laughs again, and Ryan joins in, but neither of them answer. Most curious indeed.]
Mark: You're not free Tuesday?
Me: I thought you leave for Dubai on Tuesday?
Mark: I do, at night.
[What kind of Dubai flight is this, where he can have a dinner date beforehand? Are we going to grab a bite at the Chili's Too in JFK Airport?]
Me: Whatever, call me when you get back.
Mark: That's in, like, a week. This connection will fizzle by then.
[What connection?]
Me: No it won't. You won't meet anyone cooler than me in the next 10 days, let's be real.
[There's much laughter, and Mark high fives me yet again.]
Ryan: You're the smartest woman I've ever met. You should come live in Charlotte.

After 5 free dranks on these two southern gents, I must say, hopping on a midnight train to Charlotte started to look pretty damn good.

Oh, and obvi I have not heard from soul patch. Goes to show that even the most southern of gentlemen can still become tainted by the NYC. You know, the city that never sleeps...with the same girl twice.

My New Frenemy

So, I mentioned my reparations in the form of UCB classes, right? Well, they just keep on giving, as this past Saturday I got a call from the theater saying I'd won the lottery!!

Instead of receiving heaps of cash (which my unemployed ass could use), I got the chance to perform on Harold Night with professional house team members, one of whom happened to be my future life partner, Jeff Hiller (I blog about him way too much). The plan was for 10 students, chosen from different levels of classes, to be broken up into two teams with 4 pro-team members on each. We'd do long-form improv, learning and growing with the help of the hardcore improvisers.

We had a rehearsal on Sunday, and us 10 students got to work. Our teacher was another professional improviser, and from the moment I walked in, I was a smitten kitten.
Two words: read beard.
Third word: SWOON!

Our rehearsal went pretty well, but we were such a hodgepodge. Some kids were just starting improv 101, and would now be expected to do the hardcore stuff in front of an audience WITH THE PROS! I was feeling pretty confident, because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darnit, people like me!

This all changed pre-show last night. I had no energy and hadn't had a chance to get in the improv headspace, so I just wasn't sure how good I'd be. I started running in place and making stupid jokes to get myself together. When I found out I was put on Jeff Hiller's team, and I knew all would be right in the world. After all, I'm obsessed with him, and although he's never seen me improvise, we do great work together. See for yourself:



Anyhoo, I figured at the very least, I'd let the pros lead the way, and I'd follow along.

Turns out, this blacktress isn't riding the back of the bus! All my scenes went really well, and post-show, I got alot of positive feedback from audience members and improvisers. I think I'm on my way to diversifying UCB from the inside--holla!

However, I have a frenemy in my way. She's another young blacktress who also got the diversity scholarship, and she's very cute. She's got that natural afro, a huge smile, and she's from the Midwest, which, coupled with the fact that she just graduated college in May, makes her bubbly and really smiley and optimistic.
She must be stopped.
She's somewhat funny, and I do want to support fellow blacktresses, but her shiny happy virgin-whore act is making her the blacktress-belle of the improv ball! WHAT ABOUT ME?!?!??! I'm older, I'm smarter, and way better baby-making material.

I wasn't trying to hate until last night, when we all hit up the UCB post-show hot spot, this dingy pub near 14th street. I told her about my fatty crush on Redbeard, and she's like, "let's go talk to him." We start to go over, then get sidetracked by fellow students. While we're talking, my frenemy walks over to Redbeard, and out of the corner of my eye I see her hugging all up on him! HELL TO THE NO!

That's when I knew she couldn't be trusted. We're supposed to have each other's back, not try to tap each other's wanna-be boos!

She hadn't met him before Sunday, there was no reason to touch (especially since most male improvisers, when taken off stage, display signs of mild autism), and SHE KNEW I WANTED HIM BAD BAD BAD.

If she wants to play by those rules, game is on.

God, jealousy and hatred are such lame emotions, and yet I'm finding them oddly satisfying in this moment. In fact, it wasn't until one of my main gays pointed me in the frenemy direction that I realized what I had to do.

Performing was great, and I felt so good afterwards, but it's the schmoozing with other improvisers that's tough for me. I've seen so many of them around the city over the years, and there are so many awkward bearded hotties, and I don't know how to approach them. See, in my head, we have elaborate relationships, we've known each other from the very first day I saw them on stage, and we're supposed to be best friends. In their heads, I'm a random girl who won't stop staring at them across the room.
It makes for uncomfortable dynamics.
Alot of the other students are nice, but some are so into the scene that it's weird, and others are simply not funny and boring. I'd prefer to get in with the veterans, get practical information and advice from those who have been through it, but I don't know how to make our love happen.

Any suggestions as to how to penetrate the world of Comedic Caucasia?

Go Shawty, it's yer burfday.....

Today's Obama's birthday!!! YAY!! The chocolate silver fox turns a sexy 48 years old today, and I'm ready to go all Marilyn Monroe on his fine ass!

What do you think the security guards will do if I rock up to the White House and jump out of a birthday cake on the front lawn? Will I be tasered, or will they fall in love with me? I just feel like it'd be a good time to wish him birthday goodness, as well as thank him for my reparations, which finally came through. Holla!

What reparations? You may be asking. I got a scholarship to take FREE improv classes at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre (UCB), a well-known institution in NYC. Basically, some very liberal and bright member of Caucasia who interns there made a shocking discovery: improv is the realm of straight White boys. She decided to do something about it, and got them to implement a Diversity program. Thanks to Obama, black is the new black, and people are coming out of the woodwork to show some love to the Talented Tenth. UCB decided to jump on that bandwagon and offered up some freebies to 16 people of color.

No, no, I didn't just get it for being black--I got it for being young, gifted, and black, as well as the friend of an influential gay visionary. Comedian Jeff Hiller was telling me about the program and I was initially interested in recruiting, but without telling me, Jeffster ended up nominating me for it! Holla at a nomination--I feel like Taraji P. Henson, and this is my Benjamin Button!
Reason #256 that I love a gay man: They are not afraid to lift up a strong black woman.

I had my second class last night, and so far it's going pretty well. I'd taken a couple UCB classes before, but I could never really get into it--it's such a cult, and everyone there is into name-dropping who they've studied with, and all work really hard to be funny. Add to that the fact that it is indeed a boys club, and there just left little for the blacktress to desire. However, it is a great place to be if you want to make it in the comedy world, as anyone who's anyone starts out there. I see tons of UCB people working as talking heads on VH1 (you know, I love the 80s, Best Groundhog's Day Ever, stuff like that), and even see former teachers on "The Office" and "Parks and Recreation." I know that if I want to reach the masses, I gotta take some classes!

So I'm getting in it to win it. I'm making friends with established performers, and vowing to see more shows. Even though I'm a little rusty, my scenes have been pretty strong, and the teacher isn't calling me out, which is always good. The people in the class are all nice, and are grasping concepts quickly, but the humour isn't necessarily strong. That's fine by me, though. If they can at least not fuck up the scenes, then I'm good to go. My teacher is also so tender and smart. He's the Michelle Pfeiffer to my improvisational Dangerous Mind, if you will.

But let me bring this back to the man of the day: Birthday Boy Barack.
Without him, I might not have gotten these reparations. He's proving that 48 is the new 28, and without him I wouldn't even be blogging this right now.

Happy Birthday, Barack! I hope you like your jaunty bday hat!

Am I Bitter?

I was talking with a gal pal last night about her latest suitor, and we came up with some great insights that I think are worth sharing with you, gentle readers. Here's an excerpt from our late night jaw session.

Happy Friend in the Courtship Phase: get this-- the first time we made out he was extremely inebriated, and he said "we need to slow down, because i don't want you to think im just interested in you because im drunk. i respect you too much for that"

Me: WOW

that's amazing
[blacktress' note: the fact that I'm this impressed by what should be commonplace is quite telling, don't you think?]

HFitCP: i know

Me: he's a fucking unicorn

bag that shit

bag it

HFitCP: i KNOW

Me: mount it

lock it down
[of course, being such a nice man, she explains that he doesn't live in nyc, and she's heading off to the other side of the world for the next month, so there's that dash of drama...]
Me: ugh, it is so hard

you have to just enjoy it til you leave, and then push it out of your mind

there's a reason i call such men unicorns

HFitCP: yeah

Me: they cannot be found

they cannot be tamed
they are not of our world

they are the stuff of legends

Me: So, is he taller than you?

HFitCP: yup

he wears glasses

and he's one of the sweetest, most thoughtful guys ive known

Me: Oh, love it!

that's so great, boo

ugh, why can't he be in nyc?
oh, right, because nyc is where nice boys go to die and douchebags go to spawn

you know, the way gremlins spawned

HFitCP: yep

Me: don't get douchebags wet

or feed them after midnight

HFitCP: haha!

yeah, he'd never survive in nyc

HFitCP: god, nyc really is a shit hole

Me: it's so crazy, cause think of HOW MANY there are! You'd think, with the sheer number of men, there'd be enough good ones for us to catch. Alas, no.

and then you hear about friends in relationships, and you get this spark of hope

but that spark, when combined with the harsh winds of rejection and the dry heat of celibacy, only causes a forest fire in your soul*

that can't be put out

HFitCP: i know it, girl.

its miserable.

*Earlier in the day I watched 'When Weather Changed History' on The Weather Channel. FUN FACT: Did you know the three factors that lead to a forest fire are harsh winds, dry heat, and dead vegetation?

16 and Pregnant Finale Special: "Life After Labor"

i know it's long overdue, but here's the live blog of the "16 and Pregnant" Finale Special.
I'd like to say that Dr. Drew Pinsky is my new hero, due to his condescending tone, his tough love with the useless bfs, and his tenderness with the mothers. For those of you who haven't seen every episode, here's....

Our panel:
Maci - 17, from Chattanooga, TN.
Ebony - 17, from Colorado Springs, CO
Whitney - 16, from someplace southern. She and her mom were prego at the same time.
Farrah -17. Her mom hit her in the car.
Amber - She got a Wal-Mart engagement ring from Gary, who purchased a PlayStation when they had a baby on the way.
Catelynn--my favorite homegirl, who made a tough choice.
Dr. Drew, from MTV's "Loveline," and VH1's "Celebrity Rehab." If either show had been on in the last 5 years, maybe these teens wouldn't have been 16 and pregnant.

[10:01]
First thing's first--who lost the baby weight?
Maci's looking good! Amber....not so much. Ebony is all made up, but she doesn't look as good here as she did in her episode.
Are Catelynn's braces off?! She looks so good!

Farrah's mom is on the show with her? I hope she can stay calm and not hit her daughter.
- Oh, I love Farrah's recap--she was a cheerleader! Her makeup is always so flawless. Like, even in the delivery room, she was an easy breezy beautiful covergirl!
- YES, they showed the clip of her mom hitting her! Call it out!
- "I don't even know if I actually hit her," mom says to Dr. Drew. Oh my god, when should Dr. Drew call ACS [administration for children's services]?

[10:06] The ease with which Dr. Drew uses the term "baby daddy" makes me uncomfortable.
Dr. Drew knows that Farrah and her mother are totally lying for the cameras.

[10:11 - 10:16] Maci's interview.
- Recap highlight: I forgot how they kept leaving the baby on the couch. Just, like propped up against the arm of the chair. I know they say "face-up to wake up," but that was a bit ridiculous.
- Ryan, Maci's bf, realized he was a hot mess after seeing the show.
(Maybe I need to record some of my dates, so the dudes can see the playback and get their shit together.)
- "Where is your supportive partner?" Dr. Drew is cutting to the core, and making Maci emotional. He's gonna talk to Ryan!
- Oh god, Maci's gonna cry.
- Dr. Drew wants to punch Ryan in the face. He's fidgeting and clutching his cue card--and stopping Maci from speaking for Ryan. Love it!
"Don't help him. Don't. do it." Dr. Drew is all about tough love.

[10:20 - 10:25]
- Dr. Drew is making Ryan apologize to Maci. "I want to hear it." Dr. Drew is going to make them get to the bottom of things. Love the couple's counseling!
- She's got great mascara-it's all thick and dark, and yet it doesn't run as she cries. Maybe it's Maybelline?
- "Did you ever consider abortion?" OOOOOHHH, hard-hitting question, Dr. Drew!
They said no, without hesitation.
- "It's just not for me," says Maci--as though abortion was, like, sauteed mushrooms or something. I'm not saying her opinions are wrong, but you can tell she knows it's a loaded question and she's not ready to be a pro-life poster-child.
- Dr. Drew's goodbye to Maci and Ryan is basically like, "Well, there's nothing I can do here, so why don't we cut to commercial?"

[10:28 - 10:34] Amber and Gary's recap.
- Fun fact: 3 out 10 American girls will become pregnant before they turn 20. For reals? Damn, I didn't know I beat the odds!
- Amber's talking about her daughter: "she looks so different from when she was born. She's bigger now...." Um, yes, Amber, that's what happens with babies. They grow.
- Turns out that $21.40 Wal-Mart ring was what she wanted.

- Okay, Amber and Gary actually seem like they are good together. They laugh and seem comfortable, and she's not all snippy and high-maintenance about having a cheap ring, and there seems to be closeness there.
- They hadn't been using a condom the whole time they were together! WTF?! "I just don't know what I was thinking." Oh, Amber, boo bear....
- "So, let me get this straight: his pleasure cost you your childhood and your youth." Dr. Drew is so hardcore.

[10:37- 10:42] Ebony and Josh!

- They are holding hands and still in love. They got married!
- Josh looks alot like Billy Bob Thornton in Slingblade, doesn't he?
- For some reason, hearing that these kids are getting married or engaged isn't as tender or uplifting as it would be if they were educated adults with careers who hadn't had a child already.
- Dr. Drew's sign off: "Mm, well thank you guys, thanks for being here Ebony and Josh, and congratulations on the marriage." = "Well, I don't know how you're gonna be in school while he's in the airforce, and who the hell is gonna take care of your baby, but good luck with that pipedream."

[10:45 - 10:52] CATELYNN AND TYLER!! My faves!
Fun fact: 730,000 teen pregnancies each year in America. 1/2 result in child. Only 1% are adopted!

Oh em gee, Tyler is there!! I was worried they'd broken up, cause I hadn't seen him in the promos. I am so obsessed with them.

Not having breastfed, I was worried Catelynn wouldn't have lost the baby weight, but she looks great.
Oh, wait, in close-up, I see her braces aren't off!
Tyler's large white hat, so cocked to the side. He is urban.
- Dr. Drew loves them, he keeps touching his chest intensely (much like Justin Bieber in the "One Time" video). "I feel so passionately that people like you need to be honored, because what you did is so hard."
- "When you have a kid, it's not about you anymore," said Catelynn. From the mouths of babes!
- Theresa and Brandon are coming with baby Carly.
TEARS FROM TYLER!!!!!!!
- Tyler is the most tender 17 year old I've ever seen. He and Brandon (adoptive dad) are almost the same height. They're sharing a bro-hug!!!
- Okay, now it's kinda awkward. Like, Theresa has to defer to Catelynn as bio-mom, but it is her child. And Catelynn and Tyler get that far-away look in their eyes, like they want the baby.
- Catelynn and Tyler are both cryers. That's how their relationship thrives.

Catelynn left her mom's place and has been living at Tyler's. When asked why, she says matter-of-factly, "with drunks, and loud music, no." Catelynn just put her family on blast!

[11:12 - 11:30]
Whitney and Weston!
- Um, what is with Weston's haircut? I much preferred his shagginess.
- Whitney has an annoying baby voice.
- She no longer "makes jokes and jumps around," Whitney says, when comparing her pre-pregnancy self to now, as a mom. Really? That's the difference?
- How old is Weston?! I mean, he didn't act like a 17 year old, and could easily be 24.
- Clearly Dr. Drew will not be happy until he's made everyone cry.
- Baby Weston has medical issues!!! AAAHHH!!!! He has a genetic disorder that affects his liver.


Ryan is Maci's first boyfriend! And now she's going to marry him! HOT MESS!!!

All the girls all together! They are so sweet to each other. Ebony and Catelynn share a hug--tenderness!

No one breastfed their babies. "It hurt!!!" they're whining.
Um, get it together ladies--like, you already popped it out of your vag and I can't imagine it hurting anymore that, so you might as well give it antibodies to make it as healthy as possible. Who hasn't had a sore nip after a rough night?

They all come out with their babies, and Tyler's at the end of the line just awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. You made the right decision, Ty!!!

All in all, this wasn't the emotional rollercoaster I was hoping for--although Dr. Drew did a great job of trying to make everyone feel bad. All I know is I can't wait for the next season of "16 and Pregnant." If I was a producer, I'd call it: "16 and Pregnant: L'eggo my eggo, I don't want to get Prego."

The Day the Music Died...Again.

KWalsh just sent me a youtube of what can only be described as the most inappropriate appropriation of hip hop culture in the history of the world.

His name is Justin Bieber, he appears to be about 12 years old, and he appears to be stealing the white-boy soulful swagger of Justin Timberlake and the swoopy bangs of Pete Wentz.
I bet MJ is rolling over in his grave.

The premise is this: Justin is just kickin' it with his brace-faced homey, playing some video games, when R&B superstar USHER--who he's apparently house-sitting for--calls and asks if he'll hold down the fort. Like any rambunctious tween, Justin breaks out the "Spontaneous House Party" app on his iPhone, and hijinx ensue!
You know what, before I go on my rant, why don't you see for yourselves:



I mostly blame Jesse McCartney, whose cover of T-Pain's "Buy You A Drank," gave suburban white boys the hope that, with enough twang in one's nasal pre-pubescent voice, they could be "down." Here are my biggest problems with this:

1. Usher's appearance in this video makes me angry. Why on earth would Usher have a 10-year-old Caucasian boy housesit for him? How do they know each other? It's already taking every iota of brain power to suspend the disbelief that this child is a "singer" or "musician," let alone a close and personal friend of Usher Raymond IV. Usher has the voice of an angel, and his was the first concert I ever attended as a young lass in Detroit, Michigan (Usher, Monica, and Immature--fucking dream team). He holds a special place in my heart. I even stood by him during his break up with Chili from TLC. How he could appear in this tween's rip off of every pop-R&B song ever made is both baffling and deeply hurtful.
2. He is the youngest person at his own party. All of his friends are in the 18-25 demographic (the brace-faced homey disappears after the first scene), and clearly his balls haven't even dropped. Also notice that he is exactly at breast height of every woman at the party.
2a. The girl he is courting--you know, who he croons to--is clearly pulling a Mary Kay LeTourneau.
3. He sticks his index finger in the air exactly 39 times--not counting the time he holds up 2 fingers, when he sings, "i'll give it to you." Get it?
4. Every mannerism/gesture is taken from every talented R&B singer that has come before him, and a few are just basic charades pantomimes. He touches his bird chest as though I am supposed to truly believe the intensity of his emotion. Like when he sings, "even though it's hard, love is all we got." He speaks from experience.
5. This was brought to KWalsh's attention on MTV. Seriously, this is what's on MTV? I feel so old and crotchety saying this, but music is now crap. These are the people getting record deals nowadays? This is enough to make the baby Jesus cry. No wonder so many of the kids today are 16 and pregnant.

Oh my god, I can't wait for the angry tween comments to this post.

Best. Moment. EVER.

I would like you to all know that I am now facebook friends with David Elmore Smith, from TLC's "The 650-pound Virgin."

Sweet god, YES!!!

For those of you dying to know, David's current status is: "going to take a cat nap, then do some cardio."

I think if David can accept my friend request, people I've hooked up with have no excuse.

I am one step closer to co-hosting a show with him on Bravo. It'll be like "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" meets "Biggest Loser" meets Spike Lee's Do the Right Thing. Oh my god, I can imagine our love affair. He's 32 years old and 6'2", which basically meets all my criteria. (um, is that sad?) He's also been morbidly obese, so he's learned to be nice, cause when you grow up hot, you take people's adoration for granted (so I hear). He's also had extensive plastic surgery, which shows he understands that looks are almost everything, which I respect.

But for serious, guys, you know how much I admire his extensive weight loss without the aid of surgery. And you KNOW how much I love a tall glass of awkward milk! I can just see us now, with our baby Baracks, making low-fat dinners and drinking just one glass of wine, before going to the beaudoir to keep practicing.......teehee. I'm a hot mess.

For this new development, I'd like to thank my friend Litsa, who often leads me on the path to righteousness (see Friday Night Amstel Lights for more on this). At 1:30am last night, she revealed the lasting effect my blog post on David has had on her, and showed me the fruits of her internet stalking. His MySpace page left little to be desired, but this led to the F-book page, which I decided sorely lacked a thumbnail photo of me as his friend. OF COURSE Litsa suggested I send him a message and add him as a friend, and OF COURSE I did as I was told.

Much to my delight, I awoke this morning to find the following message in my inbox:
David Elmore Smith has confirmed you as a friend on Facebook.

Now that I've got that in my inbox, I just need to get him in my box--if you know what I mean.

By "in my box" I mean, "his penis in my vagina."

Can You Handle "The Ugly Truth"?

Cause I can't.
I just got back from seeing an advanced screening of the new Katherine Heigl rom-com The Ugly Truth, (you didn't know I had the hook ups, did you?) and I must say--not impressed. I'd write "SPOILER ALERT," cause technically I'll be giving you all the details, but trust me--there's nothing to spoil.

I thought any movie with a focus on TRUTH would be a hit with Sojo. Unfortunately, I was quite wrong.

Listen, I know it's a romantic comedy, and that the genre follows a strict formula, so I wasn't expecting to be blown away, or to even have lingering thoughts about it once the lights came back up and credits rolled. However, I was hoping for my generic expectations to be met, and to experience laughter and merriment. This was not the case. I knew I was in for it when the main titles opened to Katy Perry's annoying single "Hot 'n' Cold."

Katherine Heigl plays Abby, a producer of a morning talk show who has no luck with men. We see this early on during her internet date with a random dude played by Kevin Connolly (note to Kevin Connolly: fire your agent.). She is a classic Type-A shrew, the very kind she lamented having to play in Knocked Up. She's controlling and dislikes fun of all kinds, and even brings a list of "talking points" on her date with the Kevster--do you think Connolly would mind if I called him that?

Of course, Gerard Butler's job is to act as her foil. As Mike, an emotionless man ruled by his peen, he isn't afraid to take the shrew head on and tell her what men really want. He does so first when she appears as a disembodied voice on his radio show, and then continues as he becomes a featured host on her morning show--what a crazy random happenstance!

Okay, here's my thing with Katherine Heigl. I think she's pretty--like, really pretty, and I usually don't think blondes are attractive. However, I think that even when she's playing a romantic lead, her bitchiness shines through, and there's little to redeem her. I imagine her in real life, hanging out with her main gay T.R. Knight, talking ish about everyone they don't like while her husband Josh Kelley strums his guitar in the background, begging for her attention.

Sorry, I digress.

I thought Gerard Butler was actually pretty good in this--I mean, given the script, he played the cocky asshole part wonderfully, without playing it like a 21 year old (I'm over older dudes acting like they're in college--McConaughey, I'm talking to you). He was all vengeful testosterone in 300, then played the tender Irish lad in P.S. I Love You, and here he shows that third side of a dude--the d-bag. I kind of wish Butler's character would be my personal dating coach (sigh), as I believe everything he said made total sense--you know, that men don't like criticism, want you to laugh at their jokes, and that a woman should "never talk about your problems. men don't listen and they don't care."

Um, am I bitter?

Anyway, the film--which Heigl produced, and should have made a point to improve the characer she plays--suffers in that it knows the rules of the genre but refuses to follow them. Neither Heigl or Butler's characters have any redeeming qualities, save for a couple of scenes Butler gets with a nephew, which is supposed to make him seem sensitive. The guy Heigl is attempting to lock down, a doctor named Collin, is basically a One Tree Hill cast-off who we see no chemistry with at any point. And even though we know she should end up with Butler at the end (I mean, that's what I paid--or, in this case, didn't pay--for), it would have been nice to see a real conflict between the two guys, either among themselves or within Heigl. We also don't see Mike and Abby have any moment of tenderness or a real connection, other than a shared preference for tap water when dining out.

The tap-water scene, like the rest of the film's supposedly major moments, fall flat, and seem to be taken from other films: a pair of vibrating panties yields a wannabe When Harry Met Sally diner scene; and a steamy dance number between Abby and Mike at a Cuban club reads like a scene from the editing room floor of Dirty Dancing 2: Havana Nights. Heigl's big reveal to Collin that she's been pretending to be someone else comes down to her taking out her blonde hair extensions that gave her a much-needed sexier 4 inches of hair, and as a result, the key to Collin's heart.

Seriously.

The film's ending, which involves Abby and Mike in a hot air balloon and broadcast live on air, looks terribly cheesy--like some of that old-school, first-bluescreen type of technology used in the original Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Their close-ups make them appear cut and pasted into the scene, and their final lines sum up the film's failure.
"Why, why do you love me?" Heigl's shrew asks seriously--you know, cause she can't take a compliment.
"Fuck if I know," Butler's says in a gruff tone, before kissing her passionately.

Um, you're right, Gerard. Fuck if we know.

16 and Pregnant-- The Live Blog

I know I've never done this, but I seriously wish I could watch this show with people, and never do. So, to get out all of my emotions, I thought live bloggery would be best.

[11:00pm] Oh my god, this episode is going to be so good.

[11:01] Tyler and Catelynn (yes, that's how it's spelled) are step-siblings. Her mom, April, married Tyler's dad, Butch, after Tyler and Catelynn started dating!!! Oh my god, is this a shit show?

[11:02] Friend: "didn't you use condoms?
Tyler: yeah, i used one that got washed in the washing machine.
Friend: "and now she's pregnant."
Oh, Tyler. Just because you can use money that has been through the wash cycle doesn't mean you can dry and straighten out a condom. Get it together, boo!

[11:04] Ty and Cate are thinking of pulling a Juno. They have some sense! They are the first people in the series to actually try and break the cycle of poverty, lack of education, and tragedy, and recognize that just because they are physically capable of spawning doesn't mean they have to raise a child. Cate knows that she can't be a mommy when she's gotta get her braces tightened!

[11:04:30] Cate and Ty's parents don't approve of adoption.
"Here's my son, 16, 17 years old, and he has this baby and gives it away to this great family. And he's not manning up. What am I to think?" - Butch, Tyler's dad. Really? This is why white people can't have nice things.

[11:11- 11:13] Tyler: "I want the dad to be college educated, whether it's a bachelor's, masters, whatever."
Um, I think Tyler hates his dad, Butch, for being so trashy. Oh god, Butch has a mullet and prison tats, and a molestache!
- Butch just said "All that baby needs is love." Tyler just flipped out, oh my god, I'm kind of obsessed with Tyler. He has big dreams--he doesn't want a dream deferred!

[11:14] Catelynn doesn't even want to see the baby. She wants to pop it out and hand it off! Oh, Tyler's tending to her sadness! I heart him.

[11:15-11:18] Worse commercials ever. Um, they've made a straight-to-DVD sequel to "Van Wilder"?

[11:18] Mom thinks she should keep the baby for three reasons:
1. Catelynn would be a good mom.
2. She and Butch could help.
3. "She'd be my first grandbaby, and I'd be thinking about her."
Note: Catelynn has dyed her hair from goth-black to honey brown. Isn't dyeing one's hair frowned upon during pregnancy? I hope this baby doesn't end up with flippers!

[11:20] Why are their parents so selfish and thoughtless? Why would they want their 16-year-olds to raise children instead of going to college, reaching their potential, and having full lives not cut short as a result of one silly night of passion?!

[11:21] Meeting the adoptive parents! They seem so sweet! Super cheesy and dorky, and they just want to love a baby! Oh, they even met at church! You know there's guilt surrounding the inability to conceive--poor tender Christian lovers. They will be so happy with this baby.

[11:23] Catelynn just wants her baby to have what she never did--stability, providing. Oh, she's crying, and now I'm crying too! Poor Catelynn, she's been through so much. She's being such a strong black woman right now. I want to just buy her some Audre Lorde and get her into a nice 4-year college.

[11:27] Dawn the adoption agent is really good at being diplomatic and non-judging.
Catelynn's mother just called her a bitch! WTF? I find the parents to be more of a hot mess than the children.

[11:29 -11:31] Catelynn has rubber bands on her braces. She is the cutest prego teen I've ever seen. I think this is partially because she is giving the baby a good home.

Oh god, she has to hug her mother and help her deal with the pain of giving away the baby.
Tyler is writing a letter to the baby! They are so active and thoughftul.
(I think Tyler is already balding a bit, though--awkward!)
TEARS FROM TYLER, AAAAHHH!!!
Tears from Tyler = Tears from Blacktress.

[11:33] We're inducing labor! Tyler's in the hospital room, as is Catelynn's mother, who looks like she's got a substance abuse issue.

[11:34-11:41] Catelynn should take her rubberbands out. I think they're going to cause an obstruction.
- 2.5 hours into labor! I am never having a baby. It's like trying to shove a watermelon through a keyhole. I get cramps when I wait to long to pee!
- Why isnt' her mother by her side to help her through this? I am so not even a fan of April.
- Oh, now she's on her celly, saying half-heartedly, "breathe, Cate."
- Oh em gee, everyone's here--Catelynn's got an entourage for this birth.
- Um, is mom wearing a baby tee?
- TEARS FROM TYLER AGAIN!!
- I love that Ty's not afraid to grab a knee and help her push. He's been in there, he can see what's coming out!
- She doesn't want to look at the baby, she's freaking out. I'M freaking out. Now Ty is giving her a peptalk, "We can do this, we're doing this for her. giving her a good life."
I am openly sobbing.
They won't take the baby out of the hospital room, Tyler is freaking out, he can't hear his babies cries!

[11:44- 11:50] Catelynn's mom walked out of the hospital room in a huff, all pissed. Tyler is an emotional wreck. They're going to hold the baby!
(I want Tyler to be my baby daddy.)
Uh-oh, are they going to be attached??? Can they give her up?!
Adoptive parents gave them a present--that seems weird, for some reason. It's sweet, but, like, a baby for a bracelet?

[11:54 - 12:00]
Mom won't sign adoption papers! I am livid! Why is she doing this to them?! WHY ON EARTH!?
- I am so worried for the adoptive parents. What if this doesn't come through?!
- Hand-off is taking place off hospital grounds. Tyler and Catelynn are such champions
- I'm kinda scared the mom is going to be waiting at the door with a butcher knife.
- Oh my god, she and Ty don't hate each other and are still tender!
- Catelynn is at peace!!!

Oh my god, this episode was amazing. It's exactly what I wanted to see--some kids who made a hard decision for the greater good of themselves and their children. As you can see, it's an emotional rollercoaster for the blacktress.

OH MY GOD, next week is the AFTER-LABOR FINALE SPECIAL!!!!
Don't call, don't text. I have only one place I'll be next Thursday.

Scorned Cards Are on the Rise

And it's all thanks to Facebook.
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I hate social networking sites.

Saving Private Ryan--the rap.

For the impatient, just head to minute 1:11.



Who knew WW2 could lend itself to rhyme to so well?

This might be better than Vanilla Ice's Ninja Rap at the end of "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze."
No, wait, nothing's better than that.
In the words of MJ, do you remember the time? Here ya go:

The Loving--I mean, LEARNING--Channel.

I'm watching "The 650-lb Virgin" on TLC.

I think I may be in love.

You know how I feel about The Learning Channel and Discovery Health, with their hour-long specials on people facing serious health problems that require extreme courage, optimism, and fortitude. It, you know, makes me less stressed about dudes not calling me back. After re-watching an old favorite-- "I Eat 33,000 Calories A Day,"--I was prompted to put down the hangover food and tuck in for some more educational and life-affirming programming.

Today's doozy is "The 650-lb Virgin," which follows David, a 31-year-old man from Phoenix, as he searches for love and faces his fears.

David is so awkward and endearing, and such a champion. He lost over 400 pounds without gastric bypass!! He did it the old-fashioned way--like, by moving his body! He'd been obese since he was a child, so he obvi missed alot of milestones--like making friends and speaking to members of the opposite sex. Finally feeling confident, after losing his weight and the excess skin, he's trying to go out there and make love happen. But it's so hard!!!! Poor David!

Here's a clip from "The Today Show." He blew Lauer's mind--which you know says something, considering all of Matt's traveling.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

He's super cute and awkward (love the bromance between him and his personal-trainer-turned-bestie, too), and has the best of intentions, but just doesn't know what to do. He even goes to a dating coach (I know, it hit home too hard for me given the current situation), and can't even ask the assistant for her phone number in a practice run. Some of my favorite quotes from David include:

"I mean, I've had a few chances, but I don't want to lose it that way. I want to give it to a woman who could be my wife." - David, re: losing his virginity.

"At least I didn't almost throw up," -- David, re: meeting girls at speed-dating. Such jitters!

"I'm about to play some putt-putt, and my heart's about to go putt-putt." -- Re: pre-mini-golf-date jitters.

The program ended with David feeling confident, but not finding love. After a couple dates, he'd gotten comfortable, and was excited to take on the dating world. I was excited for him, actually. However, I think he should not get spray tans, and definitely should NOT bring them up on his first dates.
I also think no woman should spell her name 'KaSaundra.'

So, do you think my desire to swipe the V card of a 31-year-old formerly obese stranger I saw on tv makes me mildly insane? Discuss.

Run, run, as fast as you can from the gingerbread man!

So, remember that redheaded Aussie from back in the day (you know, two months ago)?

Well, he's headed for NYC in about 6 days.

He'd first alerted me to his visit nearly 6 weeks ago, when I was INSIDE CAUCASIA (in Sweden). I shrugged it off at the time, only to learn from a mutual friend that he'd be bringing his girlfriend with him.

Um, hello?! How could he not mention her in the email? I mean, I know he's got a gf, there is not a single part of me that wants to get with him, so why not put it out there? I also know that there's not a single part of me that wants to meet her, so if I get blindsided with a gf-bomb, I will die. Cause that's what bombs do. They make you die.

Anyway, the last time he was here (when I was down under), I told him tons of stuff to do, got him discounts to comedy shows, etc. I hope he does not come to me asking for ways to entertain him and his lover. My top suggestions would be:

1. Climb to the top of the Empire State Building, hand in hand. Look out over the edge, and then jump.

2. Walk down a deserted back alley on 11th avenue, counting your American currency. Wait to be stuck with a shiv. (Do people use shivs outside of prison?)

3. S a D, cause I hate your face.

Ugh, whatever. He asked if I wanted to meet up and I was evasive. While I know I can get through a quick drink, since it'll mostly involve catching up and pleasantries, I don't think seeing him will enrich my life in any way. The only Weasley I want to see is Ronald, on screen July 15!
If I go to drinks, I will be too worried about looking cute, seeming carefree, and touting accomplishments I have not... accomplished. I won't want to hear a word about how happy and put together his Canadian life is, and I'll be resentful. And we all know how loud and inappropriate I get after some dranks.

Sorry, I'm being grumpy. I've decided that I'm not good at stand-up comedy, and this requires a major restructuring of life goals. This ginger situation is not helping.

I'm gonna go watch "16 and Pregnant."

Summertime, and The Livin' AIN'T Easy....

If you're a black day camper in Northeast Philly.

I just got a link to an article from a friend that makes me livid.
More than 60 campers were turned away from a private swim club in Philadelphia this week. Apparently, the private club, which advertises open membership (for a fee, which the camp paid so that the kids could use the pool), aren't so open after all.

The kids were immediately ushered away from the pool, and the club offered a refund.

“There was concern that a lot of kids would change the complexion … and the atmosphere of the club,” John Duesler, President of The Valley Swim Club said in a statement.

What. the. fuck?! Seriously, he said that. You know how evil black children can be, with their brownness, need for fun, decreased use of sunblock, and enjoyment of splashing.

It's this kind of behavior that reminds us that we have so much farther to go. I think there's this idea that, because Barack Obama is our president, that racism "is over." Clearly, this is not the case. And this is not some tiny backwoods town down South--this is up north, where I came to be free in the first damn place! This is enough to make Sojourner cry. This proves that, despite who a majority of us elected, he is still seen as the exception to the racist rules that still govern the US.

What do YOU think?

You can also see reader comments to the article here.

My New Favorite Superhero

You know how I'm really into comics and sci-fi, right? Despite my love for Wolverine and the fact that I'm moist with anticipation for the new HP movie, I have still managed to find a new magical heroic person to love.

Her name is Batgirl, and a mate of mine at the NOI Bootcamp, an organization running a simulation election, have Batgirl running for mayor of Washington D.C. Her opponents include Superman, the Green Lantern, Wonder Woman, Spider-Man, Batwoman, Batman, Cyborg, and Atom.

I feel like the story of Batgirl isn't really known--she is different from Batwoman, and much, much cooler. And don't even get me started on WONDER (why everyone thinks you're so cool) WOMAN.

The primary reasons for loving Batgirl are threefold:
1. According to the comic, she is Asian--a strong woman of color, peeps.
2. Her bio states that she was held against her will and enslaved by evil assassin David Cain. She was oppressed by the white man, you know Sojourner can relate.
3. She then cast off oppression, taught herself to read and write, saved Batman's ass, and became part of the entourage. Holla at a can-do woman.

I think you should vote for Batgirl for Mayor of DC--I mean, it's not real, but it should be, really.

My very own conversation with Deb

For anyone in a relationship who thinks the grass is greener, think again. For those males who wonder if women are really as analytical as we appear in the movies, here is your answer....

Me: Are you excited for your blind date? We still don't know what he looks like? is he jewish? [this is vital information for Deb, being a Jewess herself]
Deb: He's a jew
Me: ok, so you're already seeing him as marriage material
Deb: No idea what he looks like
Deb: But we talked on the phone
Me: i could never go on a date not knowing what someone looks like. I'm far too shallow. you are a brave little toaster, deb
Deb: And at the end of our phone chat he was like
I'm so glad we talked
Now I'm really excited for tuesday
Deb: And I called him a jerk and he laughed
So he gets me
Me: i like how you opened with an insult
it's a good way to separate the wheat from the LOSERS
Deb: Anyway now I'm excited too
I hope it works out
Cause I've already pictured out vineyard wedding.
Me: Of course.


I mean who hasn't envisioned a vineyard wedding with a person they haven't met solely based on a seemingly insignificant interaction?

For more Deb convos, all of which are much, much funnier than above, holla at her blog.

Oh the Thinks You Can Think (When You're Not Working)!!!

So I'm sitting here watching HANCOCK on Starz--you know, the one that came out last year with Will Smith and Charlize Theron, with a side of Jason Bateman thrown in? I saw it the first time with my mother and her latin lover, and we all agreed it was just "meh." However, one thing struck me (SPOILER ALERT!): HANCOCK is not simply an action film with a dose of humor thrown in. It's a cautionary tale against interracial love.

Seriously, this breaks my spirit, and hits home even harder after the death of MJ, who valiantly sang "if you're thinking of being my baby, it don't matter if you're black or white...."

In the movie, Will and Charlize both have special powers, and in a huge reveal, we discover they were made "as pairs. But the closer we get to each other, the more our powers diminish." They are, in essence, made weaker by being together. Their (interracial) love can never be!!!! The climax of the film involves Will leaping through the air as Charlize lies near death on a hospital bed. Only by getting farther and farther away from her does she survive her gunshot wounds. In the end, we see her with (WHITE) Jason Bateman, having their nuclear family of Caucasian love and acceptance.

Why would Hollywood do this to me? Why would Will do this to me? Charlize maybe has some South African issues, so who knows if it was this very message that drew her to the film (jk, guys, don't freak out!).

Why didn't anyone call this out earlier? I'm going to have to bring this to the attention of my peeps at CinemaBlend. Perhaps they can post a retroactive review.




Um, I have a lot of free time. Anyone want to sit on a rooftop bar and have engaging conversation?

Others' Shame Is My Joy. What, you think you're better than me?

Well, you probably are.

Being home is sometimes hard. My friends are getting married, engaged, getting PhDs, and generally making something of their lives. I, on the other hand, have some good stories to tell, but that doesn't seem to mean a damn thing in NYC. I also manage to meet a cool-but-possibly-crazy dude, and in the wonderfully bizarro fuckery that is my life, he has left today for two weeks in AUSTRALIA.
Knowing my luck, he will come back with a fiancee. And she will be someone I know.

Anyhoo, this means that sometimes I go down a shame spiral. A slippery, dark spiral of shame that is lubricated with my mistakes--you know, like making out with married businessmen from Missouri on a Sunday evening. I mean, it's the Lord's day, for fuck's sake! I need to get it together!

But going down shame spirals isn't proactive. And what I did learn from my Oz time is how to cope with emotions in healthy ways,. Often, this involves watching Buffy DVDs or Arrested Development. Lately, it's involved the interwebs. In an effort to keep my head right, I'm making a list of things that I can turn to in times of crisis. I think these things could also be helpful to you, too, gentle readers. So here, I post....

Things That Make Me Feel Better About Myself
aka
Proof that I am Wretched and Spiteful

- The website Texts from Last Night. There are alot of people who do stupid, gross things--grosser and stupider than anything I'd ever do, sober or drunk.
Take, for instance, this gem: "(610): She was sucking his dick at Seacrets outside bar in front of all of us...her friends kept coming over crying and yelling "Tiffany stop it".
Poor Tiffany.....

There are others who took the words out of my very own texts:
"(479): okay I'm thinking he doens't have a facebook...I'm on page 28 of Hunters
(501): ok you need to stop NOW"

-F My Life. I think we've all seen this one, but it NEVER gets old.

- Why The Fuck Do You Have A Kid? Cause, quite frankly, most people should not be allowed to spawn. This site was brought to my attention as a result of this post.

- MTV's show 16 and Pregnant.
No matter what happens, I will always be able to say that I'm NOT 16 and pregnant.
Note: sometimes this show will make you want to cry and vomit, as well as donate all your books to the uneducated.

-This youtube of teens freaking out of the trailer for the latest Twilight movie. At least I know I'm not this obsessed with the idea of a vampire boyfriend--although, to be fair, this clip was sent to me with the subject line: "Is this us?," so I very well could be.


I think my favorite is the young boy questioning his sexuality who says, "Ohmygod, Jasper has new hair!" in a breathy moan.

Blacktress Also Knows Good Food

You guys know how much I love to eat foodstuffs, right? Well, finally my tendency for sublimating emotions through food has come in handy in the form of restaurant reviews. Check out my contribution to Johnna Knows Good Food, a cool foodie blog written by a homegirl in DC that has giveaways, great recipes and bar and restaurant reviews. My review was of a great burger spot called Fergburger, located in Queenstown, New Zealand. My review is an excerpt from the still-in-progress Blackpacker Diaries, and I decided that even if I wasn't done, I had to spread the TRUTH about New Zealand burgers.

Seriously, I ate, like, 5 burgers in 2.5 days. It was gross--in a sexy, delicious way.