Okay, guys, I don’t want to be a buzz-kill, but I am really starting to get kinda grossed out by all the weddings taking place among my peers. I just found out that a friend from the class of 2007 got married last month—2007! He’s 26. Yes, I know that's well over the legal age and it's really 35 in Midwestern years, but still. I feel like there was a time when the 20-something liberal-arts-college graduate spent most of their early adulthood traveling and trying to help the impoverished before finally giving in and getting a stable job that could pay for the lifestyles to which their parents had made them accustomed. What happened to the Fulbright year, living L’Auberge Espagnole—and, more important, who is teaching those Asian children English and bedding their mothers and older sisters!
For some reason, the idea of marriage just seems far too mature for me. How can I know who I want to be with for the rest of my life (cause, you know, ideally I’m not planning to divorce him when I say my vows) when I don’t even know what I want to do with my life? I like the idea of having a partner, but without the security and ability to live my dreams--e.g. actually get an apartment, have nice things, and cook more than just pasta--would I actually be someone’s wife or would I just be playing house?
Perhaps growing up with a single mom had something to do with it. I never got the memo that a mate was the key to happiness. Or, more accurately, I never got the impression that just cause you got married meant you’d be together forever. After all, if I'd gotten my way and married the person I thought I wanted 3 years ago, you'd probably find me on Maury Povich waiting for the results of a lie detector test. Three years ago, I wasn't getting paid for comedy--I was on the other side of the world! In 3 more years, I could finally get to play the role of Kurt's BFF on GLEE. Does that mean that I'll need a new man at that time? No, not at all. But are there more things that could happen in my life that it might not be ideal/fair to drag someone else along for? Yep. The phrase “All you need is LOVE” is actually kinda bullshit to me—unless love also includes financial security, emotional health, creative fulfillment, and a consistent willingness to improve and explore new things with a partner.
I guess I’m bitter. It’s not that I don’t think my relationship has the power to stand the test of time, but I just wonder if I’m emotionally deficient in some way. I mean, I am or else I wouldn't want to be an actor, but I don’t know why I’m not filled with happiness and excitement for my peers.
I don’t want to blame everything on 9/11, but really, why else are we hurrying to run down the aisle when we can’t even pay our bills?
I get it, people are in love.
OOOOHHH!!!! I figured out why I’m all emotional about this—when I see people my age and younger who are committing to someone for the remainder of their lives, I get anxious because it seems that they’ve figured it all out. Not “the rules of life,” but who they actually are. To say you want to be with someone forever means that you know who you are, what you want now, and what you want in the future. The Q&A session is over. Pencils down, curtain closed, done and done, stick a fork in it, [insert other metaphor here]. Over this last visit to my friends in Caucasia, I realized that, despite all of my desperation for a man (see the last three years of bloggery for proof), I don’t actually want the domesticated life. Going to work, “hitting the gym,” and going home sounds un-fun. What about dreams? Don’t get me wrong—I definitely want someone to put a ring on it. But right now, the main reasons that appeals to me are: 1) I think rings are pretty and shiny; 2) having a wedding means that everyone will have to stand up when I walk into a room, which has always been a dream of mine; 3) I can finally get on that all-carb diet I can’t start until I’ve roped someone in forever.
I think I've been listening to too much Affirmation Nation With Bob Ducca--he's making me far too introspective.
Who's Bob Ducca, you ask?
Well, here he is!
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
You Don't Have to Go Far to Go INSIDE CAUCASIA
Sorry for the delayed blogging--I'm still regaining my strength after my intense journey into Caucasia. For some reason, it was even more nerve-racking than that time I lived in Australia, right in the center of it all. I think it's because of the shock--you don't expect to find such a non-diverse population in your same time zone in 2011. Add to that the abundance of nature and I felt so out of my element that I almost demanded that the toll booth worker stamp my passport!
Before I go into my visits with my married friends, I must show you a photograph of my #1 New Hampshire Fan:
Yes, that is a handlebar mustache. Yes, that is a Hawaiian shirt under his windbreaker. Yes, his head like a supremacist.
And yes, his hand is inappropriately close to my breast area.
I have arrived.
He didn't tell me his name, but he did tell me that I could "tug on these [his handlebars] whenever you want!!!"
No, there was no drink minimum.
All in all, I'd say the set went fine. I did, however, experience a mild fail: I completely forgot my train of thought during my set. I am not kidding. I was doing a lot of crowd work, thinking I'd need to fill my 20 minutes (and realizing that any and all Jewmor--Jew Humor--was lost on the crowd), and it just sidetracked me. I wasn't able to make my Tyler Perry references, nor could I reference anything else that took place in pop culture over the last 20 years.
And, mid-joke, I realized it was probably poor form to talk about comparing parenting to having a terminal illness at a breast cancer fundraiser. (#awkward) There was much awkward back-pedaling.
But all in all, I think the crowd was okay with it. It definitely wasn't my target demographic, so the fact that I got laughs at all--and wasn't actively boo'd offstage or heckled--is a success, I guess. It was a bit weird--as you all know, I'm used to highs and lows when it comes to emotions. When this set was done, I was relatively "meh." I didn't feel horrible or terrible--so I didn't really know how to cope. As I stood in the "talent area" watching the remainder of the show, a bald, old Caucasian man wearing a salmon-pink sweater approached. As he walked by to get to the bathroom (yes, the talent area was near the bathroom), he pointed his fist toward me. I wondered if this was his geriatric attempt at assaulting me but then I realized that he wanted to give me a fist bump!!!
Yes, guys, it happened. An old man gave me a fist bump. I guess he was the one who got my slavery humor.
Other than the show, I got to see some friends I hadn't seen in a while, which was nice. It was also a bit surreal, because they are both mature married couples, with property and children and such. My New Hampshire friends are out of control. Have you ever had a moment with someone where you just think, "How are you this White and I never knew it?" Well, yeah, that's what happened.
As we drove the two hours outside of Boston to their acreage, I watched as the number of bars on my cell phone decreased. As we drove up the winding backroads, I figured out that the trees outnumbered the people about 14 to 1. As we turned onto the private road that leads to their gorgeous house, I wondered if anyone would be able to hear me scream--not that I planned to, but I was just wondering.
We walked to the door and with a gentle push, it opened--they aren't even locking this shit up, y'all! You know it's backwoods when you don't have to say something when you see something and can just sleep without the door locked. The door opened and through the open back door, I could see the lady of the house--like I'd never seen her before.
She stood outside doling out food to the full-grown chickens in the chicken coop, with the 10-month-old baby on her hip!!
For those of you who can't imagine what this could look like, here's a visual aid:
She has become a pioneer wife, I thought to myself. It got really intense, though, when I had hit my bedtime and wanted to rest up before the big show. I couldn't tuck in, however, until the hubby had started a fire in the wood stove downstairs. WHAT?!
This historical relic kept my room both toasty warm and smelling of pine.
I was out of my element; I started having slavery flashbacks. I think part of why Caucasia enjoys living like it's the 1890s is because back then, they were running thangs! I mean, if I could travel back in time and bring my educational opportunities and tampons, I'd be willing to check out the days of yore, too. But as it stands, I'm just glad I'm in a time and place where hate crimes can at least be caught on camera phones and punished.
I gotta run and interview a student, but let's talk soon!
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Mic Check!
When blogging on the plantation I do all my writing in a Word document so that if massa comes by it’ll look like I’m hard at work. This document has grown to 214 pages (and counting) and consists of 74,765 words. Clearly I know how to commit to things.
So why am I always so afraid I’m a failure?
I was up last night, tossing and turning, totally wired like ‘twas the night before Christmas. I couldn’t figure out why I was so anxious. Was it because I met a Deaf ex-convict with Maori-like tattoos who made me an origami crane?
Or because I’m doing a 20-minute set at a country club in New Hampshire on Saturday night?
Yep, I think that’s it.
I haven’t performed in over a week and haven’t found much time to hit an open mic, but I’m not really nervous about being on stage. I am, however, nervous about no one laughing at my jokes. I mean, New Hampshire—that’s a wild card of a state. Their motto is “Live Free or Die,” which you know appeals to Sojourner. But they’re 93.9% White (thanks, Wikipedia!), and most of that’s Canadian! Guys, this is Caucasia to the maxxxxxxxx.
So why am I always so afraid I’m a failure?
I was up last night, tossing and turning, totally wired like ‘twas the night before Christmas. I couldn’t figure out why I was so anxious. Was it because I met a Deaf ex-convict with Maori-like tattoos who made me an origami crane?
Or because I’m doing a 20-minute set at a country club in New Hampshire on Saturday night?
Yep, I think that’s it.
I haven’t performed in over a week and haven’t found much time to hit an open mic, but I’m not really nervous about being on stage. I am, however, nervous about no one laughing at my jokes. I mean, New Hampshire—that’s a wild card of a state. Their motto is “Live Free or Die,” which you know appeals to Sojourner. But they’re 93.9% White (thanks, Wikipedia!), and most of that’s Canadian! Guys, this is Caucasia to the maxxxxxxxx.
Will they get my Harriet Tubman jokes? Will they think a gentrified vagina is the height of hilarity? Do they even have gentrification in New Hampshire? They did make same-sex marriage legal before NYC, so they definitely have a win there. I just hope some gays come out to the show! $5 from every ticket goes to the Susan G. Komen Foundation, so there should be plenty of boob-lovers in the house (what does that mean?). I need plenty of jokes in the ol’ back pocket, so that I can quickly shift gears if I start hearing crickets.
I’m gonna have to start writing out my set list. My first lineup is just all the jokes/ideas I think will work, then I start to screen them and organize it a bit. Here’s what I’ve got so far (yes, this is actually how they are written in my notebook):
I don’t know, we’ll see what happens. Friday night I’m staying with friends who live in the New Hampshire countryside. I swear, if they didn't have a baby for me to play with, I would probably have a Shining-style breakdown out in the backwoods. Saturday night, I’m staying with some of the other performers and probably sharing a bed with a random. Wish me luck!
- Why I don’t like nature
- Netflix
- Babies = terminal illness – we’re gonna beat this thing
- Fucked up 7-hour job interview
- Work ethics—you don’t pay me to care
- God as dad
- Drink to feel pretty
- Harriet Tubman going to the Montreal Jazz Festival
- INSIDE CAUCASIA
- Jewboo
- Why it’s so cold in the D
- Low Standards/OK Cupid
I don’t know, we’ll see what happens. Friday night I’m staying with friends who live in the New Hampshire countryside. I swear, if they didn't have a baby for me to play with, I would probably have a Shining-style breakdown out in the backwoods. Saturday night, I’m staying with some of the other performers and probably sharing a bed with a random. Wish me luck!
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
I Can't Keep This To Myself!
Guys,
KWalsh just IM’d me a link to a music video, claiming that it "might be the second coming of 2gether."
Of course, anything that might even hint at 2gether immediately got my attention. Work ethics be damned--I clicked the link.
And I was rewarded.
This “music” video, featuring the apparently non-fake boy band Heart2Heart, is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Please, experience it with me:
For those of you who used to read my takes on Teen Mom and 16 & Pregnant, you know that I can’t watch youth ruin their lives without live blogging. It’s the only way I can begin to process my emotions. And Heart2Heart is certainly pushing some buttons. Here goes.
KWalsh just IM’d me a link to a music video, claiming that it "might be the second coming of 2gether."
Of course, anything that might even hint at 2gether immediately got my attention. Work ethics be damned--I clicked the link.
And I was rewarded.
This “music” video, featuring the apparently non-fake boy band Heart2Heart, is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Please, experience it with me:
For those of you who used to read my takes on Teen Mom and 16 & Pregnant, you know that I can’t watch youth ruin their lives without live blogging. It’s the only way I can begin to process my emotions. And Heart2Heart is certainly pushing some buttons. Here goes.
(italics indicate song lyrics.)
0:01
Okay, so are these supposed to be the lights of a spaceship? Was this done on iMovie?
0:13
The blonde one looks like Ashlee Simpson. Why is ze winking at me?
The two ethnically ambiguous ones must be a nod to post-racial America. What’s with the cinnamon-spiced highlight guy? Is he wearing a pair of diamond earrings? (probably purchased from Claire’s Accessories—this video had a budget of $12 and a footlong sandwich from Subway)
Is he licking his tongue out suggestively? Ew.
0:17
Is that Lance Bass under a blue light? Why is he looking like a vampire?! Ugh, Lance, I have you to blame for this? It’s always the quiet (and secretly gay) ones that surprise you.
0:28
Chad? Yes, it's me, Blacktress. I have a few questions:
0:01
Okay, so are these supposed to be the lights of a spaceship? Was this done on iMovie?
0:13
The blonde one looks like Ashlee Simpson. Why is ze winking at me?
The two ethnically ambiguous ones must be a nod to post-racial America. What’s with the cinnamon-spiced highlight guy? Is he wearing a pair of diamond earrings? (probably purchased from Claire’s Accessories—this video had a budget of $12 and a footlong sandwich from Subway)
Is he licking his tongue out suggestively? Ew.
0:17
Is that Lance Bass under a blue light? Why is he looking like a vampire?! Ugh, Lance, I have you to blame for this? It’s always the quiet (and secretly gay) ones that surprise you.
0:28
Chad? Yes, it's me, Blacktress. I have a few questions:
1: Why are you wearing a letter jacket with D on it? Your name starts with a C, your band starts with an H. Who’s supervising this script?
Why is your eyeliner so thick?
0:28
Um, these girls look 45. That blonde one’s clearly been on Miami Ink.
0:50
Heart2…. Heart is back / FB chat poppin’ on my Mac.
They’ve been here before and I didn’t know about it?
0:54
I like your status / two thumbs up / I met you last week / playing flip cup.
Why is he sitting on the spaceship floor by a car? What’s with all the chains on his vest? Chad, you need to get it together and let go of the flat iron, the DEP, and the All I’ve ever gotten from a guy I met playing flip cup is a nasty hangover and an STD test scare.
As KWalsh says: I honestly cannot abide the one that does the most singing.
Accept this request/ accept my terms of service / the message has been sent / and all I wanna do is put a heart on your page / heart on your page—let’s make it official.
Agree to terms of service? Is this a legally binding contract?! Do you think he wants to steal the girl’s identity so that he can buy more hair gel and face decals?
1:25
Okay, why is this Nordic Ashlee-Simpson-looking fellow wearing a down parka, headphones, and no shirt in what appears to be a boiler room?
1:32
I don’t wanna play Farmville / I just wanna play for real
The intensity with which he sings that line is baffling to me.
1:34
Okay, seriously, that’s not even hair, you elvish, raven-haired boy. He is wearing a helmet.
Who does the brown-haired one look like?
I need to look up "famous lesbians from the 1990s" to jog my memory.
Oh, right, I got it: They are all giving me Jodie Foster in various stages of her career.
1:42
Multicolored backgrounds for each guy—now we’re talkin’ production values!
Oh my god, why is Ashlee Simpson reaching hir's hand out to me?
0:28
Um, these girls look 45. That blonde one’s clearly been on Miami Ink.
0:50
Heart2…. Heart is back / FB chat poppin’ on my Mac.
They’ve been here before and I didn’t know about it?
0:54
I like your status / two thumbs up / I met you last week / playing flip cup.
Why is he sitting on the spaceship floor by a car? What’s with all the chains on his vest? Chad, you need to get it together and let go of the flat iron, the DEP, and the All I’ve ever gotten from a guy I met playing flip cup is a nasty hangover and an STD test scare.
As KWalsh says: I honestly cannot abide the one that does the most singing.
Accept this request/ accept my terms of service / the message has been sent / and all I wanna do is put a heart on your page / heart on your page—let’s make it official.
Agree to terms of service? Is this a legally binding contract?! Do you think he wants to steal the girl’s identity so that he can buy more hair gel and face decals?
1:25
Okay, why is this Nordic Ashlee-Simpson-looking fellow wearing a down parka, headphones, and no shirt in what appears to be a boiler room?
1:32
I don’t wanna play Farmville / I just wanna play for real
The intensity with which he sings that line is baffling to me.
1:34
Okay, seriously, that’s not even hair, you elvish, raven-haired boy. He is wearing a helmet.
Who does the brown-haired one look like?
I need to look up "famous lesbians from the 1990s" to jog my memory.
Oh, right, I got it: They are all giving me Jodie Foster in various stages of her career.
1:42
Multicolored backgrounds for each guy—now we’re talkin’ production values!
Oh my god, why is Ashlee Simpson reaching hir's hand out to me?
I don’t even think he’s mouthing the correct words.
2:00
Okay, Chad is straight up channeling Hedwig at this point.
2:09
Okay, now that Mario Lopez/Dora the Explorer hybrid isn’t even mouthing the words! Do you think Chad is the only native English speaker, which is why he was given the lead?
LANCE BASS, HOW DARE YOU BESMIRCH THE GOOD NAME OF BOY BANDS WITH THIS FOOLERY???
Or, as KWalsh notes: these kids are just a bunch of haircuts! IN MY DAY ‘N SYNC BROUGHT THE GOODS
Ain’t that the gospel truth?
2:09
This is the longest 3 minutes and 21 seconds of my life.
2:25
Press that button, double click / Let’s make it facebook official tonight.
Is “facebook official” new slang for having consensual intercourse?
2:35
He just said “Dance Break”! …. And then went on to show the shittiest dance break in the history of boy bands. Does it count as dancing if they’re just forming geometric tableaus? This is some Cabinet of Dr. Caligari meets Bring it On: All or Nothing type of randomness.
3:04
Did you see how dramatically Chad’s front bangs flipped?! Those things are deadly weapons.
3:21
It’s over. We made it through, guys!
Okay, is it just me or was there an abundance of spirit fingers in this video?
2:00
Okay, Chad is straight up channeling Hedwig at this point.
2:09
Okay, now that Mario Lopez/Dora the Explorer hybrid isn’t even mouthing the words! Do you think Chad is the only native English speaker, which is why he was given the lead?
LANCE BASS, HOW DARE YOU BESMIRCH THE GOOD NAME OF BOY BANDS WITH THIS FOOLERY???
Or, as KWalsh notes: these kids are just a bunch of haircuts! IN MY DAY ‘N SYNC BROUGHT THE GOODS
Ain’t that the gospel truth?
2:09
This is the longest 3 minutes and 21 seconds of my life.
2:25
Press that button, double click / Let’s make it facebook official tonight.
Is “facebook official” new slang for having consensual intercourse?
2:35
He just said “Dance Break”! …. And then went on to show the shittiest dance break in the history of boy bands. Does it count as dancing if they’re just forming geometric tableaus? This is some Cabinet of Dr. Caligari meets Bring it On: All or Nothing type of randomness.
3:04
Did you see how dramatically Chad’s front bangs flipped?! Those things are deadly weapons.
3:21
It’s over. We made it through, guys!
Okay, is it just me or was there an abundance of spirit fingers in this video?
Monday, October 17, 2011
Ain't She a Woman?! / I am the 34.3 percent.
Hey y'all!
Jewboo showed me this video yesterday and I just had to share. This little girl is my (S)hero of the Week. In addition to her hard-hitting questions to financial district massas, I'm loving her Just for Me perm and CIA-agent-style trench. Her ability to stand up to the major power players in Caucasia is inspiring. Give it a look-see. What do you think?
In other news:
[Jewboo, stop reading!]
I found out today that I'm 34.3% body fat.
Ew.
I had a nutrition consultation this morning, which involved testing my resting metabolic rate. To prep for this test, buff trainer Curtis had to take my vitals. Although my weight has slightly decreased (thanks, Weight Watchers!), apparently my body fat percentage qualifies me for The Biggest Loser.
As I sat down, contemplating my inner obesity (I think my blood type is cookies 'n' cream), I flipped through a magazine. Steve, the other trainer, came in and started chatting with Curtis. Surrounded by all the gym equipment with two attractive men talking as though I wasn't there, I started to have a flashback to 11th grade phys ed.
"Should I go in the waiting room while you set up?" I asked.
"If you want to," said Curtis, "but it doesn't really matter."
"Well, I don't want to interrupt y'all, bro'in out and all."
"You can bro out with us if you want," said Steve.
"No, I can't. I have 34.3% body fat."
Clearly, I'm typing this post while doing squats.
What makes the RMR test even more depressing is that, in order to accurately assess your target, you have to breathe through a tube for 10 minutes (that's not the problem). The demoralization comes when they attach a Hannibal Lecter-like piece of headgear to make sure that no air escapes the tube. Your nasal cavity is effectively closed off, and any attempt at a decent hair day is ruined. As I sat there, wondering how one could even go about making a suit of someone else's skin, I realized that it's probably time to stop eating my feelings. But I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to do with friends now that I don't "grab a drink" after work. I guess we can just.... drink herbal tea? Guh.
Target body fat percentage is 18-24%.
I asked the doctor if he wouldn't mind contacting some of my favorite bakeries to let them know I'm no longer welcome. If he doesn't, I can't promise I'll hold up my end of the bargain.
How are you?!
Jewboo showed me this video yesterday and I just had to share. This little girl is my (S)hero of the Week. In addition to her hard-hitting questions to financial district massas, I'm loving her Just for Me perm and CIA-agent-style trench. Her ability to stand up to the major power players in Caucasia is inspiring. Give it a look-see. What do you think?
In other news:
[Jewboo, stop reading!]
I found out today that I'm 34.3% body fat.
Ew.
I had a nutrition consultation this morning, which involved testing my resting metabolic rate. To prep for this test, buff trainer Curtis had to take my vitals. Although my weight has slightly decreased (thanks, Weight Watchers!), apparently my body fat percentage qualifies me for The Biggest Loser.
As I sat down, contemplating my inner obesity (I think my blood type is cookies 'n' cream), I flipped through a magazine. Steve, the other trainer, came in and started chatting with Curtis. Surrounded by all the gym equipment with two attractive men talking as though I wasn't there, I started to have a flashback to 11th grade phys ed.
"Should I go in the waiting room while you set up?" I asked.
"If you want to," said Curtis, "but it doesn't really matter."
"Well, I don't want to interrupt y'all, bro'in out and all."
"You can bro out with us if you want," said Steve.
"No, I can't. I have 34.3% body fat."
Clearly, I'm typing this post while doing squats.
What makes the RMR test even more depressing is that, in order to accurately assess your target, you have to breathe through a tube for 10 minutes (that's not the problem). The demoralization comes when they attach a Hannibal Lecter-like piece of headgear to make sure that no air escapes the tube. Your nasal cavity is effectively closed off, and any attempt at a decent hair day is ruined. As I sat there, wondering how one could even go about making a suit of someone else's skin, I realized that it's probably time to stop eating my feelings. But I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to do with friends now that I don't "grab a drink" after work. I guess we can just.... drink herbal tea? Guh.
Target body fat percentage is 18-24%.
I asked the doctor if he wouldn't mind contacting some of my favorite bakeries to let them know I'm no longer welcome. If he doesn't, I can't promise I'll hold up my end of the bargain.
How are you?!
Thursday, September 29, 2011
SHOCKtober Fest!*
*This title in no way relates to the following post.
9/29/11
I. am. reeling.
I just finished the final book in The Hunger Games trilogy and I can't even cope. I actually re-read the last three pages twice before finally closing the book. It was simply so intense I couldn't let it be over. A tightly wrought political thriller for the tween set has somehow turned my world upside down. Katniss Everdeen is further proof that you don't have to be black to be a strong black woman.
I am still shaken and stirred, with a twist of lime in me. Suzanne Collins took my breath away, Top Gun style. I've decided to add her to my list of (s)heroes.
10/1/11
I'm heading to LA, guys! Los Angeles! The city of angels and demons and most of the cast of Angels & Demons. I'm going to a voiceover event produced by my VO coach in New York. I'm not one for 48-hour jet-sets, but my mom thinks I need to invest in my dreams, which means attending this event, so I will do so. I have no idea what to expect.
10/1/11
I'm heading to LA, guys! Los Angeles! The city of angels and demons and most of the cast of Angels & Demons. I'm going to a voiceover event produced by my VO coach in New York. I'm not one for 48-hour jet-sets, but my mom thinks I need to invest in my dreams, which means attending this event, so I will do so. I have no idea what to expect.
10/3-10/5
LA is cool, but I couldn't live here. I did, however, meet a pretty blacktress from Texas who moved here to become a star. She was very domineering, which I really didn't mind all that much. I think the best part of our forced closeness was her gory, detailed account of her stalker attack a year ago. Of course, it was really terrifying and upsetting, but my first thought, as she explained that her Colgate smile was actually porcelain (because her stalker attacked her and knocked her teeth out), was "Oh my god, you had a stalker? That is so A-list. Have you sent a treatment to Lifetime (television for women)?"
The highlight of my trip was meeting hotel employee Tre Fabrice, who moved to LA three years ago "for the fashion." When I asked where he moved from, he revealed that he was a Detroit native.
I immediately began singing T-Baby's anthem.
"Nah, I'm mad at that," he said as he stretched out on the lobby couch (why wasn't he working?). "Everybody been makin' fun of me for that."
"Nah, I'm mad at that," he said as he stretched out on the lobby couch (why wasn't he working?). "Everybody been makin' fun of me for that."
I asked him if he'd read any of my cousin's hood tales and he said no. I linked him up to Amazon and he was quite taken with the synopsis of his latest page-turner. After giving him my cousin's info--he wanted to contact him about being involved in a non-profit he's starting (I kid you not)--he urged me to stay in New York City. I told him he didn't have to worry.
LA is so intense with the healthiness. My friend and I went to a diner and even the diner was on Atkins. I asked for a glass of milk to go with my "7-grain pancakes," and the waiter goes, "Would you like soy milk, almond, milk, rice milk, hemp--"
I want milk milk, Los Angeles! Give me some skim stuff out of an animal I can find on a farm!
Don't get me wrong, y'all--I'm not against vegetarians and vegans, and I do believe animals have feelings. I just cannot stand a high-and-mighty non-meat eater acting like they can't wait to spend their 75th birthday jumping on my bloated belly like it's a trampoline. Just cause you don't eat meat doesn't make you a life-winner. How can it be okay to turn a bean into a nugget??? Everyone was so into their substitutes. And those bitches LOVE. TO. JUICE.
You know, drink a mixture of vegetables and fruits as a meal.
Speaking of juicing, they also love using nouns as verbs--juice. summer. veg. UGH.
That about sums it up, I guess. There's more I'd love to share, but ever since the blog became an un-safe space (needing to defend and explain every turn of phrase and humor-motivated generalization, etc), I'll just cut to the present......which brings us to today.
Last night I did a set at Broadway Comedy Club and it might have been one of my worst stage moments ever. I ate it so hard last night.
That’s comedy speak for “getting no laughs and having no jokes hit”—taken from the idea of “eating shit.”
Being on stage was painful. I felt like Carrie at the prom—except, in this case, I wanted them to laugh and they wouldn’t. Those bright stage lights may have well been pig’s blood, as they soaked me in a sticky liquid of shame and self-loathing that I still can’t get off.
Carrie, there’s no amount of Dove body wash that’ll get that scent out of your hair. After all, Dove is for real women, and you’re clearly a shell of yourself.
As I stood on stage, staring into the faces of white people who didn’t know who Harriet Tubman was or why “Caucasia” is a funny word, I had no way of winning them back. This was a set for TV and I wasn’t supposed to address the audience—meaning, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU GUYS?!” wasn’t gonna fly for the cameras. It was just really hard because I’d killed it (comedy speak for “slaying the audience with one’s rapier wit) the night before at Therapy, one of Hell’s Kitchen’s best gay bars. I mean, applause breaks and everything. I felt like I was at home.
Honestly, y’all, it was a straight-up Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List moment.
I know exactly how she feels.
Tonight I'm doing a set at another club, this time with family and friends in attendance. Not just mamadukes but also some of her coworkers, which makes me really nervous. I mean, it’s one thing to fail, but to embarrass my mom in front of her friends….let’s just say I better bring it on all or nothing like the love-child of Gabrielle Union and Hayden Panetierre.
I'm sorry I've been gone so long--I won't do it again.
L.Y.L.A.S!
--Blacktress
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Now More Than Ever
Is how much I need to blog.
I just got back from round 1 of the dentist (remember how I have to put my teeth on layaway?) and my mouth is still numb. I can’t really talk, which you know is tantamount to oppression. I think the dentist gave me a bit too much novacaine, cause it’s over 3 hours later and I’m still feeling like Two-Faced. I guess I only have myself to blame, though—when he asked if I was allergic to anything, I said “just pain.” He’s a fun, Ken Jeong type of guy, so I can’t hate on him.
I am, however, hoping that my steady work even in the face of dental pain will be duly noted among my colleagues so that after my next long lunch, I can return with my head held high.
I’ve been slack in the blog world, mostly because I’m just a broke-down blacktress. And as my mother always said, “Laugh, and the whole world laughs with you. Cry, and no one will ever want to be your friend.” So, you know, I’m trying to zip my lip with the negativity. But I do want to draw your attention to some ch-ch-ch-changes:
CALENDAR OF UPCOMING SHOWS
So, it seems that the reason no one calls me is because they’re getting all the info on the internets. With that in mind, I’ve decided to do some cross-promotion on the blog. To the right (to the right, everything you own in the box to the right!) you’ll find a list of upcoming shows where I will be providing laughter to what I hope is an audience of likeminded freedom writers. You should totally come!
WRITERS STOPPED WRITIN’! :(
I had to remove a few names from my blogroll, folks. It’s not that I don’t love them, it’s that they don’t love the internet! Their blogs have ceased. I have, however, added a funny blog of random writings called Gutes Beispiel. You should read it. But not while you’re high—it’ll make your head explode.
A friend of mine recently left for a monthlong sojourn to Sweden and she came to the ultimate Sojourner for advice on navigating Caucasia. As someone who has been inside the belly of the beast and lived to tell, I was more than happy to impart some wisdom gleaned over several solo odysseys. Below is an excerpt from my email to her. Perhaps it will serve you well on your next international journey.
Random "Facts":
People in blackface (not all the time, but, you know, it's not unheard of to attend a jungle-themed party and dress like "natives," including makeup.)
I just got back from round 1 of the dentist (remember how I have to put my teeth on layaway?) and my mouth is still numb. I can’t really talk, which you know is tantamount to oppression. I think the dentist gave me a bit too much novacaine, cause it’s over 3 hours later and I’m still feeling like Two-Faced. I guess I only have myself to blame, though—when he asked if I was allergic to anything, I said “just pain.” He’s a fun, Ken Jeong type of guy, so I can’t hate on him.
I am, however, hoping that my steady work even in the face of dental pain will be duly noted among my colleagues so that after my next long lunch, I can return with my head held high.
I’ve been slack in the blog world, mostly because I’m just a broke-down blacktress. And as my mother always said, “Laugh, and the whole world laughs with you. Cry, and no one will ever want to be your friend.” So, you know, I’m trying to zip my lip with the negativity. But I do want to draw your attention to some ch-ch-ch-changes:
CALENDAR OF UPCOMING SHOWS
So, it seems that the reason no one calls me is because they’re getting all the info on the internets. With that in mind, I’ve decided to do some cross-promotion on the blog. To the right (to the right, everything you own in the box to the right!) you’ll find a list of upcoming shows where I will be providing laughter to what I hope is an audience of likeminded freedom writers. You should totally come!
WRITERS STOPPED WRITIN’! :(
I had to remove a few names from my blogroll, folks. It’s not that I don’t love them, it’s that they don’t love the internet! Their blogs have ceased. I have, however, added a funny blog of random writings called Gutes Beispiel. You should read it. But not while you’re high—it’ll make your head explode.
A friend of mine recently left for a monthlong sojourn to Sweden and she came to the ultimate Sojourner for advice on navigating Caucasia. As someone who has been inside the belly of the beast and lived to tell, I was more than happy to impart some wisdom gleaned over several solo odysseys. Below is an excerpt from my email to her. Perhaps it will serve you well on your next international journey.
Caucasia Cheat Sheet
dictated but not read
Random "Facts":
- Swedes are kind, but curt. No dilly-dallying, no small talk in the shoppes--they'll say hi, they'll answer a question if you ask it, but they don't come up every 2 minutes, asking if you need help with stuff (which I LOVE).
- It's cold and dark--get up and at 'em early to do your thing before a tween vampire turns you into her lover.
- They don't really sell OTC things we're used to getting. So bring your Advil cold & sinus, cranberry supplements, and Nyquil.
- Sometimes the letter "K" is pronounced "Sh". So, you know, the signs advertising a "KOK" aren't as funny as we'd like them to be.
- There are no brown people, really. So fully expect to see:
People in blackface (not all the time, but, you know, it's not unheard of to attend a jungle-themed party and dress like "natives," including makeup.)
To make sure you don't end up in a pit of despair, I suggest bringing:
- A few of your favorite DVDs (or download to your comp)--maybe it was just Australia, but I had a hard time getting Netflix and Hulu out of the US, and even some YouTubes don't play when I was in Europe. Also, DVDs are coded by regions--a Swedish DVD won't play in your laptop. In those early days of jetlag and overwhelmed-ness, nothing takes the edge off like a couple seasons of Arrested Development.
- Cheat sheet of vocab words. It sounds silly, but having a list of foods really helped me when I was in Sweden, Paris, and Germany. Going to the grocery store or a restaurant, I didn't have such an intense breakdown because I knew which one was cake (kaka) and which one was pie (paj)--and I could order from a menu (many will be translated, though) without being scared a fish head would show up on my plate.
- I'd bring a towel, just so you have one that's yours. Of course, I always bring a washcloth, but being Caucasian yourself, perhaps that doesn't apply here.
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