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.
_______________________________________________________

_______________________________________________________

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.

Awkward Moments

I thought structuring this as a film would really put you in the moment. I think it's also fitting because it's basically a deleted scene from 'He's Just Not That Into You.'

Interior, Bedroom. Night. Blacktress enters with a gentleman caller. She quickly removes items from her bed without turning on the light. Gentleman and Blacktress proceed to....um....physically express their emotions. Later, she turns on the light.
Close up on HER THIGHMASTER, which has been tossed onto the floor.

Gentleman Caller: Is that the Suzanne Sommers exercise thing?
Blacktress (trying to hide her embarrassment): Um, yes. Yes it is.
Gentleman Caller: Oh, that's cool. That means you work for your body. You probably appreciate my compliments then.



Thank you, Suzanne, for helping me create awkward moments.

The Day the Pop Music Died.

Um, Michael Jackson is very likely dead as I type this.

No, no, this is real. I just double-checked with TMZ, the gossip site that apparently has contacts at every major hospital and airport in LA and always knows when someone's ill or about to skip town. Here's the sobering news.

Wait, now CNN and LA Times say he's in a coma. I don't know what to believe. One news ticker even used the past tense, saying he was the King of Pop! I don't know if I can handle this!

I don't think I can live in a world without Michael Jackson.
I don't think I can even imagine a world without Michael Jackson.


He seems to have actually gotten enough. And now I'm sitting here, emotionally melting, like hot candle wax.
I need to know that I am not alone, that you are here with me. You and I must make a pact. We must bring salvation back. Where there is MJ, I'll be there.

I'm looking at the blacktress in the mirror, I'm asking her to change her ways, cause no message besides the death of Michael Jackson, could be any clearer.

I can only hope that he's still moon walking....with the man upstairs.

Sidebar: Does anyone else feel kinda bad for Farrah Fawcett? Homegirl got about 4 hours of attention and will now be eclipsed by the death of the biggest pop star in the world.

Harry Potter-- the Musical!!!!

This is the greatest thing I have ever seen. Many thanks to JJSiii.

I think my obsession is rekindled.

Mystery Science Theater

Guys, I'm in a bit of a pickle.

So, Wednesday night I had a "date" with a dude. Here are his vitals:
- 28 years old
- stand-up comedian
- former US Marine
- and a dating coach ("yes, like Hitch," he said in his email)

You see why I had to go out with this man. He's a total unicorn. No, wait, he's like a chimera. Or the Easter Bunny--he's fucking mythical and mystical and I can't handle it.

I went into it differently than I used to go into dates. Instead of thinking, "oh god, is he going to like me? oh god, what if he's disappointed?" the loop in my head was, "please don't let him be lame, please don't let him be lame, please don't let him be lame." I liked this feeling. I had no doubt that I could hold up my end of the conversation, and that my baby blue Banana Republic top was working for me, but I couldn't vouch for this character. I was even quite annoyed, seeing as the plan was to check out his comedy show, then grab a drink afterwards. Was I really going to spend money to see this character? Luckily, the fee was nominal, and as a stand-up comedian myself, judging other comics brings me great joy.

I showed up, got my ticket, and sat inside the club, which was packed to the rafters with a total of 12 people.
Welcome to Awkward Town, population: ME.

He went on fairly early, and was actually pretty funny. After he performed, the next comedian came up and was like, "doesn't he look like Chandler Bing [Matthew Perry from Friends]?" I made a "wtf? no, not at all" face, and the comedian goes, "Dude, I'm about to get you laid by a hot black chick."

Shoot me now. Way to rock out on Date 1.

Unfortch, I had to sit through another 8 comics, only 2 of whom made me laugh out loud. One was a girl, and I sorta developed a friend-crush on her. After the show, I saw my "date" outside and the plan was to head to a bar with a few of the other comics (luckily my girl-crush was there). It was very casual, which actually made me feel more comfortable. As we walked to the bar, I demanded he tell me everything about dating coaching.

It turns out he was recruited by Mystery. THE Mystery, from VH1's "The Pick-Up Artist." Tell me you remember this show? Just in case, why don't I take your memory for a jog:

Mystery is a 6-foot-5-inch Canadian magician/illusionist who has perfected the art of bedding women. It involves alot of acronyms and inside phrases. Here's a bit of Mystery in action:




The man is an evil egomaniacal genius, and I am kind of obsessed with him.
I think he may have herpes--the gift that keeps on giving.

So, I was slightly giddy and starstruck, trying to get my "date" to tell me everything about Mystery and the process. As this is all happening, we're alternating between chatting with his comedy friends and doing our own thing. He keeps telling me how pretty I am and we're trading banter and being ridiculous. I don't like the idea of dating comedians, and found that to initially be more of a turn off than the dating coaching, because I feel like it's too much manic energy and neuroses put together. I also think that nothing could be worse than running into a guy who you dumped, or who dumped you, all around Manhattan in performance settings. Especially when your performance largely involves true stories of your own dating life.

This is one of the reasons I only date men in outer boroughs.

On the other hand, it's the ability to laugh for 4 hours straight and his ability to roll with every punch I throw (both literally and conversationally) that makes comics fun to hang out with and easy to crush on. I'm on the fence with this whole situation, and it's something I'm still sorting out, and I know that there are exceptions to every rule.

Anyway, throughout our good fun time, I couldn't help but think, "Shit, is he playing me Mystery-style?" I mean, I was actually nervous before we kissed--there were veritable butterflies, I tell you! That's crazy town. I mean, he doesn't even have red hair. How did he get me all in a tizzy?

When I got home, I was disheartened to get no "hope you got home safe/i had fun tonight" text message, and began to write him off. Yesterday afternoon I got a text that hinted at a second meeting. After waiting a cool, hip 30 minutes to reply, I AM STILL WAITING FOR A RESPONSE FROM HIM!!

Damn you, Mystery!!!

As I psychoanalyzed this via gchat with my one heterosexual male friend, he said, "Sojourner, you can't make him like you. You may be a blacktress, but you can't control every situation."

But the thing is, HE can make ME like HIM. This is the problem. He is a trained professional in the art of getting me to drop my panties. How do I handle this?!

Although he told me all about how he doesn't teach the same method with all those acronyms, and says he's looking for something more than a bar shag, how do I not know that's not more Mystery-approved dialogue?! Although we had a great time and he's super fun and I totes want to hang out again, will showing my interest simply make him think he has me? I feel like I have to play harder to get than I normally would just to put him in his place. According to Mystery, if all goes well, I should be naked by date 2 or 3. Clearly, I will not fall for these tricks.

Or will I????

I can't decide if I'm buying myself a ticket to the Shit Show, or to Ringling Brothers--The Greatest Show on Earth!

Am I getting a one-way ticket to Sadtown or Idiot Village? What about Unexpected Pregnancy Township? Maybe I'm getting a roundtrip ticket from Sanity City to Hot Mess Country, but I'll make it back to Sanity City before too much damage is done.

Who AM I and how do I find these people?

Blackpacker Diaries: Bend it Like Barker

Tuesday Night, 10 March 2009

I got my Arj Barker tickets, which is quite exciting. For those of you who aren’t obsessed with Flight of the Conchords, Arj plays their friend Dave, who constantly gives them bad advice and has the best deadpan ever. I hadn’t heard of him before FOTC, but I am so into him. He’s also all over the Australian scene, and every Aussie knows who he is—why hadn’t he made it onto my American comedy radar before now? Oh god--Is he Canadian???
No, not possible.
Clearly I needed to see him in the flesh so I could get some answers.

Unable to get a ticket for Arj with Justin on Sunday, I got one for the Tuesday show. One of the things I like about rolling solo is that I don’t have to check-in before making decisions, or worry about whether or not my companion wants to spend the money for such-and-such activity. It’s also really easy to get last-minute tickets to things when you only need one seat, allowing me to be all free and spontaneous and very “Eat Pray Love” about the whole thing. I ended up in the 8th row, with only 2 people seated next to me. One was a surly teen and the other was obviously his mother. While most people who’d came together were chatting it up pre-show, the three of us sat silently, with the son way too cool to talk to his mom and her way too awkward around her son’s changing body to strike up a conversation. To an outsider we probably looked like a dysfunctional family, with me playing the role of their Sudanese refugee adoptee.

It was a mixed crowd, all ages, and definitely touted as PG. Everyone from teens to 30-somethings were there, and the place was chockers. How do they all know him????? I wondered as the placed filled up. I was excited to see him do more than hilarious one-liners, and also am really into seeing solo shows, so I can take notes and figure out how to write my own one-blacktress show. Arj was hilarious. After being greeted with huge applause, he began.
“Hey guys, I’m gonna start with a riddle. Are you ready?”
More clapping.
“So, how many gold medals do you have to win in order to enjoy a relaxing bong hit at a friend’s house?”

He’s too hilarious. He then went off on Michael Phelps, and had the crowd dying. He also tackled such issues as global warming (“Have you ever wondered if it’s not the Earth’s fault, but the SUN? Maybe it’s just too hot.”), and the African pirates. My favorite line was probably, “OK, maybe I’m crazy, but I’ve always assumed that if something has been turned into a ride at Disney World, and then a movie with Johnny Depp, it is no longer a real-life threat.”



Sweet, sweet, Arj, you make so much sense to me. I can’t wait for us to make hot Afro-Middle-Eastern babies. Can you imagine how hot that’d be? That baby would be on America’s Next Top Model.

I wanted to tell him this after the show, when he was standing outside selling some CDs, but I got scared. I was intimidated by his funny and thought he’d be uninterested in me trying to talk comedy and subtly brainwash him. I should have bought an effin’ CD, which would have totes made him love me, but I had no money-cash-hos on me, so I just scurried away, consoling myself with the knowledge that we’d one day have America’s Next Top Baby.

Tomorrow I start my 6-day/5-night Groovy Grape bus tour that will take me from Adelaide, at the very bottom of South Australia, all the way to Alice Springs, at the bottom of the Northern Territory. We will travel a total of 1,600 kilometers through the red desert, visiting Coober Pedy, the opal capital of the world, Uluru (aka Ayers Rock), one of Australia’s greatest icons, and Kings Canyon and the Olgas. Apparently, I will be sleeping on the ground and expected to hike. I am really excited, but also scared that I’ll be the slow girl, slowing down the crew with my inability to move quickly.

Perhaps I should have invested in hiking boots.

Or, you know, at least developed some stamina at some point in my life.

Okay, I’m off to bed. It's only 10pm, but I think I need to rest up for this.

The Next Installment of The BLACKpacker Diaries

No matter how few comments I receive, or how boring this may be, I will continue to post the chronicles.....

Tuesday 10 March 2009


I booked a wine tour today, cause you know how I roll—good enough for Jesus, good enough for me! The Barossa region makes some of the best wines in the world and it’s only an hour outside of Adelaide, and I knew I wasn’t missing anything in the city center. I absolutely love wine tours, as it connotes early morning drinking and enables you to meet people. The day always starts out awkward, but by 11am, everyone’s slightly buzzed and super chatty. Or, maybe that’s just me, because I never wake up with enough time to eat brekkie, and that blood of Christ goes straight to my head at 9:30.

I booked with Groovy Grape, which was geared toward backpackers, and the same people I was doing my Outback journey with. As usual, I was the only soloist on the tour, so I just sat in the single seat and chatted with the driver, who I loved as soon as he took up the microphone.
“Good morning everybody,” he shouted way too cheerfully, instantly putting me on edge.
Everyone mumbled hellos, and he took the hint, bless him.
“Thanks for joining this Groovy Grape tour,” he said calmly and softly. “My name’s Stuart, and I’ll be your driver. You can call me Stuart, or Stu, I don’t really care—it’s only a day tour.”
He was dry and emotionless, and he was leading me towards wine, which basically made him my favorite human being. We made a stop for coffee, and to see one of Australia’s greatest sights: the giant rocking horse.
I kid you not.
“There’s a famous toy store over here,” Stuart explained, “and because Australians like building big things in the middle of nowhere, we have the rocking horse on our right.”
Australians seriously do like building big things in the middle of nowhere. There’s the giant prawn, the giant banana, a giant bull, and a giant bottle, among others (for the full list of randomly large things, click here). These things are large and random and relatively useless, other than providing tourists with pictures to bore their friends with. For instance:


It weighs 6 tons and is 25 stories high. And it’s a rocking horse. You don’t have to be drinking to love it.
Thank you, Adelaide. Not only do you give me an extra 30 minutes, you give me a reproduction of a childhood icon.

We then headed to wineries, which were loverly. My favorite would have to be Richmond Grove, where we were given a tour of the facilities by Essey, a spunky 40-something woman from San Francisco who I bet totally rocked an ‘Under the Tuscan Sun’ vibe and moved to Australia to nurture her heart and reconnect with the land through grapes and wine. She was hilarious and had great energy, and I totally played the domineering group member who kept adding quips and sassing her. We got along smashingly, and she even let me take a pic with the barrels—holla at a wine-induced bestie! She wanted me to add her to f-book, which I love, but I knew I wouldn’t get internet time for ages, and hoped she would remember me later. Lo and behold, she not only Google-searched blacktress, but she facebooked me and is now a loyal follower!!!

We have a bond that will never die, even when my buzz wears off.

Sojourner, Why Are You Shaking Uncontrollably With Laughter?

Um, this is why, mother. This. Is. Why.





OH MY GOD, I was not ready for the Zach Attack. The attention to detail is amazing. MPG looks sweet as in his stonewashed denim. When he broke out the celly, I almost died.

I have not watched The Jimmy Fallon Show, but now I think Mr. Fallon may be my new favorite person. Is that wrong?

This video has been the highlight of my long Detroit weekend.
I guess that doesn't really say too much, but seriously. How great is it?????!?!?!?!?

Family Matters....Or Does It?

Hey guys, quick Q:
Is it possible to have a Boone's Farm hangover, or could it be I just feel really ashamed of myself?

I write to you now from Detroit, Michigan--aka The City That God Forgot. I'm celebrating the 93rd birthday of my dear grandmother, and couldn't be less annoyed by it.
I know, I know, I'm going to hell.

Hey guys, one more Q: Have you ever shared a bed with someone going through menopause? Well, I have. Cause my uncle's also here, my mom and I are sharing a bed, and home girl is having hot flashes like whoa. So, you know, random thrashing about, turning on and off the fan, and stripping are the course for the night. Hence my bright-and-early bloggery before 10am.

Sunday the whole fam gathered to celebrate, and the awkwardness set in. Although I used to spend every summer in Detroit until I was about 13, I don't feel remotely close to my family at all. Perhaps it's because they teased me for 'talking white' or because my cousin would ask me incredulously how I could 'like a White boy.' Or maybe it's because they teased me for being so dark-skinned and said my toes looked like roaches (they don't). Being an only child, I wasn't used to such teasing and never found it particularly pleasant or manageable. And the fact that these things are still brought up over 10 years later causes me to bristle.

One of my cousins is a year older than me and graduated college about a year ago--which is a hot mess. He actually just self-published a book that would fall under the category of 'urban fiction.' In the first paragraph, we follow our protagonist as he awakes from dreams of being violated by his stepfather. It's hardcore.

Anyway, he'd mellowed out since I'd seen him last, and was talking with his sister about her latest 'man friends.' My cousin says she doesn't have a boyfriend, just 'various dudes I kick it with.' I don't think this means she's bending it like Beckham, though. Her broface got pretty annoyed and made everyone be silent as he imparted the following words of wisdom:

"Men cannot be friends with a woman," he yelled, slamming his can of soda--oops, I mean pop--on the table for emphasis. "If you are not willing to be intimate with a man, you need to leave him alone. Or hook him up with one of your girls who would like to be intimate. If you can't do that, you need to cook him some food. There has to be a physical need met by your presence, or you are useless."
Is he right? What do you think?


I was two seconds away from thinking he was an idiot savant when I heard him offer this next pearl of advice:

"Nah, nah, for real dog--If you need work done in yo' house, you gotta get one of them good, high-functionin' crackheads, who used to be an engineer or some shit. My boy Young Ju got all his Ikea furniture put together by John who live down the street for, like, 20 dollas. And cracky did that shit in about an hour."

Think there's any way I can move up my return flight?

Why I Am Getting Rid of All Online Dating Profiles

Unsolicited IM from Random Dude: Today is a perfect day to make love.
Me: Are you insane?
Random Dude: Why?
I just want to make love.

The Beginning of..... The BLACKpacker Diaries

Sometimes I feel like I’ve barely been gone at all. Like 6 months was barely anything and I have no excuse for being so jarred, drained, or awkward in the NYC-world I was dying to come back to when I was on the road. On the other hand, I am….jarred, drained, and feel like my Asperger’s/awkwardness is flaring up, especially when friends ask me about my trip.

“We have to catch up, I want to hear your stories!” one friend wrote me.
I wrote her back, assuring her there was nothing special. What did I have to say? I just hung out, did some stuff, met some randoms, spent too much time thinking about a gingerbread man, and learned that the world is both huge and miniscule--which I guess I already knew in this age of social networking sites. On the other hand, I now speak in slang that comes from a foreign land, have journeyed into Middle Earth, and jumped off a canyon of my own volition.

I’ve been back from Europe for a week, and finally have to accept that I am back home for the long haul. And I’ve been going out, trying to get myself into the social world that I missed so much, and find I don’t know what to say or where to begin. I know my trip was amazing, but I’m not even sure what to make of it. I want to share it, but am not sure how much anyone really wants to know. So I've decided to tell some stories in the easiest way I know how—via bloggery. For those who wondered where I was those 5 weeks when I was traipsing about on the other side of the world, or why I'm being so weird now, here are pages from the blacktress’ actual diary. It’s the real deal. My thoughts, plans, randomness, issues I thought about each day. It’s raw and uncut—okay, well, cut a little bit—but it’s not neat and tidy, and may not be appropriate for sensitive readers. (Note my NC-17 rating to the right) I will post a new installment each day, in hopes of sharing, entertaining, and clarifying for myself what it was all about. Tuck in, gentle reader, as I begin….

The BLACKpacker Diaries

“I’ve never seen anything like you before. You’re so… black.”
– James from Barrytown, New Zealand

Sunday 8 March 2009

I’m in Adelaide!!! YAY!!

Oh god, who am I kidding? I’m in a city of less than 1 million people, 999,900 of whom seem to be hiding from me, and I keep showing up ½ an hour early for everything (for more on that, check out my first post from Adelaide). On an up-note, I got to hang out with Justin, a friend of mine who was my primary reason for visiting the city.
Well, maybe ‘friend’ is an exaggeration.

I met Justin in a hostel in New Orleans back in ’05, where my fascination with traveling Aussies and their backpacking lifestyle began—although I couldn’t quite understand the desire to travel to such places as West Virginia and Oklahoma when they were from such exotic lands as, um, Staffordshire. I mean, hello—a a shire! Justin was just shy of 21, but with the crazy way Aussies list the date (dd/mm/yy), he was able to pass for 21, and got drunk off his ass the first night I met him in the Big Easy. Most of the night he kept asking me to show him my boobs in exchange for beads, and while I admired his tenacity, I repeatedly declined. Thanks to F-book, we were put back in touch, and knowing so few people in Oz, I reached out to everyone I could when I first landed. Although I’d heard Adelaide was boring and lame, I wanted to get off the beaten path, and figured getting a local’s perspective would give the city a bit more life.

Although I hadn’t seen him in nearly 4 years and barely knew him to begin with, we instantly started chatting and hanging out, and had a nice day, soaking in the great weather. It felt really nice to reconnect with someone, and know that you can spend years apart and have there be no awkwardness. I also sometimes feel that, being on my own so often, my social skills get rusty and I’m not quite sure what’s appropriate. After not talking to anyone face-to-face for a few days, I have a tendency to word-vomit, and then feel a bit guilty, but Justin didn’t seem to mind. He explained that the city appeared post-apocalyptic because it was a holiday weekend and most people were away. Because the Adelaide Fringe Festival was on, we tried to get tickets to a show at the box office in the “Garden of Earthly Delights,” which is a basically a carnival that runs the entire month of the Fringe. They’d set up rides and stalls, and children were running around like Tasmanian devils, hyped up on sugar and delirious from heat stroke. After getting tickets to a random show, we wandered inside the Garden, barely able to move. I was instantly drawn to the tent that touted “Fun Freaks,” such as a bearded lady and a man with flippers, because it’d be like a real-life discovery channel, which you know I heart. Nothing keeps my petty whining in perspective like watching a documentary about someone with a genetic anomaly who learns to live and love, or who gets cured through a nail-biting, grotesque surgery.

Unfortunately, the tent was charging $10, which just seemed ri-goddamn-diculous, no matter how bearded the lady is. Justin also appeared mildly frightened by my enthusiasm, so we just decided to leave. As we waited in a crazy-long line to exit, we had to listen to a man on a bullhorn try to get kids—well, their parents, really—to come into “the Spiegeltent,” where actors put on kiddie shows. He was doing the used-car salesman ramble, speaking so fast that anyone mildly interested would be worn down by his barrage of words and simply pay up. I was trying my best to tune out when he said, clear as crystal:

“Remember kids: If your parents don’t get you a ticket to the Spiegeltent, they don’t love you.”

HAHAHAHHAHAHAHA.

Best marketing tool ever. It made me want to have a kid (or, better yet, steal one that was wandering around) and take it inside, just to prove I was capable of love.

Justin and I then headed to the Botanical Gardens, where I tried to hold up my end of the conversation, but literally kept falling asleep during our conversation because I was so knackered from my 8am flight. For some reason, I decided it was a brilliant idea to simply not sleep the night before, seeing as I’d have to get up so early anyway. Justin, ever the summer peach, didn’t seem to mind, and just rambled on. Most of it was a blur, but I do recall a trio of ducks walking around us, and him taking a keen interest in them. “I like those ducks,” he said casually. “They’re very plump and don’t seem scared of people. They’re plump and trusting.”
“Is that how you like your women?” I asked, momentarily roused by his random comment.
“And how.”

I think I’ve found a new back-up husband.

Oh, and as for the show we saw later that night: Couldn't tell you a damn thing about it. I fell asleep after about 5 minutes.

There's No Place Like (Someone Else's) Home

Here's an excerpt of a conversation I had with my mother on Sunday:

Mamadukes: Sojourner, when are you going to stop spending all your time with gay men?
Me: When they stop loving me, mother, when they stop being true. That's when.

She thinks that this is the main reason I am single. What she fails to realize is that for the first time in a rather long time, I could care less. I'm not a 'fag hag', but a Future Gay Icon, making my way through the gay ranks until I'm a contestant on RuPaul's Drag Race, so fierce in my performance that they let me compete even though I have lady parts.

I started to form this master plan over the weekend, and it all came together on Monday evening.

Friday night I met up with a great gay pal who was visiting from Australia, and spent the evening club hopping in the West Village and Hell's Kitchen. The highlight of the night had to be Peaces, a gay club in the West Village, where we met a bevy of boys. My favorite would have to be a man named--no joke--Robert Christmas, who stuck his finger down my butt crack and his gin-and-tonic straw in my cleavage before giving me his business card and saying, "you know you wanna facebook me." The man is a Christmas miracle.

See, it's that kind of straight-forward, no-bullshit tactic that the hetero males need to be taking if they want a shot with the blacktress--well, except for the ass-finger and straw-cleavage moves.

After an excellent night, I came home only slightly buzzed, as I didn't have to drown my sorrows of being surrounded by d-bag heteros with way too many vodka-sodas. I then was able to awake bright and early on Saturday and have lunch with two of my favorite boys, a couple that doesn't make me want to poke my eyes out. They invited me to a fellow friend's graduation party for Monday night, and I said, "Evite be damned, I'm coming!"

I woke up Monday with a heap of errands and to get myself in a can-do mood, I put on an outfit inspired by Joan Holloway from Mad Men (my latest addiction. I am obsessed with repressed White folks, high-waisted skirts, and 1960s social conventions). As I walked through midtown running errands, I noticed that a bevy of banker types were lightly eye-fucking me--I guess the sexy secretary vibe was working for me. Thank you, Joan!

However, it wasn't until I arrived at the graduation party that evening that I was truly the belle of the ball. Surrounded by professional gay couples, drinking white wine, I remembered why I feel most at home in moments like these--it's because when I'm with the gays, I'm the prettiest girl in the room! I met the graduate's parents, who had come from Witchita, Kansas, to celebrate their son and his boyfriend. As I took mom's camera and played paparazzi, I got to meet everyone and learned that Kansas is a hotbed of gay activity. How great is that?! My favorite people had to be the 18-year-olds who just moved to New York City together and are in a realationship! In their gray slacks and pastel button-downs (the gay uniform for events), they were just the cutest ever! I am kind of obsessed with their young gay love, and offered to buy them booze whenever the need arises--you know how I love to enable addictions.

As the party wound down, I chatted with the parental units, and they thanked me for taking pics, and then told me how pretty I was. "Where's your boyfriend, sweetie?" Mom asked me tenderly.
"Oh, he's right there," I said, pointing to one of my friends across the room. "And there. there. Oh, and there's another one there," as I pointed at various homosexual gentlemen. I then asked if I should move to Kansas to find a strapping lad who could handle a blacktress. Mom said yes, and next thing you know, she's taking down my blog address and wondering where she can see me do stand up.

I am now, like Dorothy, on a quest to return home to the plains of Kansas. Or, better yet, I am Diana Ross in "The Wiz." I am done with Munchkins and the lollipop guild. I will no longer be fooled by the little man behind the big curtain. I am ready to ease on down, ease on down the road.
Before I go, let me go ask one of my gays for a pair of sparkly red Mary Janes--teehee.

The Fuhrer of My Heart?????

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Am I a Lovefool.... for Sweden?

Hello Readers,

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

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

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

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

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

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