Ok, so you guys know how much I love my new daddy, right?
Well, the bloom is starting to fade from the rose, as they say.
(does anyone actually say that besides my mom?)
He is sort of fabulous, but also enfuriating—sometimes I feel like I’m in a deleted scene from The Devil Wears Prada. Take, for instance, this morning’s conversation.
New Daddy: Okay, I’m thinking out loud here. We need to get a super issue of Watercolor mag out as soon as possible.
Me: How many additional pages of content would that require?
ND: I don’t know, 40?
Me: That’s roughly 4 extra articles, in addition to the 9-10 that appear in each issue. And you want that by when?
ND: For the next issue.
Me: That’s not possible.
ND: How long is that acrylic article? 250 words? what were you thinking?
[he has now moved on to another topic entirely, with no regard for what I said was not possible.]
Me: The article hasn’t been written or sent to me yet. You told you wanted a spread, so no more than 400 words—depends on how many images we get.
ND: Okay, okay [he pauses]. I’ve got the advertisers up my ass, I’ve inherited this clusterfuck, I don’t know.
[note: he says the above with complete nonchalance.]
[I don’t know what to say.]
ND: Okay, is there any way we can get this in to the next issue of the monthly?
Me: It ships on Thursday, and we don’t have any of the content. If the artist gets it to me on Monday, that still requires a scramble.
ND sighs and rubs his temple. I am fearful he’ll throw his hot coffee in my face.
ND: I need to please these advertisers. [pause] Okay, I’ll make a call to advertising, see what I can do. I’ll try to work some queer magic.
Naturally, his laugh line is my cue to exit, as he turns his seat back to his desk as he shoos me away.
I don’t know how to handle him. He’s very stream-of-consciousness, and he goes from pissed and hilarious at the drop of a dime. An older gay is the kind of breed that can turn on its hag, and I’m fearful of him. I need his approval as both my massa and an older gay, but I also need him to stop trippin’ and let me get my basic shit done. Toeing the line with this one will require a bit of finesse.
Thank god it’s Friday. I need to take a nap.
[aaahhh, New Daddy came over just as I was googling images of 'Angry Ian McKellen'--you know, basically Magneto in X-Men]
Friday, June 18, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
When Your Jewboo Doesn't Want to Get It On...
Your friends--with the help of someecards--are there to help you get through it....
God bless you, KWalsh, for helping me get through this rough patch.
I shouldn't be surprised, considering KWalsh is the woman who I collaborate with to bring the world Scorned Woman Ecards. We've been on hiatus for forevs, but it's good to know she's still thinking!!!
uh-oh. in the time it took to type this, my victoria's secret order arrived. why won't this boy do me???? do i have to give it away?!
God bless you, KWalsh, for helping me get through this rough patch.
I shouldn't be surprised, considering KWalsh is the woman who I collaborate with to bring the world Scorned Woman Ecards. We've been on hiatus for forevs, but it's good to know she's still thinking!!!
uh-oh. in the time it took to type this, my victoria's secret order arrived. why won't this boy do me???? do i have to give it away?!
Tales from the Crypt....
Oh no! I lost a follower!!
This is what happens when I stop blogging regularly.
I'm sorry, guys. I've just been really busy. I was in Detroit this past weekend, celebrating G-unit's birthday--the big 9-4!! You know that party was off the chain!
We totes got crunked. We mixed Ensure and Efferdent and got wiz-asted!!!
Of course, I jest. The trip to Detroit was actually quite painless, as I was there about 72 hours, and slept til noon two days in a row. My mom and I actually got along, as we tend to do in Detroit--it's like we band together when faced with our extended family's dysfunction. As you all know, when it comes to visiting the Detroit fam, Sojourner is the black(tress) sheep of the clan. What, with my "talking white" and my having a passport and all, my family doesn't quite know what to do with me.
I spent every summer in Detroit until I was 14, and started private school when I was 10, making those last 4 years especially painful. Up until then, I was mocked for being too dark and for being chubby and wearing glasses. Add in my clipped diction (I was preparing myself for the stage, clearly) and my love of the film “Little Women” (to this day, my cousins mock my love of Winona Ryder), and I just couldn’t win.
Honestly, though, I’m not bitter. We’re all adults now, and have come to accept each other. We’ve even added each other as Facebook friends. And even though I maintain strict privacy settings with the fam, it warms my heart when my cousin wishes me a happy birthday via wall post. I also think that my time traveling solo in foreign lands has steeled me—I have no qualms about sitting in the midst of people speaking Swedish, and don’t need to be filled in, or be liked. And, quite frankly, my extended family may as well be speaking Swedish, because the shit they say is so cuckoo bananas, I don’t even know how to respond.
Of course, when I told my cousin I had a new boyfriend, she instantly asked if he was white. I showed her Jewboo’s pics on FB.
“Oh, he’s cute. He puts [family friend’s white boyfriend] to shame.”
Apparently, we’re in some sort of interracial-romance competition. My other cousin believes I’m a failure to my race for dating a white guy, but doesn’t blame me, because “it’s how you grew up. You been around white folks. It make sense, you been confused.” This, coming from the man who suggests I find "high-functioning" crackheads to help with household chores.
Um, when’s our return flight?
I learned how young the madness starts when someone’s 4-year-old son came over, and he took a shine to Sojourner. For some reason, he needed my attention all throughout the birthday party, and at one point, found a pencil sharpener shaped like a nose. It was beige-colored. When a random guest, trying to engage him, asked, “Whose nose is that?” the young boy replied, totally nonchalantly:
“It’s a white devil’s nose.”
From the mouths of Detroit babes.
Detroit is the city that god forgot on so many levels. As we passed burned down buildings and desolate streets, it’s not hard to see why it has a population of less than 1 million. As we drove by “Lil’ Poo Poo’s Auto Body Repair,” it’s not hard to see why my family thinks I’m uppity—clearly, their expectations are skewed.
Who is “Lil’ Poo Poo,” and why on earth would he put his nickname on his business?
WHAT IF IT ISN”T A NICKNAME????
This didn’t really surprise me, seeing as, when we couldn’t find the gate for our flight to Detroit, I was able to locate it by following the girl wearing a full head of curlers in the airport at 12:30pm. Clearly, she was bound for the D. And when she asked the flight attendant if the plane had a plug so she could charge her phone, I knew she wasn’t making any connections.
I’m sorry if I’m sipping on Detroit HATE-orade. The trip wasn’t even as bad as it could have been, or as it’s been in the past. It’s just that it’s so frustrating to feel like I’m the odd one, the crazy one, when all I do is read books and have a Jewboo. It’s total Twilight Zone sometimes.
I was talking to my grandmother, and she’s asking me about my travels, and she goes:
“Have you been to that place where they make the stuff?”
Okay, now I’m not even about to make fun of G-Unit, cause she’s 94 and all, but, um, WHAT? She’s actually quite sharp, and this was the most vague sentence I’d ever heard.
What threw me off even more was when my mom, who was sitting next to me says, completely nonchalantly, “She’s asking if you’ve ever been to China.”
WHAT? HOW DOES SHE KNOW THAT?
Clearly, they exist on a wavelength I cannot access.
This moment was only surpassed by grandma's follow-up. “Cause Will’s boy was over there for a time, practicing.”
Who is Will’s boy? Practicing what? I’m so confused. Where am I?
“She means Will Smith’s son was in China filming the new ‘Karate Kid’ movie," mom explains.
My mother is an ambassador, bridging generation gaps.
The one bright spot was that my toothless, schizophrenic aunt has started taking her meds, so she did way less ranting than usual. My mom thought she wasn’t well because she was going into OCD overdrive in terms of planning my grandmother’s party. However, we just think she’s a party planner—for her son’s college graduation party, which consisted of about 15 people, she rented a hotel banquet hall, hired a harpist, and had a meat carver. We think she just likes to go all out, meds or no.
Anyway, I’ve missed society. How are you guys?
This is what happens when I stop blogging regularly.
I'm sorry, guys. I've just been really busy. I was in Detroit this past weekend, celebrating G-unit's birthday--the big 9-4!! You know that party was off the chain!
We totes got crunked. We mixed Ensure and Efferdent and got wiz-asted!!!
Of course, I jest. The trip to Detroit was actually quite painless, as I was there about 72 hours, and slept til noon two days in a row. My mom and I actually got along, as we tend to do in Detroit--it's like we band together when faced with our extended family's dysfunction. As you all know, when it comes to visiting the Detroit fam, Sojourner is the black(tress) sheep of the clan. What, with my "talking white" and my having a passport and all, my family doesn't quite know what to do with me.
I spent every summer in Detroit until I was 14, and started private school when I was 10, making those last 4 years especially painful. Up until then, I was mocked for being too dark and for being chubby and wearing glasses. Add in my clipped diction (I was preparing myself for the stage, clearly) and my love of the film “Little Women” (to this day, my cousins mock my love of Winona Ryder), and I just couldn’t win.
Honestly, though, I’m not bitter. We’re all adults now, and have come to accept each other. We’ve even added each other as Facebook friends. And even though I maintain strict privacy settings with the fam, it warms my heart when my cousin wishes me a happy birthday via wall post. I also think that my time traveling solo in foreign lands has steeled me—I have no qualms about sitting in the midst of people speaking Swedish, and don’t need to be filled in, or be liked. And, quite frankly, my extended family may as well be speaking Swedish, because the shit they say is so cuckoo bananas, I don’t even know how to respond.
Of course, when I told my cousin I had a new boyfriend, she instantly asked if he was white. I showed her Jewboo’s pics on FB.
“Oh, he’s cute. He puts [family friend’s white boyfriend] to shame.”
Apparently, we’re in some sort of interracial-romance competition. My other cousin believes I’m a failure to my race for dating a white guy, but doesn’t blame me, because “it’s how you grew up. You been around white folks. It make sense, you been confused.” This, coming from the man who suggests I find "high-functioning" crackheads to help with household chores.
Um, when’s our return flight?
I learned how young the madness starts when someone’s 4-year-old son came over, and he took a shine to Sojourner. For some reason, he needed my attention all throughout the birthday party, and at one point, found a pencil sharpener shaped like a nose. It was beige-colored. When a random guest, trying to engage him, asked, “Whose nose is that?” the young boy replied, totally nonchalantly:
“It’s a white devil’s nose.”
From the mouths of Detroit babes.
Detroit is the city that god forgot on so many levels. As we passed burned down buildings and desolate streets, it’s not hard to see why it has a population of less than 1 million. As we drove by “Lil’ Poo Poo’s Auto Body Repair,” it’s not hard to see why my family thinks I’m uppity—clearly, their expectations are skewed.
Who is “Lil’ Poo Poo,” and why on earth would he put his nickname on his business?
WHAT IF IT ISN”T A NICKNAME????
This didn’t really surprise me, seeing as, when we couldn’t find the gate for our flight to Detroit, I was able to locate it by following the girl wearing a full head of curlers in the airport at 12:30pm. Clearly, she was bound for the D. And when she asked the flight attendant if the plane had a plug so she could charge her phone, I knew she wasn’t making any connections.
I’m sorry if I’m sipping on Detroit HATE-orade. The trip wasn’t even as bad as it could have been, or as it’s been in the past. It’s just that it’s so frustrating to feel like I’m the odd one, the crazy one, when all I do is read books and have a Jewboo. It’s total Twilight Zone sometimes.
I was talking to my grandmother, and she’s asking me about my travels, and she goes:
“Have you been to that place where they make the stuff?”
Okay, now I’m not even about to make fun of G-Unit, cause she’s 94 and all, but, um, WHAT? She’s actually quite sharp, and this was the most vague sentence I’d ever heard.
What threw me off even more was when my mom, who was sitting next to me says, completely nonchalantly, “She’s asking if you’ve ever been to China.”
WHAT? HOW DOES SHE KNOW THAT?
Clearly, they exist on a wavelength I cannot access.
This moment was only surpassed by grandma's follow-up. “Cause Will’s boy was over there for a time, practicing.”
Who is Will’s boy? Practicing what? I’m so confused. Where am I?
“She means Will Smith’s son was in China filming the new ‘Karate Kid’ movie," mom explains.
My mother is an ambassador, bridging generation gaps.
The one bright spot was that my toothless, schizophrenic aunt has started taking her meds, so she did way less ranting than usual. My mom thought she wasn’t well because she was going into OCD overdrive in terms of planning my grandmother’s party. However, we just think she’s a party planner—for her son’s college graduation party, which consisted of about 15 people, she rented a hotel banquet hall, hired a harpist, and had a meat carver. We think she just likes to go all out, meds or no.
Anyway, I’ve missed society. How are you guys?
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Ready for my Close Up
Hey boofaces,
Can I call you 'boofaces'? I just love y'all so much!
I'm in a weird mood.
I have cramps.
Anyhoozle, I got headshots done on Sunday, and it was actually quite fun. I normally hate having my picture taken, and the last time I got headshots done back in '06, the photographer asked me if I'd "consider working on this other project of mine" when I went to pick up my CD of images.
He then proceeded to show me images from this other project: black-and-white photos of naked ladies.
"I think you'd be great for this because you've got a great personality and a great figure."
Listen, buddy, flattery will get you everywhere, but not everywhere.
Needless to say, I was a bit traumatized.
Add that trauma to my general fear and laziness with regard to my blackting career, and it's taken me way too long to get headshots. But, you know, as they say, "better late than the early bird catches the hand in the bush"....or something like that.
I got my shots done by this gal named Ari, who does headshots for a lot of the UCB comedians, and she was super cool. We met in her apt, and not once did she ask me to drop my pants. She just used natural light and we did four different looks, and it actually turned out really well. We talked about how comedy dudes are weird, why UCB needs more diversity (not just of color, but of experiences, so all scenes aren't about the same shit every time), and how she manages to make money from her creativity. She is a strong black woman in a Caucasian candy coating.
I like her a lot.
I can't tell if this is ridiculously narcissistic, or fun, so let's just see what happens. Here are some fun shots from the shoot:
OMG, I'm so wholesome! I think this'll be the main one. Thoughts? Give it a yay or nay in the comments.
The vibe here is very 19th-century maiden, wandering through the parlour in a fainting coat.
I was really trying to hide the fact that I'm was wearing bright-pink underwear under a sheer knit dress, but I ended up giving off more of a "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" vibe.
And this next show, dear readers, is what happens when you let elite gay visionary JJSiii work his Photoshop magic on your "Law and Order shot" at the workplace, all because you joked, "I'd love to be surrounded by twinks in real life."
......NSFW!!!!
I'm now one step closer to becoming a gay icon.
What's up with you guys today? I'm gonna take some Advil and do some work, I guess. It's 10:01 and I've actually started nothing. The New Massa isn't in til 11:30 (he's at a photo shoot--how fierce is that?!), so I think it's behoovy of me to keep kickin' til then. Let's see what's hot on the interwebs.
Can I call you 'boofaces'? I just love y'all so much!
I'm in a weird mood.
I have cramps.
Anyhoozle, I got headshots done on Sunday, and it was actually quite fun. I normally hate having my picture taken, and the last time I got headshots done back in '06, the photographer asked me if I'd "consider working on this other project of mine" when I went to pick up my CD of images.
He then proceeded to show me images from this other project: black-and-white photos of naked ladies.
"I think you'd be great for this because you've got a great personality and a great figure."
Listen, buddy, flattery will get you everywhere, but not everywhere.
Needless to say, I was a bit traumatized.
Add that trauma to my general fear and laziness with regard to my blackting career, and it's taken me way too long to get headshots. But, you know, as they say, "better late than the early bird catches the hand in the bush"....or something like that.
I got my shots done by this gal named Ari, who does headshots for a lot of the UCB comedians, and she was super cool. We met in her apt, and not once did she ask me to drop my pants. She just used natural light and we did four different looks, and it actually turned out really well. We talked about how comedy dudes are weird, why UCB needs more diversity (not just of color, but of experiences, so all scenes aren't about the same shit every time), and how she manages to make money from her creativity. She is a strong black woman in a Caucasian candy coating.
I like her a lot.
I can't tell if this is ridiculously narcissistic, or fun, so let's just see what happens. Here are some fun shots from the shoot:
OMG, I'm so wholesome! I think this'll be the main one. Thoughts? Give it a yay or nay in the comments.
The vibe here is very 19th-century maiden, wandering through the parlour in a fainting coat.
I was really trying to hide the fact that I'm was wearing bright-pink underwear under a sheer knit dress, but I ended up giving off more of a "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" vibe.
And this next show, dear readers, is what happens when you let elite gay visionary JJSiii work his Photoshop magic on your "Law and Order shot" at the workplace, all because you joked, "I'd love to be surrounded by twinks in real life."
......NSFW!!!!
I'm now one step closer to becoming a gay icon.What's up with you guys today? I'm gonna take some Advil and do some work, I guess. It's 10:01 and I've actually started nothing. The New Massa isn't in til 11:30 (he's at a photo shoot--how fierce is that?!), so I think it's behoovy of me to keep kickin' til then. Let's see what's hot on the interwebs.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
The day the earth wouldn't stay still.
Guys, this day is total madness.
I wake up after a fitful sleep to check my email and discover that the VH1 show I shot a segment for has been pushed back to August! AUGUST!! That’s practically fall—who’s going to care about celebrity beach bodies then?! What if they don’t end up using me at all???!! And my main-gay contact there is no longer going to be working on the show, so there goes my in to future opportunities as a talking head.
Ugh, I’m never going to become famous ever. I guess I’m going to have to work on becoming a basketball wife.
After getting ready, I head downstairs to the living room to tend to my houseguests. You see, I’ve been hosting the Jewboo’s two cats since Monday, and it’s turned my whole world topsy-turvy.
Although I had a cat for a few years, two have two large rambunctious, heavily shedding animals running amok is not something the blacktress is used to. And to have them for a week and make sure I don’t accidentally traumatize them is just too much.
Their names are Squee and Prembley (yes, Squee and Prembley), and Squee is totally energetic and spastic, and quickly acclimated himself to his new environment, and wanted to explore beyond the confines of the living room where I had them quarantined. Prembley, on the other hand, is rather…um…big boned and super lazy, and loves to fit his large self into tiny spaces. When I enter in the mornings and after work, Squee instantly pads towards me, waiting to be petted, while Prembley looks at me from behind the bookshelf with eyes that say, “You’ll never be my real mommy.”
I’ve been keeping them in the rather spacious living room, to both avoid the spread of cat hair everywhere, and to keep them from getting too overwhelmed and getting caught in madness…and also because I’m scared they may be carrying bedbugs.
Ah, yes…bedbugs.
This is why I’m holding the beasts.
You see, the Jewboo has bedbugs. His roommate found them last week. Ever since, he’s been in a pit of despair. I’d go into detail, but why don’t you watch this funny video of the two of them being sad and ranting about it on their stoop on their latest episode of “Cookies and Bookies,” their video podcast in which they review cookies and give betting advice?
I love how he’s looking such a hot mess in this video, hair all askew, bespectacled and washed out. That’s my guy!!
Of course, I’m not missing the hour-long trek to Greenpoint, but I also don’t want him shuttling these critters to my house, starting their own Harlem Renaissance in my crib! I also need to stop treating his cats as though they are actual houseguests, rearranging my schedule so that they’re pleased.
I also need to stop calling them “sir” and talking to them for extended periods of time. It’s getting creepy.
This morning, when I went to change the water bowl, not only did Squee race out the door, but even the normally comatose Prembley darted out, and I simply could not spend my morning trying to wrangle them back into the living room and making sure they were secure. I just had to make sure the living room door stayed open, so they could get to their food and their little box, and go about my day.
Who knows what I’ll come home to. The night before, Squee had managed to get out of the living room, but because it’s a sliding door, he couldn’t get back in, so lord knows how he spent his day. All I know is, he wandered in reeking of booze and shame....and refused to look me in the eye.
So, while I sit here at work, slightly worried that the cats are spreading bedbugs all around at best, and at worst, stuck in a crawlspace, I just saw that my friend’s bf has the following gchat status message: RIP RUE.
Instantly, I know this can only mean one thing…..BLANCHE DEVEREAUX HAS PASSED ON!!!!!!!
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!
THIS DAY IS UTTER DARKNESS!!!
WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?????
Only B-White is left standing. I don’t know if I can handle this.
Blanche was the original cougar, y’all. She was a cougar before there was a word for it! She was a cougar back when it was just creepy.
Look at her--she's probably thinking about who she just slept with--or planning who to sleep with next!! She taught us that geriatric sexuality was okay.
OH GOD, the aforementioned BF just informed me that Gary Coleman died!!
This is what happens when I’m in the Vermont woods and dating a man who doesn’t recognize the lyrics to Beyonce’s “Irreplaceable” (you know, when he’s asking directions, and I sing “to the left, to the left”—I’m cut off from civilization.
How could I have missed this?!
What other bombs are going to drop on me today? I thought bad things come in threes. Wouldn't Gary Coleman make 4? But, I guess that already happened and I'm just behind. This day's bound to turn around, right?
I wake up after a fitful sleep to check my email and discover that the VH1 show I shot a segment for has been pushed back to August! AUGUST!! That’s practically fall—who’s going to care about celebrity beach bodies then?! What if they don’t end up using me at all???!! And my main-gay contact there is no longer going to be working on the show, so there goes my in to future opportunities as a talking head.
Ugh, I’m never going to become famous ever. I guess I’m going to have to work on becoming a basketball wife.
After getting ready, I head downstairs to the living room to tend to my houseguests. You see, I’ve been hosting the Jewboo’s two cats since Monday, and it’s turned my whole world topsy-turvy.
Although I had a cat for a few years, two have two large rambunctious, heavily shedding animals running amok is not something the blacktress is used to. And to have them for a week and make sure I don’t accidentally traumatize them is just too much.
Their names are Squee and Prembley (yes, Squee and Prembley), and Squee is totally energetic and spastic, and quickly acclimated himself to his new environment, and wanted to explore beyond the confines of the living room where I had them quarantined. Prembley, on the other hand, is rather…um…big boned and super lazy, and loves to fit his large self into tiny spaces. When I enter in the mornings and after work, Squee instantly pads towards me, waiting to be petted, while Prembley looks at me from behind the bookshelf with eyes that say, “You’ll never be my real mommy.”
I’ve been keeping them in the rather spacious living room, to both avoid the spread of cat hair everywhere, and to keep them from getting too overwhelmed and getting caught in madness…and also because I’m scared they may be carrying bedbugs.
Ah, yes…bedbugs.
This is why I’m holding the beasts.
You see, the Jewboo has bedbugs. His roommate found them last week. Ever since, he’s been in a pit of despair. I’d go into detail, but why don’t you watch this funny video of the two of them being sad and ranting about it on their stoop on their latest episode of “Cookies and Bookies,” their video podcast in which they review cookies and give betting advice?
Cookies and Bookies #7 from Wrestling Team on Vimeo.
(note the reference to the "girlfriend"--that's me! Yeah, I buy him cookies. You know, the key to a man's heart is through his stomach. I figure the best way to buy an unemployed Jewish man's love is through kosher treats).I love how he’s looking such a hot mess in this video, hair all askew, bespectacled and washed out. That’s my guy!!
Of course, I’m not missing the hour-long trek to Greenpoint, but I also don’t want him shuttling these critters to my house, starting their own Harlem Renaissance in my crib! I also need to stop treating his cats as though they are actual houseguests, rearranging my schedule so that they’re pleased.
I also need to stop calling them “sir” and talking to them for extended periods of time. It’s getting creepy.
This morning, when I went to change the water bowl, not only did Squee race out the door, but even the normally comatose Prembley darted out, and I simply could not spend my morning trying to wrangle them back into the living room and making sure they were secure. I just had to make sure the living room door stayed open, so they could get to their food and their little box, and go about my day.
Who knows what I’ll come home to. The night before, Squee had managed to get out of the living room, but because it’s a sliding door, he couldn’t get back in, so lord knows how he spent his day. All I know is, he wandered in reeking of booze and shame....and refused to look me in the eye.
So, while I sit here at work, slightly worried that the cats are spreading bedbugs all around at best, and at worst, stuck in a crawlspace, I just saw that my friend’s bf has the following gchat status message: RIP RUE.
Instantly, I know this can only mean one thing…..BLANCHE DEVEREAUX HAS PASSED ON!!!!!!!
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!
THIS DAY IS UTTER DARKNESS!!!
WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?????
Only B-White is left standing. I don’t know if I can handle this.
Blanche was the original cougar, y’all. She was a cougar before there was a word for it! She was a cougar back when it was just creepy.
Look at her--she's probably thinking about who she just slept with--or planning who to sleep with next!! She taught us that geriatric sexuality was okay.
OH GOD, the aforementioned BF just informed me that Gary Coleman died!!
This is what happens when I’m in the Vermont woods and dating a man who doesn’t recognize the lyrics to Beyonce’s “Irreplaceable” (you know, when he’s asking directions, and I sing “to the left, to the left”—I’m cut off from civilization.
How could I have missed this?!
What other bombs are going to drop on me today? I thought bad things come in threes. Wouldn't Gary Coleman make 4? But, I guess that already happened and I'm just behind. This day's bound to turn around, right?
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
FYI - I'm Hosting a Show This Friday!
Hey gang! If you want to catch some live blacktress, I'm hosting an improv show this Friday at Gotham City Improv. Here's the info:
Time: 8:30pm - 9:30pm
Place: Gotham City Improv
48 West 21st Street between 5th and 6th Ave
Cost: $6
Bring a friend!
I haven't really prepared a set, so we'll just wing it, kick it old school. I'll be doing 10 minutes up top, then 3-5 minutes in between each act, for about 20 minutes total. Good times!
Time: 8:30pm - 9:30pm
Place: Gotham City Improv
48 West 21st Street between 5th and 6th Ave
Cost: $6
Bring a friend!
I haven't really prepared a set, so we'll just wing it, kick it old school. I'll be doing 10 minutes up top, then 3-5 minutes in between each act, for about 20 minutes total. Good times!
Longest Post Ever.....Indian Weddings Inspire Me!
Whew, guys, what a whirlwind! How was your weekend?! Did you hit up any German-Indian weddings, by any chance? If so, then you’re allowed to say your weekend was amazing in every way. If not, then I’m sure you had some sort of fun, but nothing can really compare.
Seriously, after this past weekend, the newest item on my life to-do list is:
- Find Indian husband.
- Earn future-husband's parents’ approval.
- Have monsoon wedding in the Northeast countryside.
(I mean, I’d have it in India, but you know I can’t handle too much heat—I’d sweat my hair out, y’all!)
This weekend’s wedding was gorgeous and amazing, and the road was paved with danger every step of the way. I rode up Thursday night after work with the Maid of Honor and another bridesmaid, making our way through an NYC thunderstorm. This voyage was gonna take us at least 6 hours, and we didn’t set out until 8pm—-no sleep til VT, baby!!
I played navigator, and it seems I may be a dash dyslexic, as left and right baffled me at various points throughout the journey. Add that to my general distrust of New Jersey, and I think our early confusion was brought about by my lack of faith in Google Maps (“are we sure we’re supposed to be in a place called 'Ho Ho Kus'??? This can’t even be a real name. What the hell is 'Mahwah?' Something’s awry.) as the MOH drove with focus and determination (as only a woman studying to become a midwife could), the sky grew darker and darker. I suddenly realized we were three attractive women—one white, one asian, and one blacktress—in a car on a backroad in an unknown town. We were clearly in the opening scene on a horror movie.
We had to get to our destination, stat.
I managed to maintain my calm as flashes of the trailer for “The Human Centipede” popped into my head, and the MOH read the map like the true Vermont native she is. As she guided us on the right path, I decided that if I ever accidentally get pregnant and carry my kids to term, I’m gonna have them spend their summers in Vermont, so they can learn to be scrappy and take care of themselves. On the 1st of July I’m going to drop them in the middle of the woods with a compass and some rations and tell them that if they want to see the fireworks on the 4th they better figure out how to make it back to the cabin using their wits—that’ll give them the skills they need to navigate the harsh roads of life—and I-87 north.
Once in the VT, there was little rest for the weary—and I wasn’t even in the wedding party. I got to spend much of Friday with the MOH’s fiancée, who was the coolest guy ever. For some reason, he knew that there had to be a “bridal kit” consisting of necessary items for the wedding day—hair pins, nail polish, double-sided tape, hair gel, band-aids, and other miscellaneous emergency odds and ends that one could need just in case. We got to race around to various VT stores, taking in the countryside on the sunny day while I asked him all about what love is. Even though he’s only, like, 2 years older than me, the fact that he’s been in a 5-year relationship and is about to marry one of my favorite humans makes him a love guru in my mind, and I have to know how it all happens.
Besides, any man who not only knows about a bridal kit, but has no qualms about rounding up extra tampons for said kit has got to be the male equivalent of a unicorn. His mind must be dissected and studied for science, and for the edification of women everywhere.
Friday night was a magical pre-wedding party, where the Indian and German families came together. As the bride-to-be got dressed in her gorgeous green-and-gold sari, fussed over by several women, as they applied imported matching jewels I realized that I was clearly meant to be an Indian woman. These women are all diva, and understand the importance of a photo op. Everyone’s hair was DONE, and even though the party started at 6:30, the bride-to-be didn’t come down until 7:30. HELLO, DIVA!!! I hear that, make it work! RuPaul would have been proud!!
Once she came down, the party began, and it got crunked! The DJ played the Bangra jams, and the German groom’s family was all about the Indian garb. While the liberal-arts-college-grad in me initially worried about the appropriation of culture, there’s nothing cuter than a 4-year-old German girl wearing a sari, and my heart melted at the sight. It was also cool to see how into it they were, as if the two families really were bonding, you know? Talk about a merging of two totally different cultures—you’ve got Hamburg on one end and India-via-Vermont on the other, and it’s all love. I think this is what they mean by “post-racial.”
The highlight of the evening had to be when young girls in the family performed dances for the couple. Prior to this, various couples, ranging from aunts and uncles to bfs and gfs had done choreographed bits to various songs, and the joy of Bollywood was felt by all.
And by “all,” I mean, “me”. It was amazing.
Just when I thought it could get no more wonderful, the bride’s young cousin did a dance to a mashup that included Beyonce’s “Halo,” “Fireflies” by some pop group or another, and two Indian jams. As she kicked and twirled in the air, and used a decorative cloth as a prop, I stood in awe. She was no more than 14 years old, and, in, a word, FIERCE.
I want to be her when I grow up.
“Kiloni, I want to be you!” I gushed later in the night, when we were dancing to “Telephone” (my request to the DJ). “Thank you” she muttered without a smile, like a true diva.
She is a Lady Gaga in the making.
Riding high on her awesomeness, I didn’t know what the actual wedding day would have in store. Saturday morning was drizzly, which did not bode well for the outdoor Indian ceremony. Just 15 minutes before it began, however, the clouds parted, and the sun shone through, shedding light on the mandap (the tent where the ceremony would take place—you didn’t know the blacktress was down with the Hindi like that, did you?).
It was as if nature knew their love was meant to be!
I don’t know if any of you have been to a Hindu wedding ceremony, but that jam has 11 steps—11, y’all!! It takes over an hour! But it was totally worth every second, and the officiant kept it funny and engaging the whole time. He explained each portion, went back and forth between English and Hindi, and even learned German, y’all!! Holla at some multi-culti bridging of the gaps!
What I loved so much about the ceremony was its specificity—When you get married Hindu style, you know what you’re getting into. You communicate your expectations for married life and shower rice on each other, you walk around in circles, you worship sacred fire, you break that shit down, y’all!! When the German groom said his vows, the officiant made him repeat it 3 times, and the third time said, “I want you to repeat after me in German, so you really know what you’re agreeing to.” I hear that—You better make sure you know what you’re about, cause this shizz is for real!!
My favorite part is when the couple took 7 steps together, and they physically walked across the mandap, saying each promise aloud with each step: to provide for and support each other; to develop mental, sprititual, and physical strength together; to share their worldly possession; to acquire knowledge, happiness, and peace; to raise strong virtuous children; to enjoy fruits of all seasons; and to always remain friends and cherish each other.
Know, that’s the kind of binding agreement I can get behind. You’d hear me, at 50, sitting on the couch, about to get into a fight and go, “boy, don’t play me, we took step 3—give me a bite of that cake. Share that worldly possession!” I’d have the proof at all times!!
Okay, this post is long and out of control. I won’t even get into the Christian ceremony (and yes, the bride looked just as gorgeous in a white dress as she did in a Sari), cause Christianity was put to shame after the Hindu jam. I will also refrain from going on a tangent about how awesome cousin Natasha was—-at only 16 years old, she wore 4 different saris on the day of the wedding. A blacktress can get down with a culture that understands the importance of a quick-change. Always keep it looking fresh, Indian divas!!!
Needless to say, I had a great time. I tried not to cry during the ceremonies, but whenever I saw the bride cry, I got misty—-even though she told me later that she was looking to me to stop herself from tearing up. I don’t know why everyone thinks I’m such a gargoyle; we all know I’m tender and delicate!
Okay, we’ve officially taken up an hour of the day with this massive post. What can I say? The henna tattoo on my palm may have faded, but the memories will last forever.....
Seriously, after this past weekend, the newest item on my life to-do list is:
- Find Indian husband.
- Earn future-husband's parents’ approval.
- Have monsoon wedding in the Northeast countryside.
(I mean, I’d have it in India, but you know I can’t handle too much heat—I’d sweat my hair out, y’all!)
This weekend’s wedding was gorgeous and amazing, and the road was paved with danger every step of the way. I rode up Thursday night after work with the Maid of Honor and another bridesmaid, making our way through an NYC thunderstorm. This voyage was gonna take us at least 6 hours, and we didn’t set out until 8pm—-no sleep til VT, baby!!
I played navigator, and it seems I may be a dash dyslexic, as left and right baffled me at various points throughout the journey. Add that to my general distrust of New Jersey, and I think our early confusion was brought about by my lack of faith in Google Maps (“are we sure we’re supposed to be in a place called 'Ho Ho Kus'??? This can’t even be a real name. What the hell is 'Mahwah?' Something’s awry.) as the MOH drove with focus and determination (as only a woman studying to become a midwife could), the sky grew darker and darker. I suddenly realized we were three attractive women—one white, one asian, and one blacktress—in a car on a backroad in an unknown town. We were clearly in the opening scene on a horror movie.
We had to get to our destination, stat.
I managed to maintain my calm as flashes of the trailer for “The Human Centipede” popped into my head, and the MOH read the map like the true Vermont native she is. As she guided us on the right path, I decided that if I ever accidentally get pregnant and carry my kids to term, I’m gonna have them spend their summers in Vermont, so they can learn to be scrappy and take care of themselves. On the 1st of July I’m going to drop them in the middle of the woods with a compass and some rations and tell them that if they want to see the fireworks on the 4th they better figure out how to make it back to the cabin using their wits—that’ll give them the skills they need to navigate the harsh roads of life—and I-87 north.
Once in the VT, there was little rest for the weary—and I wasn’t even in the wedding party. I got to spend much of Friday with the MOH’s fiancée, who was the coolest guy ever. For some reason, he knew that there had to be a “bridal kit” consisting of necessary items for the wedding day—hair pins, nail polish, double-sided tape, hair gel, band-aids, and other miscellaneous emergency odds and ends that one could need just in case. We got to race around to various VT stores, taking in the countryside on the sunny day while I asked him all about what love is. Even though he’s only, like, 2 years older than me, the fact that he’s been in a 5-year relationship and is about to marry one of my favorite humans makes him a love guru in my mind, and I have to know how it all happens.
Besides, any man who not only knows about a bridal kit, but has no qualms about rounding up extra tampons for said kit has got to be the male equivalent of a unicorn. His mind must be dissected and studied for science, and for the edification of women everywhere.
Friday night was a magical pre-wedding party, where the Indian and German families came together. As the bride-to-be got dressed in her gorgeous green-and-gold sari, fussed over by several women, as they applied imported matching jewels I realized that I was clearly meant to be an Indian woman. These women are all diva, and understand the importance of a photo op. Everyone’s hair was DONE, and even though the party started at 6:30, the bride-to-be didn’t come down until 7:30. HELLO, DIVA!!! I hear that, make it work! RuPaul would have been proud!!
Once she came down, the party began, and it got crunked! The DJ played the Bangra jams, and the German groom’s family was all about the Indian garb. While the liberal-arts-college-grad in me initially worried about the appropriation of culture, there’s nothing cuter than a 4-year-old German girl wearing a sari, and my heart melted at the sight. It was also cool to see how into it they were, as if the two families really were bonding, you know? Talk about a merging of two totally different cultures—you’ve got Hamburg on one end and India-via-Vermont on the other, and it’s all love. I think this is what they mean by “post-racial.”
The highlight of the evening had to be when young girls in the family performed dances for the couple. Prior to this, various couples, ranging from aunts and uncles to bfs and gfs had done choreographed bits to various songs, and the joy of Bollywood was felt by all.
And by “all,” I mean, “me”. It was amazing.
Just when I thought it could get no more wonderful, the bride’s young cousin did a dance to a mashup that included Beyonce’s “Halo,” “Fireflies” by some pop group or another, and two Indian jams. As she kicked and twirled in the air, and used a decorative cloth as a prop, I stood in awe. She was no more than 14 years old, and, in, a word, FIERCE.
I want to be her when I grow up.
“Kiloni, I want to be you!” I gushed later in the night, when we were dancing to “Telephone” (my request to the DJ). “Thank you” she muttered without a smile, like a true diva.
She is a Lady Gaga in the making.
Riding high on her awesomeness, I didn’t know what the actual wedding day would have in store. Saturday morning was drizzly, which did not bode well for the outdoor Indian ceremony. Just 15 minutes before it began, however, the clouds parted, and the sun shone through, shedding light on the mandap (the tent where the ceremony would take place—you didn’t know the blacktress was down with the Hindi like that, did you?).
It was as if nature knew their love was meant to be!
I don’t know if any of you have been to a Hindu wedding ceremony, but that jam has 11 steps—11, y’all!! It takes over an hour! But it was totally worth every second, and the officiant kept it funny and engaging the whole time. He explained each portion, went back and forth between English and Hindi, and even learned German, y’all!! Holla at some multi-culti bridging of the gaps!
What I loved so much about the ceremony was its specificity—When you get married Hindu style, you know what you’re getting into. You communicate your expectations for married life and shower rice on each other, you walk around in circles, you worship sacred fire, you break that shit down, y’all!! When the German groom said his vows, the officiant made him repeat it 3 times, and the third time said, “I want you to repeat after me in German, so you really know what you’re agreeing to.” I hear that—You better make sure you know what you’re about, cause this shizz is for real!!
My favorite part is when the couple took 7 steps together, and they physically walked across the mandap, saying each promise aloud with each step: to provide for and support each other; to develop mental, sprititual, and physical strength together; to share their worldly possession; to acquire knowledge, happiness, and peace; to raise strong virtuous children; to enjoy fruits of all seasons; and to always remain friends and cherish each other.
Know, that’s the kind of binding agreement I can get behind. You’d hear me, at 50, sitting on the couch, about to get into a fight and go, “boy, don’t play me, we took step 3—give me a bite of that cake. Share that worldly possession!” I’d have the proof at all times!!
Okay, this post is long and out of control. I won’t even get into the Christian ceremony (and yes, the bride looked just as gorgeous in a white dress as she did in a Sari), cause Christianity was put to shame after the Hindu jam. I will also refrain from going on a tangent about how awesome cousin Natasha was—-at only 16 years old, she wore 4 different saris on the day of the wedding. A blacktress can get down with a culture that understands the importance of a quick-change. Always keep it looking fresh, Indian divas!!!
Needless to say, I had a great time. I tried not to cry during the ceremonies, but whenever I saw the bride cry, I got misty—-even though she told me later that she was looking to me to stop herself from tearing up. I don’t know why everyone thinks I’m such a gargoyle; we all know I’m tender and delicate!
Okay, we’ve officially taken up an hour of the day with this massive post. What can I say? The henna tattoo on my palm may have faded, but the memories will last forever.....
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Going, Going, Going...Almost GONE!
I honestly feel like I haven’t slept since March, guys. I don’t really know why, seeing as I’m no Miley Cyrus-type rock star. But I’ve just been going-going-going, and it’s coming to a head. Last week was the 5-year college reunion, where my Aspberger’s really flared up.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I loved college. I definitely know what Bruce Springsteen talked about when he sang “Glory Days.” I also know what Ani Difranco talked about when she sang….well, every song she ever sang. While I was excited to see some friends, having all of them concentrated at once after a 5-year hiatus wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time. I wanted to make a t-shirt that said:
I hoped that’d ward off any painful schmoozing at class dinner. Alas, I could not make this happen.
Honestly, I made it all of 24 hours on campus, with the highlights being hanging out with former professors, and getting to meet film and television writer Alex Kurtzman, the mastermind behind TV show Fringe (I’m so glad Joshua Jackson’s still working!), the new Stark Trek, and one of my old tv favorites, Hercules (Kevin Sorbo, swoon city!). He told a blacktress straight-up (like Paula Abdul) that I needed to get some more up-to-date spec scripts, and decide if I want to write drama or sitcoms, no back and forth—I can’t be a greedy, tv-writing bisexual, I’ve got to pick a gender! (I wish he’d used those words, but he didn’t)
It was also pretty awesome to see two girls who are blog fans—and they’re black! We weren’t really friends in college, but it seems they’ve come to love Sojourner’s Truth since graduation! One of them is really pretty and I want to be her when I grow up. She’s got a hot Rihanna hairdo and a Colgate smile (you know how much I love the contrast of pearly whites against Nubian skin), and she’s from Maine, and never told me I talked white when we were in college. She immediately asked me about Jewboo and expressed a need for a Jewtorial to help her with her new social circle. I quickly offered my services, of course.
Although there was some fun, those 24 hours tired me out (and drained my wallet--they charged $120 to sleep in a dorm room for a night!). I then pulled double duty yesterday’s at the Book Expo, where I was supposed to be schmoozing for work, and actually snuck off to shoot a short scene for a tv pilot (you know how I do). I had one line which could end up on the editing room floor, but you gotta start somewhere!
I’m now spending this Thursday morning blogging, when lord knows I should be working since I’m about to be out for 4 days. Tonight I head to a wedding in Vermont, which takes away yet another weekend. Sleep? What’s that again? I vaguely remember it, but I can’t quite place it’s face.
This is the wedding of the girl whose bachelorette party I planned. You know, the one who I still haven’t heard a thank-you from? Well, yeah, I’m about to take the 7-hour drive to Vermont, and spent much of this week searching for a dress because this wedding requires that I wear not one, but two dresses. As we all know, I’m not in the wedding, but Friday night is some cultural something or the other, which requires “Semi-formal” attire. Saturday is both an Indian and Christian ceremony, which is basically a 10-hour day.
Basically, I’ll be taking part in a Bollywood film.
I don’t do very well with events and dressing up. I’m not a particularly fancy lady. I enjoy dresses, but if it’s not black-tie, and not in New York City, I don’t really know how to handle it. In NYC, anything goes, and you can usually get away with whatever. Black tie, having the word “black” in it, usually gives me a good enough hint. I can wear black, and in addition to being black, hope that I’m adequately dressed. However, in Vermont, I’m just not sure. A friend, who’s also the maid of honor, told me the vibe is “country-chic.”
I have no concept of “country-chic,” or “semi-formal,” or compound-definitions in general.
I immediately went to Anthropologie, which is all about country chic, with it’s wacky patterns and tablecloth-style dresses, but that’s not my style. I like solid colors, but nice cuts that flatter the figure. I don’t really do brights. I manage to walk into the Anthropologie fitting room with four items, all of which are muted earth tones.
Lynn, the lovely lady in the fitting room who “was here to help me in any way” commented, “That’s funny. Most people don’t come here for plain things.”
I know, Lynn. I KNOW. I explained that I like a little color, but not crazy patterns and things. “It’s too much. I’m a big girl.”
“Your personality is already rather big,” she said.
SHE GETS ME.
So, I’ve found nothing, and have a suitcase packed with three dresses I already own, but don't really feel confident about. They’re rather plain, nothing patterned or shabby chic about them. I’m scared I’ll look the way I looked at all the bar and bat mitzvahs I went to when I was a kid—like the financial-aid girl who didn’t have an eating disorder. Which, you know, at my school, was a bad thing.
I’ve got to stop this. I’m not 13 anymore. Besides, no one’s going to be looking at me—it’s all about the bride.
Where’s “16 and Pregnant” when you really need a boost?
See you next week, kids! Enjoy the long weekend! We'll discuss the latest Jewboo to-do, and what to get G-Unit (grandma) for her 94th b-day--the party's gonna be off the chain!!!
Now, don’t get me wrong, I loved college. I definitely know what Bruce Springsteen talked about when he sang “Glory Days.” I also know what Ani Difranco talked about when she sang….well, every song she ever sang. While I was excited to see some friends, having all of them concentrated at once after a 5-year hiatus wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time. I wanted to make a t-shirt that said:
Hello! No, I’m not married. I’m NOT engaged. My current salary is less than our yearly tuition, and, despite all of our high hopes for my career, I’m not a famous comedian. How are you????
I hoped that’d ward off any painful schmoozing at class dinner. Alas, I could not make this happen.
Honestly, I made it all of 24 hours on campus, with the highlights being hanging out with former professors, and getting to meet film and television writer Alex Kurtzman, the mastermind behind TV show Fringe (I’m so glad Joshua Jackson’s still working!), the new Stark Trek, and one of my old tv favorites, Hercules (Kevin Sorbo, swoon city!). He told a blacktress straight-up (like Paula Abdul) that I needed to get some more up-to-date spec scripts, and decide if I want to write drama or sitcoms, no back and forth—I can’t be a greedy, tv-writing bisexual, I’ve got to pick a gender! (I wish he’d used those words, but he didn’t)
It was also pretty awesome to see two girls who are blog fans—and they’re black! We weren’t really friends in college, but it seems they’ve come to love Sojourner’s Truth since graduation! One of them is really pretty and I want to be her when I grow up. She’s got a hot Rihanna hairdo and a Colgate smile (you know how much I love the contrast of pearly whites against Nubian skin), and she’s from Maine, and never told me I talked white when we were in college. She immediately asked me about Jewboo and expressed a need for a Jewtorial to help her with her new social circle. I quickly offered my services, of course.
Although there was some fun, those 24 hours tired me out (and drained my wallet--they charged $120 to sleep in a dorm room for a night!). I then pulled double duty yesterday’s at the Book Expo, where I was supposed to be schmoozing for work, and actually snuck off to shoot a short scene for a tv pilot (you know how I do). I had one line which could end up on the editing room floor, but you gotta start somewhere!
I’m now spending this Thursday morning blogging, when lord knows I should be working since I’m about to be out for 4 days. Tonight I head to a wedding in Vermont, which takes away yet another weekend. Sleep? What’s that again? I vaguely remember it, but I can’t quite place it’s face.
This is the wedding of the girl whose bachelorette party I planned. You know, the one who I still haven’t heard a thank-you from? Well, yeah, I’m about to take the 7-hour drive to Vermont, and spent much of this week searching for a dress because this wedding requires that I wear not one, but two dresses. As we all know, I’m not in the wedding, but Friday night is some cultural something or the other, which requires “Semi-formal” attire. Saturday is both an Indian and Christian ceremony, which is basically a 10-hour day.
Basically, I’ll be taking part in a Bollywood film.
I don’t do very well with events and dressing up. I’m not a particularly fancy lady. I enjoy dresses, but if it’s not black-tie, and not in New York City, I don’t really know how to handle it. In NYC, anything goes, and you can usually get away with whatever. Black tie, having the word “black” in it, usually gives me a good enough hint. I can wear black, and in addition to being black, hope that I’m adequately dressed. However, in Vermont, I’m just not sure. A friend, who’s also the maid of honor, told me the vibe is “country-chic.”
I have no concept of “country-chic,” or “semi-formal,” or compound-definitions in general.
I immediately went to Anthropologie, which is all about country chic, with it’s wacky patterns and tablecloth-style dresses, but that’s not my style. I like solid colors, but nice cuts that flatter the figure. I don’t really do brights. I manage to walk into the Anthropologie fitting room with four items, all of which are muted earth tones.
Lynn, the lovely lady in the fitting room who “was here to help me in any way” commented, “That’s funny. Most people don’t come here for plain things.”
I know, Lynn. I KNOW. I explained that I like a little color, but not crazy patterns and things. “It’s too much. I’m a big girl.”
“Your personality is already rather big,” she said.
SHE GETS ME.
So, I’ve found nothing, and have a suitcase packed with three dresses I already own, but don't really feel confident about. They’re rather plain, nothing patterned or shabby chic about them. I’m scared I’ll look the way I looked at all the bar and bat mitzvahs I went to when I was a kid—like the financial-aid girl who didn’t have an eating disorder. Which, you know, at my school, was a bad thing.
I’ve got to stop this. I’m not 13 anymore. Besides, no one’s going to be looking at me—it’s all about the bride.
Where’s “16 and Pregnant” when you really need a boost?
See you next week, kids! Enjoy the long weekend! We'll discuss the latest Jewboo to-do, and what to get G-Unit (grandma) for her 94th b-day--the party's gonna be off the chain!!!
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Found MYSELF on Youtube!!
Thought I'd share one of my old sets with you, gang.....
This acts as a great reminder, whenever I get stressed out about Jewboo, that things could be worse. They could be WAY worse....
Part 2!
This acts as a great reminder, whenever I get stressed out about Jewboo, that things could be worse. They could be WAY worse....
Part 2!
Monday, May 17, 2010
EYES OF A MURDERER
....and the voice of a demon.
Below you can see actor Chris Klein auditioning for a role in Mamma Mia!
Why is he so terrifying?
One friend described the moment when he launches into song as "bone-chilling."
I believe he is correct.
As with every hilarious video I share, thanks must go to KWalsh for bringing it to my attention.
The urge to watch this video came not only out of intense boredom at work, but because I needed something to get the image of "The Human Centipede" trailer out of my head.
I'd link you to it or embed it, but I can't do that to you--I love you all too much.
All I know is, after watching it I felt the urge to cry and desperately wanted my mommy.
Thank god Chris Klein's coked-out eyes and nails-on-chalkboard singing voice snapped me out of my horror-filled frenzy. Clearly, he's still reeling from the loss of Katie Holmes.
Well, with that, I am off to a rehearsal for CONVERSATIONS WITH DEB--LIVE AT UCB!!
You know Deb, y'all. I've been repping her blog from the get-go (check the blogroll). Well, she has far surpassed the blacktress with her own live show at Upright Citizens Brigade. Due to illness, Deb can't be in it, so this requires an additional player--cue blacktress, stage left. You know I'd never let down a Jewess in need, y'all! I play the gripping, complex role of "the narrator."
It's gonna be sweet--way sweeter than whatever the hell Chris Klein is trying to do. MAKE A RESERVATION, AND COME ON DOWN!
Below you can see actor Chris Klein auditioning for a role in Mamma Mia!
Why is he so terrifying?
One friend described the moment when he launches into song as "bone-chilling."
I believe he is correct.
As with every hilarious video I share, thanks must go to KWalsh for bringing it to my attention.
The urge to watch this video came not only out of intense boredom at work, but because I needed something to get the image of "The Human Centipede" trailer out of my head.
I'd link you to it or embed it, but I can't do that to you--I love you all too much.
All I know is, after watching it I felt the urge to cry and desperately wanted my mommy.
Thank god Chris Klein's coked-out eyes and nails-on-chalkboard singing voice snapped me out of my horror-filled frenzy. Clearly, he's still reeling from the loss of Katie Holmes.
Well, with that, I am off to a rehearsal for CONVERSATIONS WITH DEB--LIVE AT UCB!!
You know Deb, y'all. I've been repping her blog from the get-go (check the blogroll). Well, she has far surpassed the blacktress with her own live show at Upright Citizens Brigade. Due to illness, Deb can't be in it, so this requires an additional player--cue blacktress, stage left. You know I'd never let down a Jewess in need, y'all! I play the gripping, complex role of "the narrator."
It's gonna be sweet--way sweeter than whatever the hell Chris Klein is trying to do. MAKE A RESERVATION, AND COME ON DOWN!
OMG! I'm the Mayor of Swoon City!
(Note: This may be my most diary-like blog post yet)
Guys, today is a day of OMGs.
Well, just one really.
Friday, May 14, at 8:42pm, Jewboo said "I love you."
to me.
non-ironically.
OMG!
Clearly, I am questioning his judgment while also planning our wedding. This means we're getting married, right?
Guys, this is kind of a big deal. A man hasn’t said I love you to me since 2001.
(I don’t want to blame it all on 9/11, but we can’t really be sure.)
The way it happened was also so random. I’d go into details, but why don’t I just give you an excerpt from today’s gchat with JJSiii? (of course, I emailed 10 of my nearest and dearest/anyone who’s ever heard me cry about how I’ll die alone to let them know the good news)
JJSiii: OMG.
a la Usher
This is big news.
Dudes expressing feelings, it's not a common occurrence.
Me: I KNOW
JJSiii: PS: I love that you marked the exact time and date.
I want you to get married at 8:42PM on May 14th
Whatever year may be appropriate.
JJSiii: important question: did you say it back?
Me: YES
OF COURSE
JJSiii: well, obvs
Me: you know i've been biting my tongue for, like, three weeks
JJSiii: otherwise it'd be totally awkward
Me: totes
Let me give you a blow-by-blow
JJSiii: Please do!
Me: We got into a stupid fight Friday early evening—you know, cause I was being a crazy person.
We make up, and the plan is for him to come over.
So, he gets to my place.
he comes in
and barges into the kitchen, all angry and cute
takes off his coat
and puts down his bag
and he's standing there and takes a breath, and says, "look. i love you."
i feel kind of dizzy, like i'm in some surreal hyper-baric chamber and this is so insane
JJSiii: haha, you should rent out a giant billboard in times square
just you giving a thumbs up
Me: yep
JJSiii: with the caption "He said 'I Love You'"
ME: hahahah!
who's got two thumbs and a boyfriend that said "i love you"? THIS GIRL!
JJSiii: Yes. It'll be a video billboard
or just one of those scrolling ones
I can picture it in my head
Me: I can’t blog about it…can I?
JJSiii: FYI: There's totally a Degrassi episode about blogging and relationships colliding
Clearly, the conversation devolved into Degrassi-related madness, with a few links to wedding dresses.
Here’s hoping he doesn’t go reading the blog today, people!!!]
I know, I know, I'm such a tween--grown ass women do not act like this (right?). Where's my Justin Bieber poster?
Guys, today is a day of OMGs.
Well, just one really.
Friday, May 14, at 8:42pm, Jewboo said "I love you."
to me.
non-ironically.
OMG!
Clearly, I am questioning his judgment while also planning our wedding. This means we're getting married, right?
Guys, this is kind of a big deal. A man hasn’t said I love you to me since 2001.
(I don’t want to blame it all on 9/11, but we can’t really be sure.)
The way it happened was also so random. I’d go into details, but why don’t I just give you an excerpt from today’s gchat with JJSiii? (of course, I emailed 10 of my nearest and dearest/anyone who’s ever heard me cry about how I’ll die alone to let them know the good news)
JJSiii: OMG.
a la Usher
This is big news.
Dudes expressing feelings, it's not a common occurrence.
Me: I KNOW
JJSiii: PS: I love that you marked the exact time and date.
I want you to get married at 8:42PM on May 14th
Whatever year may be appropriate.
JJSiii: important question: did you say it back?
Me: YES
OF COURSE
JJSiii: well, obvs
Me: you know i've been biting my tongue for, like, three weeks
JJSiii: otherwise it'd be totally awkward
Me: totes
Let me give you a blow-by-blow
JJSiii: Please do!
Me: We got into a stupid fight Friday early evening—you know, cause I was being a crazy person.
We make up, and the plan is for him to come over.
So, he gets to my place.
he comes in
and barges into the kitchen, all angry and cute
takes off his coat
and puts down his bag
and he's standing there and takes a breath, and says, "look. i love you."
i feel kind of dizzy, like i'm in some surreal hyper-baric chamber and this is so insane
JJSiii: haha, you should rent out a giant billboard in times square
just you giving a thumbs up
Me: yep
JJSiii: with the caption "He said 'I Love You'"
ME: hahahah!
who's got two thumbs and a boyfriend that said "i love you"? THIS GIRL!
JJSiii: Yes. It'll be a video billboard
or just one of those scrolling ones
I can picture it in my head
Me: I can’t blog about it…can I?
JJSiii: FYI: There's totally a Degrassi episode about blogging and relationships colliding
Clearly, the conversation devolved into Degrassi-related madness, with a few links to wedding dresses.
Here’s hoping he doesn’t go reading the blog today, people!!!]
I know, I know, I'm such a tween--grown ass women do not act like this (right?). Where's my Justin Bieber poster?
Friday, May 14, 2010
I am Free and so is my Time
Whew, what a week, y’all!!
I have done a whole lot of nothing, I tell ya. It’s been hard trying to look busy, yet still find ways to keep me entertained.
The first two days of the week I sat at my desk sneakily grading film exams (you know about my side hustle as a grader for undergrad film at my alma mater, right?), but just felt guilty the whole time, and it stressed me out. Luckily, there was enough ridiculousness in these exams to keep me focused. For instance, take this lovely lad’s analysis of French film theorist Francois Truffaut:
"truffaut wrote an article ragging on the tradition of quality in french cinema post WWI--based on literature, historical, expansive. truffaut says 'BAD!' "
Or this tender lamb’s identification of German filmmaker Rainer Werner Fassbinder:
"he made movies at a rapid pace, due both to his constant circle of collaborators and his high consumption of drugs"
Yep, that’s why, kid. Keep at it.
With very little to do at work, my gchat’s been a-buzz, and Katie Walsh has even managed to get me excited about my college reunion, which is next weekend. Of course, when one’s brain lacks stimulation, it can quickly atrophy. Take, for instance, a question I posed to KWalsh in all seriousness on Wednesday:
Me: is there an electronic facebook? i mean, like, of JUST our class.
i need to go through the archives, see who's hot
KWalsh: electronic facebook-- let me direct you to it
hahahhahahahaha
sorry, that’s the funniest thing.
Yes, I really asked if there was an electronic facebook.
Lord knows I shouldn’t even be thinking about who’s hot anyway, now that I’m all Jewboo’d-up. Sometimes I forget about it, cause I’ve been single so long, and always tried to sabotage every relationship I’ve ever been in. But I’m really trying not to be a hot mess with this one, even though sometimes I backslide. Luckily, I make up for my crazy with food. Food and orgasms. Yup, that’s the key to a man’s heart—through his stomach and his penis.
We’re even collaborating in the form of a humorous internet video. We’re like an interracial Jay-Z and Beyonce—or, more appropriately, JEW-Z (I enjoy Jewish puns as much as I love black puns). I’ve slept my way to the top, y’all, and will be playing the role of Rabbi Blowdart in what is surely to be the most insane, gender-bending 5-minute video that vimeo has ever seen.
I have no idea if it’ll be funny, and Jewboo clearly doesn’t understand the seriousness of being a blacktress. When I asked him what I should wear/bring, he said, “Something cute.”
What on earth does that mean?!
When I searched online for “female rabbis” (I’m a method blacktor), however, I didn’t get much of a hint—but I did find out the greatest piece of news ever:
Alysa Stanton is the first black female rabbi!!
Talk about a Challahback girl!!
Seriously, y’all!! This happened last year—how am I so behind?!
She’s at a temple in North Carolina, and of course, the irony of being black rabbi in an all-white congregation in the south isn’t lost on the rabbi.
“God has a sense of humor,” she said.
Oh my god, I love her. I bet we could sit around and eat latkes and talk about being cross-over sensations.
You know, not having much to do actually allows me to get real ish done, like pay my credit card bill and turn the blog into a legit .com! Holla at a commercial entity, y’all!! Now, you can get rid of the “blogspot,” and just click diaryofamadblacktress.com, and get your dose of Sojourner’s Truth! I don’t know why it took me three years to do this—I was so scared I’d need that $10 at some point, I guess. It’s only when you’ve got nothing better to do but stare at your cuticles that you finally take some BLACKtion.
This free time also allows me to do crazy things, like pass Jewboo’s resume on to my boss for a possible paid internship position. At first, I did it as a joke, sort of just trying to help the boo get something (you know a Jewboo without a job is like a day without sunshine!!), but then when I told him, he was actually interested. I then felt compelled to see this process through, as I know finding employment is important to him.
So, he’s through the pipeline….for now. After a bit more of a think on it (which I had tons of time to do….are you seeing a theme here?), I realized nothing would be more awful than Jewboo in my workplace, where I act a fool with my office wife, am grumpy all day, and often show up looking just a two steps above homeless. This would be the kiss of death for our love affair. Even Jay-Z knows he's gotta collabo with A-Keys sometimes, just to keep it fresh.
Anyhoo, I refuse to stress—although I definitely have the time to. I’m cheering myself with the news that I got from the president of the watercolor society this week—I’ve been invited to his home to cover a workshop!
Remember how I told you about my fabulous Friday evening at the watercolor society banquet? Well, it was all I could have hoped for. As the youngest and brownest person in the room, I felt like I’d crashed the AARP yearly social, but everyone was actually quite nice. Drunken geriatrics are hilarious, and the art puns flowed as abundantly as the wine. Some favorites include:
“I thought I got Rose madder, but it was just a pigment of my imagination.”
“Who hasn’t ever just gotten lazy and went for the cheap Hooker’s—Hooker’s green, I mean!!”
These are only funny if you know paints…and if you’re 70.
I sat at the cool kid’s table, with the society president, my boss, and the jurors. As the prez and I talked, he pointed across the table to a man who was cracking jokes. “That’s my partner. He’s a diva.”
Yes, folks. I was at a table with not one, not two, but THREE retirement-aged homosexuals.
BEST. NIGHT. EVER.
Of course, the idea of going to the home of two of these gentlemen and talking paints would be nothing short of magical—and to get paid for it, no less!!
What should I wear? It won’t be until July, so we have time to plan.
Maybe I’ll spend the rest of the day doing that.
I have done a whole lot of nothing, I tell ya. It’s been hard trying to look busy, yet still find ways to keep me entertained.
The first two days of the week I sat at my desk sneakily grading film exams (you know about my side hustle as a grader for undergrad film at my alma mater, right?), but just felt guilty the whole time, and it stressed me out. Luckily, there was enough ridiculousness in these exams to keep me focused. For instance, take this lovely lad’s analysis of French film theorist Francois Truffaut:
"truffaut wrote an article ragging on the tradition of quality in french cinema post WWI--based on literature, historical, expansive. truffaut says 'BAD!' "
Or this tender lamb’s identification of German filmmaker Rainer Werner Fassbinder:
"he made movies at a rapid pace, due both to his constant circle of collaborators and his high consumption of drugs"
Yep, that’s why, kid. Keep at it.
With very little to do at work, my gchat’s been a-buzz, and Katie Walsh has even managed to get me excited about my college reunion, which is next weekend. Of course, when one’s brain lacks stimulation, it can quickly atrophy. Take, for instance, a question I posed to KWalsh in all seriousness on Wednesday:
Me: is there an electronic facebook? i mean, like, of JUST our class.
i need to go through the archives, see who's hot
KWalsh: electronic facebook-- let me direct you to it
hahahhahahahaha
sorry, that’s the funniest thing.
Yes, I really asked if there was an electronic facebook.
Lord knows I shouldn’t even be thinking about who’s hot anyway, now that I’m all Jewboo’d-up. Sometimes I forget about it, cause I’ve been single so long, and always tried to sabotage every relationship I’ve ever been in. But I’m really trying not to be a hot mess with this one, even though sometimes I backslide. Luckily, I make up for my crazy with food. Food and orgasms. Yup, that’s the key to a man’s heart—through his stomach and his penis.
We’re even collaborating in the form of a humorous internet video. We’re like an interracial Jay-Z and Beyonce—or, more appropriately, JEW-Z (I enjoy Jewish puns as much as I love black puns). I’ve slept my way to the top, y’all, and will be playing the role of Rabbi Blowdart in what is surely to be the most insane, gender-bending 5-minute video that vimeo has ever seen.
I have no idea if it’ll be funny, and Jewboo clearly doesn’t understand the seriousness of being a blacktress. When I asked him what I should wear/bring, he said, “Something cute.”
What on earth does that mean?!
When I searched online for “female rabbis” (I’m a method blacktor), however, I didn’t get much of a hint—but I did find out the greatest piece of news ever:
Alysa Stanton is the first black female rabbi!!
Talk about a Challahback girl!!
Seriously, y’all!! This happened last year—how am I so behind?!
She’s at a temple in North Carolina, and of course, the irony of being black rabbi in an all-white congregation in the south isn’t lost on the rabbi.
“God has a sense of humor,” she said.
Oh my god, I love her. I bet we could sit around and eat latkes and talk about being cross-over sensations.
You know, not having much to do actually allows me to get real ish done, like pay my credit card bill and turn the blog into a legit .com! Holla at a commercial entity, y’all!! Now, you can get rid of the “blogspot,” and just click diaryofamadblacktress.com, and get your dose of Sojourner’s Truth! I don’t know why it took me three years to do this—I was so scared I’d need that $10 at some point, I guess. It’s only when you’ve got nothing better to do but stare at your cuticles that you finally take some BLACKtion.
This free time also allows me to do crazy things, like pass Jewboo’s resume on to my boss for a possible paid internship position. At first, I did it as a joke, sort of just trying to help the boo get something (you know a Jewboo without a job is like a day without sunshine!!), but then when I told him, he was actually interested. I then felt compelled to see this process through, as I know finding employment is important to him.
So, he’s through the pipeline….for now. After a bit more of a think on it (which I had tons of time to do….are you seeing a theme here?), I realized nothing would be more awful than Jewboo in my workplace, where I act a fool with my office wife, am grumpy all day, and often show up looking just a two steps above homeless. This would be the kiss of death for our love affair. Even Jay-Z knows he's gotta collabo with A-Keys sometimes, just to keep it fresh.
Anyhoo, I refuse to stress—although I definitely have the time to. I’m cheering myself with the news that I got from the president of the watercolor society this week—I’ve been invited to his home to cover a workshop!
Remember how I told you about my fabulous Friday evening at the watercolor society banquet? Well, it was all I could have hoped for. As the youngest and brownest person in the room, I felt like I’d crashed the AARP yearly social, but everyone was actually quite nice. Drunken geriatrics are hilarious, and the art puns flowed as abundantly as the wine. Some favorites include:
“I thought I got Rose madder, but it was just a pigment of my imagination.”
“Who hasn’t ever just gotten lazy and went for the cheap Hooker’s—Hooker’s green, I mean!!”
These are only funny if you know paints…and if you’re 70.
I sat at the cool kid’s table, with the society president, my boss, and the jurors. As the prez and I talked, he pointed across the table to a man who was cracking jokes. “That’s my partner. He’s a diva.”
Yes, folks. I was at a table with not one, not two, but THREE retirement-aged homosexuals.
BEST. NIGHT. EVER.
Of course, the idea of going to the home of two of these gentlemen and talking paints would be nothing short of magical—and to get paid for it, no less!!
What should I wear? It won’t be until July, so we have time to plan.
Maybe I’ll spend the rest of the day doing that.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Stormy Weather....
Guys, I can't cope with this loss. Blacktress and icon Lena Horne passed away last night, at the age of 92.
Without Lena, I wouldn't be here, y'all. As the first blacktress to sign a long-term Hollywood contract, Lena paved the way for every actress of color.
As I sit here on the plantation, reading the NY Times article on her, there are so many things about Lena that resonate with me.
At 92 years old, she’s 2 years younger than my grandmother—I called up G-Unit to see if she’d heard about it (of course she had—she’s got the news on 24-hour loop) and she remembers Lena’s first movie!! That is so out of control, y’all.
Lena, like Sojo, had a main gay who she loved dearly. When speaking of musician and accompanist Billy Strayhorn, Lena said he was, “the only man I ever loved,” but Strayhorn was openly gay, and their close friendship never became a romance. “He was just everything that I wanted in a man,” she told Mr. Hajdu, “except he wasn’t interested in me sexually.”
I been there, Lena!!!
She, too, found a group of cool Caucasians who could handle a blacktress: “My only friends were the group of New Yorkers who sort of stuck with their own group — like Vincente, Gene Kelly, Yip Harburg and Harold Arlen, and Richard Whorf — the sort of hip New Yorkers who allowed Paul Robeson and me in their houses.” Lena, girl, I know how that goes. Growing up as a young blacktress at an NYC private school, it was often an awkward clip from the yet-to-be-released film “Guess Who’s Coming to Seder?”
I think this final paragraph in the article is what warms my heart the most:
Looking back at the age of 80, Ms. Horne said: “My identity is very clear to me now. I am a black woman. I’m free. I no longer have to be a ‘credit.’ I don’t have to be a symbol to anybody; I don’t have to be a first to anybody. I don’t have to be an imitation of a white woman that Hollywood sort of hoped I’d become. I’m me, and I’m like nobody else.”
Even though you’re speaking Sojourner’s Truth, you are indeed like no one else, Ms. Horne. RIP.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Blast From the Past
No, I'm not referring to the movie starring Brendan Fraser and Alicia Silverstone. I'm talking about my lost youth.
I don’t know what’s up with me, but I cannot get early-90s television off the brain--maybe it's some weird PMS thing.
You know you’re hella bored at work when your first thought is, “I wish I could watch Blossom.”
Seriously. This has been nagging me since 10:42am.
Where is Mayim Bialik? Or, more important--where can a blacktress get one of those sweet hats with a flower on the front?
I cannot tell you how many times I sat in my room with my camcorder and recorded my dance moves for posterity. Blossom gets right to the heart of the matter.
I cannot tell you how many times, after a nice Brazilian wax, that I tapped dance on a piano while my dad looked on creepily. (something was going on there, I’m telling you)
Below are a list of other jams I miss--some of it may seem strange to you, gentle readers. I mean, the Cosby Show goes without saying, as does Save By the Bell, not only because everyone misses them but also because they can still be seen on Nick at Nite and TBS.
Oh god--television shows from my youth are now on Nick at Nite. I feel like I'm 72 years old. Here are some dark horses:
My Two Dads (obviously, my mention of it in the last post is what started this trip down memory lane.)
Flash Forward Hello--the old one, not that new ABC crap.
Out of This World (Because I, too, often imagined my absentee father was on a far-off planet, which is why he couldn’t take care of me)
And, of course, A Different World. Oh, how I hoped one day to go to Hillman……
I don't know what this is all about today, but I just really miss the early 90s. It was a simpler time--when Bill Clinton could get beejers whenever he wanted, and a B.A. could actually lead to employment. When , and creepy aliens could live amongst us--it was the kind of change I could believe in, you know?
Sidebar: OMG, New Massa just brought in his BF to introduce to the office. He is soooo hot multi-culti. They're like a silver-fox Benetton ad. SWOON CITY.
I want to spend my nights watching them sleep.
Is that creepy?
I don’t know what’s up with me, but I cannot get early-90s television off the brain--maybe it's some weird PMS thing.
You know you’re hella bored at work when your first thought is, “I wish I could watch Blossom.”
Seriously. This has been nagging me since 10:42am.
Where is Mayim Bialik? Or, more important--where can a blacktress get one of those sweet hats with a flower on the front?
I cannot tell you how many times I sat in my room with my camcorder and recorded my dance moves for posterity. Blossom gets right to the heart of the matter.
I cannot tell you how many times, after a nice Brazilian wax, that I tapped dance on a piano while my dad looked on creepily. (something was going on there, I’m telling you)
Below are a list of other jams I miss--some of it may seem strange to you, gentle readers. I mean, the Cosby Show goes without saying, as does Save By the Bell, not only because everyone misses them but also because they can still be seen on Nick at Nite and TBS.
Oh god--television shows from my youth are now on Nick at Nite. I feel like I'm 72 years old. Here are some dark horses:
My Two Dads (obviously, my mention of it in the last post is what started this trip down memory lane.)
Flash Forward Hello--the old one, not that new ABC crap.
Out of This World (Because I, too, often imagined my absentee father was on a far-off planet, which is why he couldn’t take care of me)
And, of course, A Different World. Oh, how I hoped one day to go to Hillman……
I don't know what this is all about today, but I just really miss the early 90s. It was a simpler time--when Bill Clinton could get beejers whenever he wanted, and a B.A. could actually lead to employment. When , and creepy aliens could live amongst us--it was the kind of change I could believe in, you know?
Sidebar: OMG, New Massa just brought in his BF to introduce to the office. He is soooo hot multi-culti. They're like a silver-fox Benetton ad. SWOON CITY.
I want to spend my nights watching them sleep.
Is that creepy?
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
My New Daddy
So, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this yet, but there’s a new massa in charge of the magazine where I work. This means that I have to pretty much make a new impression and re-prove myself to this person who doesn’t know my worth as a woman of color and a writer. He came on about a month ago, but the old editor-in-chief was still around, showing him the ropes and getting him acclimated. It was a really confusing time, as I wasn’t sure who to direct my queries to or who was actually in charge—I felt like I was on an episode of “My Two Dads.”
What was with that plush car in their apartment? Such a weird situation. IT'S CALLED DNA TESTING, PEOPLE!
Last week was new massa’s first week solo, and we’re all in a tizzy, as we work to bring him up to speed, explain our roles, and keep everything chugging along and meeting deadlines. He and I went to the watercolor event on Friday night, which I was nervous about—I wanted him to know I was an asset to the staff, but also a cool person, because half the time, the difference between a pink slip and a paycheck comes down to who is liked the most. It was also kinda weird, because it was sort of a social event, but I was clearly with my superior—what could we talk about for four hours without veering into non-professional conversation? What if I accidentally revealed the fact that I hate my job sometimes? EEP!!
Well, fortunately for us all, New Massa is great. Imagine Ian McKellan with a dash of Michael Showalter.
I'm sorry, I'd add a pic of Michael Showalter, but I'm too obsessed with Ian McKellan and this apple to place anything next to it that could detract from its amazingness.
Needless to say, we’re getting along swimmingly.
He’s a wonderful gay man with a hot bi-racial live-in bf, and he curses a lot and we crack each other up. When I told him I was nervous about the event and hoped I wouldn’t have to speak, he said he didn’t know what to say, either. I said, “No, I’m the Michelle to your Barack. You take it away, I’ll be in the background with the arms.” He LOL’d like a little LOLcat, and I knew we’d be forever together.
Throughout the event, we chatted about the art, and mix and mingled like a total power couple. I was prompted to sing his praises in blog form because when I went into his office a few minutes ago to share a silly submission (you know the artists like to share their hot messes), he replies with, “Oh, I’m glad you came in, I wanted to tell you a story.”
This story was about a tranny artist he knows who was the son of a preacher, and his father got the whole church to raise money for his kid’s sex change.
Um, can I hang out with my boss every day and be best friends?
Although he’s super cool, I can tell he’s not one to mess around, like most power gays I know. Old Massa had been here 31 years, so he was really chill. He left at 2:30pm, and didn’t stress you as long as your work got done. This was much appreciated, as I aim to take as much time as I need to pursue my (bl)ac(k)ting career. I may have to put the early departures and long lunches on hold for a bit, as New Massa gets comfortable and stops freaking out—but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make if it means we get to talk about trannies in the workplace.
What was with that plush car in their apartment? Such a weird situation. IT'S CALLED DNA TESTING, PEOPLE!Last week was new massa’s first week solo, and we’re all in a tizzy, as we work to bring him up to speed, explain our roles, and keep everything chugging along and meeting deadlines. He and I went to the watercolor event on Friday night, which I was nervous about—I wanted him to know I was an asset to the staff, but also a cool person, because half the time, the difference between a pink slip and a paycheck comes down to who is liked the most. It was also kinda weird, because it was sort of a social event, but I was clearly with my superior—what could we talk about for four hours without veering into non-professional conversation? What if I accidentally revealed the fact that I hate my job sometimes? EEP!!
Well, fortunately for us all, New Massa is great. Imagine Ian McKellan with a dash of Michael Showalter.
I'm sorry, I'd add a pic of Michael Showalter, but I'm too obsessed with Ian McKellan and this apple to place anything next to it that could detract from its amazingness.Needless to say, we’re getting along swimmingly.
He’s a wonderful gay man with a hot bi-racial live-in bf, and he curses a lot and we crack each other up. When I told him I was nervous about the event and hoped I wouldn’t have to speak, he said he didn’t know what to say, either. I said, “No, I’m the Michelle to your Barack. You take it away, I’ll be in the background with the arms.” He LOL’d like a little LOLcat, and I knew we’d be forever together.
Throughout the event, we chatted about the art, and mix and mingled like a total power couple. I was prompted to sing his praises in blog form because when I went into his office a few minutes ago to share a silly submission (you know the artists like to share their hot messes), he replies with, “Oh, I’m glad you came in, I wanted to tell you a story.”
This story was about a tranny artist he knows who was the son of a preacher, and his father got the whole church to raise money for his kid’s sex change.
Um, can I hang out with my boss every day and be best friends?
Although he’s super cool, I can tell he’s not one to mess around, like most power gays I know. Old Massa had been here 31 years, so he was really chill. He left at 2:30pm, and didn’t stress you as long as your work got done. This was much appreciated, as I aim to take as much time as I need to pursue my (bl)ac(k)ting career. I may have to put the early departures and long lunches on hold for a bit, as New Massa gets comfortable and stops freaking out—but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make if it means we get to talk about trannies in the workplace.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Fridays With Artists
Happy Friday, y’all!! The sun is shining, my Jewboo and I made it through our first fight, and my procrastination is in full swing—it feels good to be alive.
Tonight after work is sure to be blogworthy, as I’ll be attending an awards dinner for a watercolor organization. Yes, a watercolor painting organization. For those of you who don’t know, watercolor is the painting medium that’s long been dominated by the Floridian retiree. This is my magazine's target demographic, and as the editor of the mag, it’s now my responsibility to “network with the community.” This means attending events where I’m the only brown person, and the youngest attendee by at least 35 years.
It’s kind of amazing.
After attending the opening-night show three weeks ago, I then went to an artist demonstration, where a rather fatigued old woman leaned over to me and provided color commentary throughout the demo. Her hair was a kind of orange that could only come from a box, and her lipstick was bright as a ripe mango.
I loved her—even when she talked awkwardly loudly.
Throughout the demo, cell phones rang loudly and repeatedly, as the elderly fumbled to find where the noise was coming from, then struggled to silence it. As the artist explained her materials, she mentioned her drawing tool—a negro pencil!! The blacktress bristled, and looked around and realized there were no other negroes around, so no one else seemed to care.
NEGRO PENCIL, Y’ALL!! WTF?!
Tonight’s dinner is sure to be a doozy, seeing as I received a call from one of the planners last week, asking “how you’d like to be introduced….we’ll be announcing attendees of note.” Oh my god, I’m now imagining a debutante-ball-style announcement, with me walking down a center aisle as elderly members of Caucasia provide golf claps.
Guys, I’d like you to know a few things about me:
-I don’t really like my job
(sidebar: just as I was typing the previous sentence, my boss came over to me to give me comments on my editor’s note for the next issue. Awkward Town, population ME!)
-I know very little about art, and even less about watercolor
-I’m a blacktress man, not a watercolorist (said in the voice of Doctor McCoy from Star Trek)
The amount of awkward small talk taking place tonight will be through the roof. It'll be Totes cuckoo bananas. I will try to live tweet it if I can.
How are you doing?
Tonight after work is sure to be blogworthy, as I’ll be attending an awards dinner for a watercolor organization. Yes, a watercolor painting organization. For those of you who don’t know, watercolor is the painting medium that’s long been dominated by the Floridian retiree. This is my magazine's target demographic, and as the editor of the mag, it’s now my responsibility to “network with the community.” This means attending events where I’m the only brown person, and the youngest attendee by at least 35 years.
It’s kind of amazing.
After attending the opening-night show three weeks ago, I then went to an artist demonstration, where a rather fatigued old woman leaned over to me and provided color commentary throughout the demo. Her hair was a kind of orange that could only come from a box, and her lipstick was bright as a ripe mango.
I loved her—even when she talked awkwardly loudly.
Throughout the demo, cell phones rang loudly and repeatedly, as the elderly fumbled to find where the noise was coming from, then struggled to silence it. As the artist explained her materials, she mentioned her drawing tool—a negro pencil!! The blacktress bristled, and looked around and realized there were no other negroes around, so no one else seemed to care.
NEGRO PENCIL, Y’ALL!! WTF?!
Tonight’s dinner is sure to be a doozy, seeing as I received a call from one of the planners last week, asking “how you’d like to be introduced….we’ll be announcing attendees of note.” Oh my god, I’m now imagining a debutante-ball-style announcement, with me walking down a center aisle as elderly members of Caucasia provide golf claps.
Guys, I’d like you to know a few things about me:
-I don’t really like my job
(sidebar: just as I was typing the previous sentence, my boss came over to me to give me comments on my editor’s note for the next issue. Awkward Town, population ME!)
-I know very little about art, and even less about watercolor
-I’m a blacktress man, not a watercolorist (said in the voice of Doctor McCoy from Star Trek)
The amount of awkward small talk taking place tonight will be through the roof. It'll be Totes cuckoo bananas. I will try to live tweet it if I can.
How are you doing?
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Marriage Material
Hey guys. What’s been going on? I feel so out of the loop. The last couple weeks have been totes cray cray, but I’m finally rejoining society—and by that, I mean, going straight home after work and hopping in bed by 10 (Sojo is old, y’all). The major stressor this past week was a friend’s bachelorette party, which somehow I got involved in planning many months ago. At that time, blacktress loved a good party, and with no job and plenty of free time, planning a bachelorette was quite appealing.
No, I’m not in the wedding party.
No, I’m not even that close with this girl. I see her roughly every four months, over a 90-minute dinner in which she often tells me I “seem so much better than last time we talked,” which I guess is supposed to be uplifting, but I don’t really pay attention because she often just gets the high (or, I guess, to be more accurate, LOW) lights over thai food.
Anyway, I digress. I’m not bitter, I swear.
Suddenly, with the bachelorette date of April 24 approaching, I had to put my money (and seriously, I mean my money) where my mouth was, making a customized recipe book that consisted of personalized notes from family, friends, and even the future German in-laws. This wasn't particularly difficult, but it was time-consuming, as I had to find a way to get it done wile doing my 9-5, trying to get my side-hustle stand-up career on, and preparing for my television debut. Needless to say, I was pretty stressed.
But Saturday came, and it was me and 7 future doctors, only one of whom wasn’t in a serious long-term relationship. I planned an evening that started at my favorite wine bar, which was only made awkward by the fact that I’m not drinking at the moment. So, there I sat, as the conversation turned to episiotomies, (click at your own risk!) drinking my mocktail, and wondering why I was destined to die alone and poor. I also made a mental note never to get admitted into a hospital.
Good times.
I then planned for us to head over to a delicious tapas restaurant, where they didn’t take reservations, but told me to just put our names down 20-30 minutes before we were ready. Of course, at that point, the place was nearly empty and the hostess told me not to worry about it. When we got there less than half-an-hour later, however, the place was packed, and we ended up waiting over an hour to sit down. As we waited, we became acquainted with two cheesy d-bags, and, in true blacktress fashion, the baggier of the d-bags took a shine to me. His name was Keith, and he looked like a cross between Andrew Dice Clay and “The Situation,” from The Jersey Shore.
Not cute.
I love "The Dice's" bedazzled vest.
He spent much of the time pestering me to have a drink and telling me I needed to “loosen up,” by which I think he meant, “drop my panties.” He then told me I looked like Kelly Rowland from “Destiny’s Child,” after explaining that his friends tell him he looks like Billy Baldwin. He really brought it home when he said,
“We’re gonna be in the tabloids tomorrow! It’ll say, ‘Billy Baldwin has a case of Jungle Fever!!!”
Um, check please!
Oh wait, it’s 10pm and I HAVEN’T EATEN YET, so I can’t get a check.
The night was quite tame, as you can probably guess from a guest list that includes 6 docs who were either coming off of, or preparing for, an overnight shift. The girls were nice, but as the Maid of Honor and co-planner put it, “they're completely sleep-deprived people, which clearly translates to functioning at a level that hovers below normal humans.”
At the end of the night, I gathered my passport and other paperwork and headed to Greenpoint, BK, to hang out with Jewboo. After being accosted by “The Dice,” it was nice to hang out with a man who respected me despite the fact that my boobs were prominently displayed. The next morning, we had brunch with two of his old friends, and I tried my best to make a swell impression. As expected, the male friend was easy to get along with, quick to laugh, and perfectly content just shooting the shit, while Jewboo’s female friend was a bit quiet and reserved, making me nearly nauseous with nerves.
After that ended, we hung out for a bit, and Jewboo and I took a nap at around 4:30pm—cause we’re classy like that. I was clearly coming off of an emotional hangover of hanging out with the “Grey’s Anatomy” extras and trying to impress bf’s friends and needed to rest. Things were all well and good until I decided to break out my first cry of the new relationship, which we all know is the first nail in the coffin. Afterwards, I wanted to crawl into a hole and die, but I consoled myself with the knowledge that it had taken me 6 weeks to break out the waterworks, which definitely constitutes growth.
As you can imagine, the blacktress has a flair for the dramatic. Part of being a successful blacktress requires an ability to “easily access” one’s emotions, which means I can cry at the drop of a hat. The story of conjoined twins separated, a moving Chris Meloni monologue on “Law & Order: SVU,” or even just a particularly deserving “America’s Next Top Model” winner can bring a tear to a blacktress’ eye.
This easy access to emotions, coupled with my deep-seated need for approval and fear of dying alone means that one sideways glance from Jewboo after hanging out with engaged girls, and I’m blubbering like an idiot, because I’ve failed in my duty gf.
See, I’ve got this twisted perception that I bring two things to the relationship table: orgasms and food. After all, that’s the only reason heterosexual relationships function, isn’t it? Men don’t want to talk about feelings, they don’t want to be challenged in any way, and they don’t really look for a “partner,” so much as easy access to both food and vag….right?
Clearly, I’m a hot mess, suffering the aftermath of an absent father figure. For those of you who are surprised, I suggest you start reading this blog from the beginning.
Anyway, things are okay now, but I spent much of yesterday waiting to be IM’d, and then caving and IM’ing him with a stupid question…because in my head I am a 17-year-old in a CW drama, and I suffer from mild autism.
Anyhoozle, I’m glad that’s all over. Going to bed at 11pm last night was awesome. I feel way more emotionally stable. And even though I haven’t received so much as a “thank you” from the bride-to-be, I don’t mind, because it helps fuel my self-righteous resentment.
I’ve missed you guys. I’ll be back with funnier blog posts soon.
No, I’m not in the wedding party.
No, I’m not even that close with this girl. I see her roughly every four months, over a 90-minute dinner in which she often tells me I “seem so much better than last time we talked,” which I guess is supposed to be uplifting, but I don’t really pay attention because she often just gets the high (or, I guess, to be more accurate, LOW) lights over thai food.
Anyway, I digress. I’m not bitter, I swear.
Suddenly, with the bachelorette date of April 24 approaching, I had to put my money (and seriously, I mean my money) where my mouth was, making a customized recipe book that consisted of personalized notes from family, friends, and even the future German in-laws. This wasn't particularly difficult, but it was time-consuming, as I had to find a way to get it done wile doing my 9-5, trying to get my side-hustle stand-up career on, and preparing for my television debut. Needless to say, I was pretty stressed.
But Saturday came, and it was me and 7 future doctors, only one of whom wasn’t in a serious long-term relationship. I planned an evening that started at my favorite wine bar, which was only made awkward by the fact that I’m not drinking at the moment. So, there I sat, as the conversation turned to episiotomies, (click at your own risk!) drinking my mocktail, and wondering why I was destined to die alone and poor. I also made a mental note never to get admitted into a hospital.
Good times.
I then planned for us to head over to a delicious tapas restaurant, where they didn’t take reservations, but told me to just put our names down 20-30 minutes before we were ready. Of course, at that point, the place was nearly empty and the hostess told me not to worry about it. When we got there less than half-an-hour later, however, the place was packed, and we ended up waiting over an hour to sit down. As we waited, we became acquainted with two cheesy d-bags, and, in true blacktress fashion, the baggier of the d-bags took a shine to me. His name was Keith, and he looked like a cross between Andrew Dice Clay and “The Situation,” from The Jersey Shore.
Not cute.
I love "The Dice's" bedazzled vest.“We’re gonna be in the tabloids tomorrow! It’ll say, ‘Billy Baldwin has a case of Jungle Fever!!!”
Um, check please!
Oh wait, it’s 10pm and I HAVEN’T EATEN YET, so I can’t get a check.
The night was quite tame, as you can probably guess from a guest list that includes 6 docs who were either coming off of, or preparing for, an overnight shift. The girls were nice, but as the Maid of Honor and co-planner put it, “they're completely sleep-deprived people, which clearly translates to functioning at a level that hovers below normal humans.”
At the end of the night, I gathered my passport and other paperwork and headed to Greenpoint, BK, to hang out with Jewboo. After being accosted by “The Dice,” it was nice to hang out with a man who respected me despite the fact that my boobs were prominently displayed. The next morning, we had brunch with two of his old friends, and I tried my best to make a swell impression. As expected, the male friend was easy to get along with, quick to laugh, and perfectly content just shooting the shit, while Jewboo’s female friend was a bit quiet and reserved, making me nearly nauseous with nerves.
After that ended, we hung out for a bit, and Jewboo and I took a nap at around 4:30pm—cause we’re classy like that. I was clearly coming off of an emotional hangover of hanging out with the “Grey’s Anatomy” extras and trying to impress bf’s friends and needed to rest. Things were all well and good until I decided to break out my first cry of the new relationship, which we all know is the first nail in the coffin. Afterwards, I wanted to crawl into a hole and die, but I consoled myself with the knowledge that it had taken me 6 weeks to break out the waterworks, which definitely constitutes growth.
As you can imagine, the blacktress has a flair for the dramatic. Part of being a successful blacktress requires an ability to “easily access” one’s emotions, which means I can cry at the drop of a hat. The story of conjoined twins separated, a moving Chris Meloni monologue on “Law & Order: SVU,” or even just a particularly deserving “America’s Next Top Model” winner can bring a tear to a blacktress’ eye.
This easy access to emotions, coupled with my deep-seated need for approval and fear of dying alone means that one sideways glance from Jewboo after hanging out with engaged girls, and I’m blubbering like an idiot, because I’ve failed in my duty gf.
See, I’ve got this twisted perception that I bring two things to the relationship table: orgasms and food. After all, that’s the only reason heterosexual relationships function, isn’t it? Men don’t want to talk about feelings, they don’t want to be challenged in any way, and they don’t really look for a “partner,” so much as easy access to both food and vag….right?
Clearly, I’m a hot mess, suffering the aftermath of an absent father figure. For those of you who are surprised, I suggest you start reading this blog from the beginning.
Anyway, things are okay now, but I spent much of yesterday waiting to be IM’d, and then caving and IM’ing him with a stupid question…because in my head I am a 17-year-old in a CW drama, and I suffer from mild autism.
Anyhoozle, I’m glad that’s all over. Going to bed at 11pm last night was awesome. I feel way more emotionally stable. And even though I haven’t received so much as a “thank you” from the bride-to-be, I don’t mind, because it helps fuel my self-righteous resentment.
I’ve missed you guys. I’ll be back with funnier blog posts soon.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
THERE WILL BE A BLACKTRESS IN YOUR HOME
So, as you all know, yesterday, I did my first taping for television. What fun!!
I was interviewed by a wonderful, hilarious gay man, who happily let me rant about Celebrity bodies. As I talked, he jotted down notes and smiled encouragingly, much like a mother at her shyest child's recital. (He explained he couldn't laugh out loud because his voice wasn't supposed to be heard on the taping.)
Because I was told to wear "no white, no stripes, no logos, no busy patterns, and no green, because you'll be in front of a green screen," I rolled up in one of my finest blue dresses--you know, with just enough cleave to show I'm a lady in the street, but a freak in the bed. Even though the outfit looked great, the fabric was apparently difficult for the sound guy, who kept coming up to adjust the clip-on mic because he could hear rustling.
Quite frankly, I think he was just using it as an excuse to touch me in the boob area. He had a soul patch, and his name was Mike, and he spoke in an unnecessarily sexy voice, all smoky and low and full of deadpan. I enjoyed messing with him every time he came over to press the mic and come up with new ways to make sure it stayed put. "Are you trying to give me a mammogram, Mike? You're obvi checking for lumps."
He was so not having the blacktress' jest. I think it's cause I was the last interview of the day and they were getting sleepy.
We went through the list he'd gave me, and I had jotted down jokes, and he let me refer to them on set, which was cool. However, it really was the random off-the-cuff stuff that they liked best, such as when I referred to Matthew McConaughey as "a kind of sexy rotisserie chicken. He's always juicy and glistening and in motion, the breasts are highlighted, he's looking succulent."
They also appreciated when I totally went off on a tangent unrelated to beach bodies and explained my theory that Spencer Pratt looks like a Furby.
Srsly, do you see it??? They are both freaking me out!!!!
I left feeling good, with the producer and the makeup artist telling me I was great, and the producer saying--and I QUOTE--"I hope we can get you to do some more of this." I won't know what bits they end up using until it airs, and I won't even know the air date until it's edited, but it's scheduled for June.
Even though some things are up in the air, one thing is for certain: Even if it's just for 12 seconds, I AM GOING TO BE ON YOUR TV.
I was interviewed by a wonderful, hilarious gay man, who happily let me rant about Celebrity bodies. As I talked, he jotted down notes and smiled encouragingly, much like a mother at her shyest child's recital. (He explained he couldn't laugh out loud because his voice wasn't supposed to be heard on the taping.)
Because I was told to wear "no white, no stripes, no logos, no busy patterns, and no green, because you'll be in front of a green screen," I rolled up in one of my finest blue dresses--you know, with just enough cleave to show I'm a lady in the street, but a freak in the bed. Even though the outfit looked great, the fabric was apparently difficult for the sound guy, who kept coming up to adjust the clip-on mic because he could hear rustling.
Quite frankly, I think he was just using it as an excuse to touch me in the boob area. He had a soul patch, and his name was Mike, and he spoke in an unnecessarily sexy voice, all smoky and low and full of deadpan. I enjoyed messing with him every time he came over to press the mic and come up with new ways to make sure it stayed put. "Are you trying to give me a mammogram, Mike? You're obvi checking for lumps."
He was so not having the blacktress' jest. I think it's cause I was the last interview of the day and they were getting sleepy.
We went through the list he'd gave me, and I had jotted down jokes, and he let me refer to them on set, which was cool. However, it really was the random off-the-cuff stuff that they liked best, such as when I referred to Matthew McConaughey as "a kind of sexy rotisserie chicken. He's always juicy and glistening and in motion, the breasts are highlighted, he's looking succulent."
They also appreciated when I totally went off on a tangent unrelated to beach bodies and explained my theory that Spencer Pratt looks like a Furby.
Srsly, do you see it??? They are both freaking me out!!!!
I left feeling good, with the producer and the makeup artist telling me I was great, and the producer saying--and I QUOTE--"I hope we can get you to do some more of this." I won't know what bits they end up using until it airs, and I won't even know the air date until it's edited, but it's scheduled for June.
Even though some things are up in the air, one thing is for certain: Even if it's just for 12 seconds, I AM GOING TO BE ON YOUR TV.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Best Pep Talk Ever
I head off to the VH1 shoot in about 30 minutes, and boy is my stomach in knots! Luckily, I have Kwalsh and JJSiii to give me the boost. I'd like to share with you their words of wisdom--perhaps you can pass it on to a friend in need:
JJSiii:You need to be in my television
Me: I want ot be in your television. As a picture-in-picture box on the lower-right corner.
JJSiii: YES, I WAS JUST THINKING THAT
I want a Sojourner-box.
Ew, that sounds wrong.
But you know what I mean.
KWalsh: you can do this
you're Hilary Swank and i'm clint eastwood
in my 'million dollar baby' scenario
go get 'em champ!
not with the tragic ending of course
With those words of encouragement, I feel strong. I feel solid. I'm ready for my close-up.
But, um, only on my left side, mmkay? That's my good side.
JJSiii:You need to be in my television
Me: I want ot be in your television. As a picture-in-picture box on the lower-right corner.
JJSiii: YES, I WAS JUST THINKING THAT
I want a Sojourner-box.
Ew, that sounds wrong.
But you know what I mean.
KWalsh: you can do this
you're Hilary Swank and i'm clint eastwood
in my 'million dollar baby' scenario
go get 'em champ!
not with the tragic ending of course
With those words of encouragement, I feel strong. I feel solid. I'm ready for my close-up.
But, um, only on my left side, mmkay? That's my good side.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
The Blacktress Goes Global--Fingers Crossed!!!
This summary is not available. Please
click here to view the post.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Thank God It's.....Time For 16 and Pregnant!!!!
Happy Friday, Y'all!!
I've hit a new low in my levels of procrastination. I am about to spend the last hour of work watching this week's ep of "16 and Pregnant" online.
Of course, I will live-blog every moment. Let's do this.
4:35 - Lizzi's from Smithfield, "A small conservative town on the coast of Virginia." Her parents are divorced and she lives with mom, but dad's still on the scene.
"Skylar works at a thrift store and is studying to become a professional glass blower." - Way to pick a winner, sis.
"I love playing in the marching band.... maybe one day I can play in the Virginia Orchestra."
September - 5 Months Pregnant.
- Lizzie dropped out of school and is now homeschooled.
- "I live with my mom and after the initial shock, she's really excited about being a grandma" - Wow! We've got a mother who actually doesn't want to strangle her child. I guess I should be happy, but I'm kinda worried. What sort of dreams did you have for your kid if her high school pregnancy barely raises your blood pressure?
- Luckily, the dad has some sense (um, paging Dr. Phil, I think I know why these two got divorced.) "I thought you were on some kind of contraception," he says, like a rational human being who expected more for his child.
Mom explains: "She was until it came time to have the yearly check up, but she refused to go because she didn't want to have the gynecological exam." - What?! You'll let some dude who works at a thrift store diddle your fiddle, but you won't let a medical professional check under the hood?! You gotta make sure the brakes are working before you take the car for a drive, girl!!!
"I wanted four kids - I'm just going to space them out more now."
"I hope bring pregnant doesn't get in the way of my dreams, cause I've got a lot of plans." - Oh, Lizzie, boo bear, didn't you see season 1?
- Skylar's moving in with Lizzie and her mom and they're turning the spare room into a nursery. - Ooh--look--unlike Leah from last week, they have paint!
(oh god, what's happening to my priorities? I think this show has skewed my perceptions of what constitutes success and happiness.)
- "Are you gonna teach our kid glass blowing?" Way to lift up the next generation, kids.
- "I don't miss public school that much, except I miss my band friends." She and her band homegirl go get pedicures--wow, they are both really blonde and bright-eyed. I guess in Virginia, band girls aren't geeks
Lizzie to her friend: "Do you think I'm ready to be a mom?"
- "Of course!"
Why would her friend lie to her like that? Maybe it's nail polish fumes.
4:43 - They're having a girl, and they're naming her summer! Oh, so sweet. I hope they don't spell it some fucked up way like the rest of the girls. Something cray-cray like, "Somemur"
4:44 - Lizzie's latest delusion: "Everyone thinks I'm going to have to give something up. I'm sure I can play in the Viginia orchestra and still be a mom."
[Oh, I love watching online--no commercial. But it's harder to keep up!]
4:45 - 25 Weeks Pregnant
They go pumpkin picking. "I'm just worried about the money cause you're the only one that's working." - Homeboy works part-time at the thrift store, what did you expect?!
Lizzie practices her flute in her bedroom at home. Cut to Skylar playing terrifying war-like paintball in the Virginia fields.
This is a match made in heaven.
4:46 - Skylar tells his boys he's thinking of proposing to Lizzie! What?! They've been together 8 months. Good lord, why do they feel the need to make one problem even worst?
4:47 - Jessica and Jackie come by in their homecoming dresses. She shows them the dress she would have worn if she wasn't knocked up.
"Don't get pregnant," Lizzie yells after them. HAHA!! Good girl.
"Since I'm not a public school student, I'm missing out on the harvest parade." - Wow, I love how in VA, public school is the total opposite of the way it is in other places --it actually OPENS UP doors. Without public school, you've got nothing.
"I guess parades aren't as fun when you're standing on the sidelines....it really sucked not marching with the band in the parade yesterday."
When were parades ever fun? I mean, besides Gay Pride.
4:49 - Skylar goes to Dad Rick's house to ask for Lizzie's hand in marriage.
"I'm in no hurry for you guys to get married. I'd hate to feel that you think that you have to get married just because you have a child."
I love Rick!!! He is bringing TRUTH to the table. He is totally making me rethink my hatred of men with mustaches. Perhaps his facial hair is where he keeps his wisdom.
4:50 - December, 30 Weeks Pregnant
- Lizzie has no eyebrows, and it's making me uncomfortable.
- "I knew we'd be together, cause I wanted you, and I got you, and I get what I want."
Um, Okay, Lizzie, you're so cool and badass.....and throwing away your LIFE!!!!!
- Skylar's going with his dad to pick up a ring--in a pawn shop, it seems. How can you pick up a ring in a place with guitars on one wall and guns on the other?
- Skylar is taking Lizzie out to dinner at her favorite restaurant - CRAB SHACK!!!!
HIS IS AMAZING.
- I love how their conversations just consist of asking each other questions about how they felt, will feel, and feel now. "Did you think we'd be together this long?"
4:53 - AAAHHHH, Skylar is getting down on one knee!!! He proposed.
"Yes" [she laughs] "You make me giggle."
Um, really? She's such a
4:54 - Lizzie's with her friends getting food. There's one random black boy with 5 white girls. I really hope he's the group gay.
4:55 - "I'm excited because I have the perfect boy, and the perfect ring, and I can't wait to have the perfect baby."
Ew, she's soooooo silly. She thinks love is all sunshine and flowers. She doesn't have a high school education, he probably earns $10/hour, and she has no job prospects and will live with her mother for the rest of her life. Ok, I'm glad she's up-beat and doesn't hate herself, but I do not watch this show to get behind teen pregnancy, people. I'm gonna need her to change her tune real quick.
4:57 - "I never though I'd be wearing an engagement ring at 17--I thought it'd just be my belly ring." - I can't believe this is real.
She inserts the belly ring that just arrived. Inserts it into the button of her pregnant belly. Nothing about this is cute.
4:58 - BABY SHOWER AT SKYLAR'S HOUSE!!!
They get some pretty cool swag. This may be kinda classy.
Oh, wait, they broke out a cake with photos of Lizzie and Skylar as babies. I retract that previous statement.
4:59 - Lizzie's dad makes an announcement. Lizzie has graduated home school and is getting her diploma!
She doesn't seem to be very excited.
5:00 - Uh-oh, some texts are going around saying that Skylar cheated on Lizzie with Krista!
Oh my god, why is every single girl in this town blonde? Like, platinum, "Children of the Corn" type of blonde.
5:01 - Lizzie confronts Skylar about it, and he comes clean!
- "I made a mistake a little while ago...."
OH SNAP!!! TRUTH COMES OUT!
- "It makes me feel stupid, and self-conscious, like it's my fault. Like something I did led you to do that." - Um, Lizzie, you're interpreting this all wrong. You're not stupid for not knowing your man cheated on you. You're stupid for not going to the gyno for your yearly exam so you could get more birth control.
5:10 (Okay, I could go home now, but I'm too sucked into this episode. I just had to pause it to say bye to a coworker, and I realized I should be living a life, but I can't not find out how Lizzie and Skylar handle his infidelity)
- January, 35 Weeks Pregnant
Skylar's out of the house. "I took all his stuff and put it in a box. I don't know, my room got de-Skylar-ized." Hello, grammar humor--someone's graduated home school!!
- "To keep my mind off Skylar, I've been focusing on college...I've decided to put my dreams of playing in the orchestra on hold to go for a stable job as an ultrasound technician."
- She goes to a college counselor to find out what she'll have to do - shit ain't easy!!!
- Now she's willing to give Skylar a second chance -- she knows she can't do this solo (maybe she did watch last week's episode). They're back together, but she's not gonna put her ring back on.
5:15 - 37 Weeks Pregnant - LABOR TIME!
- Lizzie's being relatively calm. It seems like the labor didn't take too long, and Lizzie barely even broke a sweat.
- Now she's breastfeeding. "It's taken an hour, and I haven't been able to eat my food." Um, Lizzie, get used to not being able to do basic things for yourself. "I'm determined to breastfeed, because it's cheaper than formula."
- 2 Days Old - discharged from the hospital!
- 2 Weeks Old. Lizzie's over breastfeeding, and has switched to formula. Way to stick it out, champion!
- They're reeling over the expense of diapers and formula.
5:20 - 3 Weeks Old.
"Tomorrow's my first day back at school and I really need to sleep, but Summer's still not sleeping through the night, which means neither am I." - Um, "still?" She's only 3 weeks old. What on earth did you think would happen?
5:22 - Leah's staring over Summer's crib with her pale skin and jet-black eyeliner. I'm not even a baby, and I'm terrified.
- Aw, Lizzie and Skylar are kinda cute. I love when the teen dads are present.
5:25 - Lizzie's decided to drop out of school. Wow, Summer's not even 4 weeks old. How quickly we flip the script.
5:27 - I love the commercial MTV includes in each episode now: "Teen Pregnancy is 100% preventable. Learn how." Basically, they're saying "These girls are dumb."
5:27 - Lizzie goes to school to drop classes. The registrar tries to persuade her to just put them on hold, or hold off on one. Nope, she won't do it. She's gonna take a 6-week course in medical billing.
5:28 - She goes to tell her Dad, and again, Rick speaks truth and Lizzie CAN'T HANDLE IT!
She's so short-tempered with him, and so smart-assed. I mean, of course, she's a 17-year-old girl who thinks she knows everything, but she's not exactly living the dream and fine on her own. She needs to listen to Rick.
5:30 - Skylar and Lizzie go for a walk, and Lizzie asks him questions about his emotions and tell him what a great dad he is.
Ooooh, wrap up!!
"I had big dreams...but I found out I was pregnant and that dream kind of died...I'm not going to college anymore, I'm not going into music anymore, I'm probably going to be at home longer. It's bummed me out, but then I think of Summer and realize being a mom is better than going out and having fun."
Um, it's not just "having fun," Lizzie - College is learning about yourself, expanding your horizons, and giving yourself the best life you can.
Ugh, okay, at least she's working and her mother isn't trying to cut her, and her baby daddy knows how to change a diaper.
How on earth did procrastinating end up with me staying at work after 5:30 on a Friday? It seems I may not have been as clever as I thought.
I've hit a new low in my levels of procrastination. I am about to spend the last hour of work watching this week's ep of "16 and Pregnant" online.
Of course, I will live-blog every moment. Let's do this.
4:35 - Lizzi's from Smithfield, "A small conservative town on the coast of Virginia." Her parents are divorced and she lives with mom, but dad's still on the scene.
"Skylar works at a thrift store and is studying to become a professional glass blower." - Way to pick a winner, sis.
"I love playing in the marching band.... maybe one day I can play in the Virginia Orchestra."
September - 5 Months Pregnant.
- Lizzie dropped out of school and is now homeschooled.
- "I live with my mom and after the initial shock, she's really excited about being a grandma" - Wow! We've got a mother who actually doesn't want to strangle her child. I guess I should be happy, but I'm kinda worried. What sort of dreams did you have for your kid if her high school pregnancy barely raises your blood pressure?
- Luckily, the dad has some sense (um, paging Dr. Phil, I think I know why these two got divorced.) "I thought you were on some kind of contraception," he says, like a rational human being who expected more for his child.
Mom explains: "She was until it came time to have the yearly check up, but she refused to go because she didn't want to have the gynecological exam." - What?! You'll let some dude who works at a thrift store diddle your fiddle, but you won't let a medical professional check under the hood?! You gotta make sure the brakes are working before you take the car for a drive, girl!!!
"I wanted four kids - I'm just going to space them out more now."
"I hope bring pregnant doesn't get in the way of my dreams, cause I've got a lot of plans." - Oh, Lizzie, boo bear, didn't you see season 1?
- Skylar's moving in with Lizzie and her mom and they're turning the spare room into a nursery. - Ooh--look--unlike Leah from last week, they have paint!
(oh god, what's happening to my priorities? I think this show has skewed my perceptions of what constitutes success and happiness.)
- "Are you gonna teach our kid glass blowing?" Way to lift up the next generation, kids.
- "I don't miss public school that much, except I miss my band friends." She and her band homegirl go get pedicures--wow, they are both really blonde and bright-eyed. I guess in Virginia, band girls aren't geeks
Lizzie to her friend: "Do you think I'm ready to be a mom?"
- "Of course!"
Why would her friend lie to her like that? Maybe it's nail polish fumes.
4:43 - They're having a girl, and they're naming her summer! Oh, so sweet. I hope they don't spell it some fucked up way like the rest of the girls. Something cray-cray like, "Somemur"
4:44 - Lizzie's latest delusion: "Everyone thinks I'm going to have to give something up. I'm sure I can play in the Viginia orchestra and still be a mom."
[Oh, I love watching online--no commercial. But it's harder to keep up!]
4:45 - 25 Weeks Pregnant
They go pumpkin picking. "I'm just worried about the money cause you're the only one that's working." - Homeboy works part-time at the thrift store, what did you expect?!
Lizzie practices her flute in her bedroom at home. Cut to Skylar playing terrifying war-like paintball in the Virginia fields.
This is a match made in heaven.
4:46 - Skylar tells his boys he's thinking of proposing to Lizzie! What?! They've been together 8 months. Good lord, why do they feel the need to make one problem even worst?
4:47 - Jessica and Jackie come by in their homecoming dresses. She shows them the dress she would have worn if she wasn't knocked up.
"Don't get pregnant," Lizzie yells after them. HAHA!! Good girl.
"Since I'm not a public school student, I'm missing out on the harvest parade." - Wow, I love how in VA, public school is the total opposite of the way it is in other places --it actually OPENS UP doors. Without public school, you've got nothing.
"I guess parades aren't as fun when you're standing on the sidelines....it really sucked not marching with the band in the parade yesterday."
When were parades ever fun? I mean, besides Gay Pride.
4:49 - Skylar goes to Dad Rick's house to ask for Lizzie's hand in marriage.
"I'm in no hurry for you guys to get married. I'd hate to feel that you think that you have to get married just because you have a child."
I love Rick!!! He is bringing TRUTH to the table. He is totally making me rethink my hatred of men with mustaches. Perhaps his facial hair is where he keeps his wisdom.
4:50 - December, 30 Weeks Pregnant
- Lizzie has no eyebrows, and it's making me uncomfortable.
- "I knew we'd be together, cause I wanted you, and I got you, and I get what I want."
Um, Okay, Lizzie, you're so cool and badass.....and throwing away your LIFE!!!!!
- Skylar's going with his dad to pick up a ring--in a pawn shop, it seems. How can you pick up a ring in a place with guitars on one wall and guns on the other?
- Skylar is taking Lizzie out to dinner at her favorite restaurant - CRAB SHACK!!!!
HIS IS AMAZING.
- I love how their conversations just consist of asking each other questions about how they felt, will feel, and feel now. "Did you think we'd be together this long?"
4:53 - AAAHHHH, Skylar is getting down on one knee!!! He proposed.
"Yes" [she laughs] "You make me giggle."
Um, really? She's such a
4:54 - Lizzie's with her friends getting food. There's one random black boy with 5 white girls. I really hope he's the group gay.
4:55 - "I'm excited because I have the perfect boy, and the perfect ring, and I can't wait to have the perfect baby."
Ew, she's soooooo silly. She thinks love is all sunshine and flowers. She doesn't have a high school education, he probably earns $10/hour, and she has no job prospects and will live with her mother for the rest of her life. Ok, I'm glad she's up-beat and doesn't hate herself, but I do not watch this show to get behind teen pregnancy, people. I'm gonna need her to change her tune real quick.
4:57 - "I never though I'd be wearing an engagement ring at 17--I thought it'd just be my belly ring." - I can't believe this is real.
She inserts the belly ring that just arrived. Inserts it into the button of her pregnant belly. Nothing about this is cute.
4:58 - BABY SHOWER AT SKYLAR'S HOUSE!!!
They get some pretty cool swag. This may be kinda classy.
Oh, wait, they broke out a cake with photos of Lizzie and Skylar as babies. I retract that previous statement.
4:59 - Lizzie's dad makes an announcement. Lizzie has graduated home school and is getting her diploma!
She doesn't seem to be very excited.
5:00 - Uh-oh, some texts are going around saying that Skylar cheated on Lizzie with Krista!
Oh my god, why is every single girl in this town blonde? Like, platinum, "Children of the Corn" type of blonde.
5:01 - Lizzie confronts Skylar about it, and he comes clean!
- "I made a mistake a little while ago...."
OH SNAP!!! TRUTH COMES OUT!
- "It makes me feel stupid, and self-conscious, like it's my fault. Like something I did led you to do that." - Um, Lizzie, you're interpreting this all wrong. You're not stupid for not knowing your man cheated on you. You're stupid for not going to the gyno for your yearly exam so you could get more birth control.
5:10 (Okay, I could go home now, but I'm too sucked into this episode. I just had to pause it to say bye to a coworker, and I realized I should be living a life, but I can't not find out how Lizzie and Skylar handle his infidelity)
- January, 35 Weeks Pregnant
Skylar's out of the house. "I took all his stuff and put it in a box. I don't know, my room got de-Skylar-ized." Hello, grammar humor--someone's graduated home school!!
- "To keep my mind off Skylar, I've been focusing on college...I've decided to put my dreams of playing in the orchestra on hold to go for a stable job as an ultrasound technician."
- She goes to a college counselor to find out what she'll have to do - shit ain't easy!!!
- Now she's willing to give Skylar a second chance -- she knows she can't do this solo (maybe she did watch last week's episode). They're back together, but she's not gonna put her ring back on.
5:15 - 37 Weeks Pregnant - LABOR TIME!
- Lizzie's being relatively calm. It seems like the labor didn't take too long, and Lizzie barely even broke a sweat.
- Now she's breastfeeding. "It's taken an hour, and I haven't been able to eat my food." Um, Lizzie, get used to not being able to do basic things for yourself. "I'm determined to breastfeed, because it's cheaper than formula."
- 2 Days Old - discharged from the hospital!
- 2 Weeks Old. Lizzie's over breastfeeding, and has switched to formula. Way to stick it out, champion!
- They're reeling over the expense of diapers and formula.
5:20 - 3 Weeks Old.
"Tomorrow's my first day back at school and I really need to sleep, but Summer's still not sleeping through the night, which means neither am I." - Um, "still?" She's only 3 weeks old. What on earth did you think would happen?
5:22 - Leah's staring over Summer's crib with her pale skin and jet-black eyeliner. I'm not even a baby, and I'm terrified.
- Aw, Lizzie and Skylar are kinda cute. I love when the teen dads are present.
5:25 - Lizzie's decided to drop out of school. Wow, Summer's not even 4 weeks old. How quickly we flip the script.
5:27 - I love the commercial MTV includes in each episode now: "Teen Pregnancy is 100% preventable. Learn how." Basically, they're saying "These girls are dumb."
5:27 - Lizzie goes to school to drop classes. The registrar tries to persuade her to just put them on hold, or hold off on one. Nope, she won't do it. She's gonna take a 6-week course in medical billing.
5:28 - She goes to tell her Dad, and again, Rick speaks truth and Lizzie CAN'T HANDLE IT!
She's so short-tempered with him, and so smart-assed. I mean, of course, she's a 17-year-old girl who thinks she knows everything, but she's not exactly living the dream and fine on her own. She needs to listen to Rick.
5:30 - Skylar and Lizzie go for a walk, and Lizzie asks him questions about his emotions and tell him what a great dad he is.
Ooooh, wrap up!!
"I had big dreams...but I found out I was pregnant and that dream kind of died...I'm not going to college anymore, I'm not going into music anymore, I'm probably going to be at home longer. It's bummed me out, but then I think of Summer and realize being a mom is better than going out and having fun."
Um, it's not just "having fun," Lizzie - College is learning about yourself, expanding your horizons, and giving yourself the best life you can.
Ugh, okay, at least she's working and her mother isn't trying to cut her, and her baby daddy knows how to change a diaper.
How on earth did procrastinating end up with me staying at work after 5:30 on a Friday? It seems I may not have been as clever as I thought.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
I Wish I Was Above This Foolery....
but I'm not.
Hey friends!
I'm totes crushing on my new Jew boo. I feel like Ron Burgundy in Anchorman, after he and Veronica take a ride to "Pleasure Town." Like Ron, I, too, want to shout it from the rooftops, but I don't have a rooftop--I have Facebook (you know, the way Ron had a newsroom). Should I let the world know?
But what'll happen once he sees me cry for the first time and realizes I'm a hot ass mess? What a dramatic to-do when I have to change my status back to "single." Imagine all the awkward "likes" and "dislikes" I'll get. Imagine the comment feed--it'll be sad on so many levels.
Ugh. I wish I didn't have the emotional depth of a 13 year old.
Being boo'd up is cool and all, but it comes with it's own set of stresses. Now that I've found the fool, I gotta worry about keeping him--my legs aren't even used to being shaved this regularly.
Sometimes, when I wonder how the heck I got into this REALationship, I'm reminded of the perils of my single life. Take last night for instance.
I was IM'd by a random fella on FB chat (red flag #1 - who uses FB chat for serious?). He's a stand-up comedian I've met a few times over the last few months. The first time, he made quite the negative impression. It was at a party in BK, where me and my homegirl were dancing. This clown comes over to us and starts talking. He seemed normal enough, so we didn't shun him immediately. However, instead of plying us with questions, he proceeds to talk at us -- you know, the way male comedians are wont to do. After getting away from him, I bump into him on the lower level of the party as I'm heading to the bathroom. He comes over to me and after saying something so lame I can't remember it, he runs his clammy palm down my face.
He FACED me.
[not to be confused with the "face, face, face/I give face" that drag queen Bebe raps about in the song "CoverGirl (Put the Bass in Your Walk)"]
Who does that?! Who on earth clogs someone pores with their grubby, unwashed Bushwick hand???
As my friend Adam (you know, the one who went into the heart of Nubia) put it: "That's one of the creepiest things a dude could do without cause."
I ran into this weird toucher a few weeks ago after I hosted a show in Queens. He was sitting with someone I knew, and when the mutual friend introduced us, I reminded him of the "facing." He was not at all surprised or apologetic.
Then, on Easter Sunday, I had a show and he was also on the lineup. This joint appearance led to a facebook friend request from him later that day. Not one to turn down a networking opp, I accepted.
I am now paying for my friending haste.
Last night's chat started off innocently enough, although I was instantly on edge due to the fact that this guy is kind of a d-bag. I try to push him to get to the point, with a "to what do I owe the honor of this IM?" but I'm met with vagueness. Not one to be cocky, I try to see this as an olive branch of friendship--and I do love me some olives. However, I was promptly proved wrong, and reminded that, no matter how unattractive you may think you are, 9 times out of 10, a single dude who speaks to you has a desire to get into your pants. The convo veered in this direction:
Sketchy Stand-up Comedian: So, where you do live?
Me: Harlem
SS: Well there goes trying to charm you into a drink tonight :P"
Good lord. I give a weak "heh," then finally put it out there.
Me: Oh, you... unfortunately, I'm recently off the market.
SS: Just recently?
I say nothing and ask Adam how on earth I can ward off this person who I'll certainly run into at shows in the future. I try to turn the conversation into networking, and he mentions he's jobless.
SS-uC: "you can be my sugar momma if you want. i'll pleasure ya whenever and don't have to tell your bf or whatever this person might be haha"
W
T
F
?
!
See, if I was listed as "In a Relationship" on FB, I probably could have avoided this situation. Then again, Adam (he's my go-to for insights in the Caucasian male mind) reminded me that, "assholes aren't very easily detoured."
What do you think, gentle readers?--you're the boos I can count on to never leave me. Your opinion matters most.
xoxo,
LYLAS
-Blacktress
Hey friends!
I'm totes crushing on my new Jew boo. I feel like Ron Burgundy in Anchorman, after he and Veronica take a ride to "Pleasure Town." Like Ron, I, too, want to shout it from the rooftops, but I don't have a rooftop--I have Facebook (you know, the way Ron had a newsroom). Should I let the world know?
But what'll happen once he sees me cry for the first time and realizes I'm a hot ass mess? What a dramatic to-do when I have to change my status back to "single." Imagine all the awkward "likes" and "dislikes" I'll get. Imagine the comment feed--it'll be sad on so many levels.
Ugh. I wish I didn't have the emotional depth of a 13 year old.
Being boo'd up is cool and all, but it comes with it's own set of stresses. Now that I've found the fool, I gotta worry about keeping him--my legs aren't even used to being shaved this regularly.
Sometimes, when I wonder how the heck I got into this REALationship, I'm reminded of the perils of my single life. Take last night for instance.
I was IM'd by a random fella on FB chat (red flag #1 - who uses FB chat for serious?). He's a stand-up comedian I've met a few times over the last few months. The first time, he made quite the negative impression. It was at a party in BK, where me and my homegirl were dancing. This clown comes over to us and starts talking. He seemed normal enough, so we didn't shun him immediately. However, instead of plying us with questions, he proceeds to talk at us -- you know, the way male comedians are wont to do. After getting away from him, I bump into him on the lower level of the party as I'm heading to the bathroom. He comes over to me and after saying something so lame I can't remember it, he runs his clammy palm down my face.
He FACED me.
[not to be confused with the "face, face, face/I give face" that drag queen Bebe raps about in the song "CoverGirl (Put the Bass in Your Walk)"]
Who does that?! Who on earth clogs someone pores with their grubby, unwashed Bushwick hand???
As my friend Adam (you know, the one who went into the heart of Nubia) put it: "That's one of the creepiest things a dude could do without cause."
I ran into this weird toucher a few weeks ago after I hosted a show in Queens. He was sitting with someone I knew, and when the mutual friend introduced us, I reminded him of the "facing." He was not at all surprised or apologetic.
Then, on Easter Sunday, I had a show and he was also on the lineup. This joint appearance led to a facebook friend request from him later that day. Not one to turn down a networking opp, I accepted.
I am now paying for my friending haste.
Last night's chat started off innocently enough, although I was instantly on edge due to the fact that this guy is kind of a d-bag. I try to push him to get to the point, with a "to what do I owe the honor of this IM?" but I'm met with vagueness. Not one to be cocky, I try to see this as an olive branch of friendship--and I do love me some olives. However, I was promptly proved wrong, and reminded that, no matter how unattractive you may think you are, 9 times out of 10, a single dude who speaks to you has a desire to get into your pants. The convo veered in this direction:
Sketchy Stand-up Comedian: So, where you do live?
Me: Harlem
SS: Well there goes trying to charm you into a drink tonight :P"
Good lord. I give a weak "heh," then finally put it out there.
Me: Oh, you... unfortunately, I'm recently off the market.
SS: Just recently?
I say nothing and ask Adam how on earth I can ward off this person who I'll certainly run into at shows in the future. I try to turn the conversation into networking, and he mentions he's jobless.
SS-uC: "you can be my sugar momma if you want. i'll pleasure ya whenever and don't have to tell your bf or whatever this person might be haha"
W
T
F
?
!
See, if I was listed as "In a Relationship" on FB, I probably could have avoided this situation. Then again, Adam (he's my go-to for insights in the Caucasian male mind) reminded me that, "assholes aren't very easily detoured."
What do you think, gentle readers?--you're the boos I can count on to never leave me. Your opinion matters most.
xoxo,
LYLAS
-Blacktress
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
16 and Pregnant, Special 90-Min Episode!!
This summary is not available. Please
click here to view the post.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)