Greatest Antoine Pic EVER

In between carbo-loading and hydrating last night (gotta prepare for YK2K10!) I came online and saw a link from my girl Scribe, who now exclusively associates me with Antoine Dodson. Homey's on USWeekly's website, talking about the new home he and his family moved into with the help of his iTunes earnings!



I am obsessed with this pose--they look like an early-90s R&B duo. Antoine's got the hips of a 13-year-old Korean gymnast. What is his sister doing with that hair? I bet Antoine braided it, too--he should have known better!


(You can read the entire piece here.)

[Sidebar: Do you even think the Huntsville, Alabama, police are still looking for this rapist? I'm surprised he hasn't come forward and tried to get a cut of the family's earnings. After all, if he'd never tried to get in there, we wouldn't have the Bed Intruder hit we have now.]

Antoine's fierce, but he's more than just a flash in the pan, y'all. In the article he says he plans to return to school. "I signed up to finish my Associate's Degree in business," he says. "That way I can take everything to the next level and be on a more professional level."

His ultimate goal? To "open a salon," he tells Us. "Or a hotel."

I would check into that hotel in a hot second, and I'd have him touching up my roots once a week. Even though Kelly's head is a hot mess, do you see how deep-conditioned his strands look?!

Celebratin' YK 2K10

Hey gang!!

So, I’ve been doing this new thing where I get to the plantation an hour early (and promptly fuck around online), just so I can get a moment’s peace (as my grandmother would say) before the massa and annoying coworkers get here, all up in my George Foreman, demanding my time. The last three weeks have been beyond cray cray, with one of the main editors out because his wife just had twins, our art director transferred to Colorado, and New Massa generally being unpredictable, dramatic, and demanding. I think the highlight was when I got to my desk after Labor Day weekend and saw a postcard on my desk. The picture on the card was of 6 drag queens in a forest on Fire Island. On the back my boss had written:
"Found this card in the local grocery store on the island. Can you guess which one is yours truly?"
Yes, yes I can. The one in light-pink taffeta.
Of course, I love a gay visionary, and if he wasn’t so bitchy and untrustworthy, I’d be in love.

Although the plantation is beating down on me like the hot Mississippi sun, I am pleased to report that things with Jewboo are beyond tender. This past Saturday was our 6 month-aversary, and he took it to the next level by giving me the key to his APARTMENT!!! Um, this is out of control. I have a key to the crib. Granted, a blacktress isn’t liable to be jetting back-and-forth to Greenpoint, Brooklyn, but this means that I can officially be his Urkel, rocking up unexpectedly whenever I want to. This is so perfect for my stalker tendencies.

We look so much alike, y'all. Trust me. It's uncanny.

In addition to giving me the key (a move that is straight out of an episode of Grey’s Anatomy), he’s also making me a mix CD, and rumor has it (from his roommate) that it’s TWO DISCS. Um, I think we all know how I feel about making a mix tape for a lover. It’s so real. And since he’s basically a real-life version of the main character in Nick Hornby’s book “High Fidelity,” I know this is equally important to him.

So, some of you may be thinking, “Um, Sojourner, this is a key and some music—you need to be cool.” To those of you, I say: stop hating on me like Willow Smith; if you’ve been a long-time reader, you know I’ve been through some man hell and we need to praise black Jesus for the little things! And if music and keys don’t move you, how’s about this:

This Friday, at 5:30pm, I board a bus bound for Reading, Pennsylvania, where I will spend the weekend celebrating YOM KIPPUR!!!!

Blacktress is about to Jew it up, y’all!!! For those of you who don’t know, let me copy and paste from good ol’ Wikipedia:
Yom Kippur, also known as the Day of Atonement, is one of the holiest days of the year for Jews. Its central themes are atonement and repentance. Jews traditionally observe this holy day with a 25-hour period of fasting and intensive prayer, often spending most of the day in synagogue services.

Yes, y’all. A lot of my friends are saying this is serious, since Yom Kippur is such a holy day. I must say I’m a bit nervous. According to the Internet, not only can I not eat or drink (not even water!) for 24 hours, I can’t even apply lotions!
Jewboo is about to have a blacktress hungry and ashy up in the suburbs!
I have no idea how I’m supposed to make a good impression under such circumstances. When I don’t eat, I get grumpy as hell, y’all. When I’m dry, I feel unpretty, like TLC. Add to that the fact that I gotta sit up in synagogue for the afternoon and I gotta wonder—are these really the chosen people???

Look at this oil painting from 1878. These peeps look hungry and tired as all get-out. Everyone's leaning on stuff for survival, trying to make it through with their low blood sugar. Matisyahu's standing over the guy with the Talmud (is that what it is? I have no idea), too tired to appropriate hip-hop culture. It's looking bleak.

I’m freaking out about what to wear, and have no idea what food I should bring for dinner on Saturday night, when we break the fast. I even emailed his sister with an SOS, and am waiting for her advice. I’m hoping I can live-tweet the entire experience. Look for the hash tag: #YK2K10 on twitter.com/blacktress!

Mark Your Calendars!!

Cause the next best reality show since 16 and Pregnant is about to hit the airwaves!!!

Check out the trailer:



AAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!! Sister wives!!! 1 man. 3 unattractive women. 13 children....AND HE'S ON THE HUNT FOR A FOURTH WIFE!!!


This is why Mormons can't have nice things.
(I don't even know if he is Mormon, but he lives in Utah, and polygamy is generally associated with them, so even if he isn't, he's tarnishing the rep!)

In the words of one commenter on The Daily News website: "I bet these women have lots of yeast infections."

ColorED Commentary

Hey Gang,

Happy Hump Day!! I usually like to start off the work week with a blog, but there was nothing much to report--until today.

So, I just got back from my 11am Starbucks-procrastination run. I was gone for roughly 14 minutes. I come back to find some emails in my inbox in which our publisher (the magazine's overseer, if you will) suggests I emcee a presentation at our upcoming weekend-long painting event.

His exact description was "the painting smack-down on Friday."
Yes, a painting "smack-down."
(*Rolling my eyes so far I'm looking at my amygdala*)

This is why I like to keep personal and work life separate. After I was put on blast for being a comedian, my office thinks I'm the court jester. What they don't understand is that my humour is usually bitter, racial, sexual, and generally NSFW--even my television debut involved me cupping my own breasts!!

What's worse is that they have me teaming up with my office nemesis. I'm sure I've mentioned her. She's the newest employee who lost me the moment she wore leggings and cowboy boots on her first day of work, and goes further in the red every time she says "Have a good one!" and "bye-ya!" at the end of each day. Oh yeah, and in the morning she says "hiya!" It's like I'm talking to a hostess at Chili's. I just want to shake her and be like, "ARE YOU GOING TO OFFER ME SOUTHWESTERN EGG ROLLS FOR LUNCH??"

What's even better is that she, yet again, put my name in the running for something that I have no interest in doing. Looking back over the previous emails in the chain (that I hadn't been included in), she was first asked to emcee on her own. She writes:

"I think that’d be fun. Though I can’t promise nonstop laughs—that’s [Sojourner's] department!!"

Of course, this prompts the overseer to respond with:

"What if you and Sojourner did this together - treat it like a football game, with an analyst and a color commentator? The two of you would be fabulous!"

I think what he meant was colored commentator.

He even said in one of the previous emails, "Our emcee picture has gotten a bit middle-aged-white-guy heavy. Would you like to do the color commentary piece for the painting smack-down on Friday?"

If I had a nickel for every time things got too middle-aged-white-guy heavy, I'd have $45.30. Am I right, or am I right?

Of course, I can't say no. I'll be attending the entire weekend, and it's not like I have anything else to do at that time. I'm there on the company's dime, which means I'm also on the clock 24/7.
Of course, some of you may be thinking, "that's cool, Sojo! You can use your blackting skills at work!"
But guys, this isn't my forte. The California retiree crowd isn't exactly the blacktress' target audience. They want me to "use my skills," without actually being myself, which is pretty hard work if you ask me. What kind of jokes can I make about oil paint? I'm pretty sarcastic, and don't have the passion for art that my nemesis has--I could end up making fun of her out loud in front of hundreds of Caucasians! It could be the end of the blacktress as we know it!

I kind of want to just act really dumb, like Pepper Brooks in Dodgeball (one of my favorite films--yep, I said it.) This is the moment when Jason Bateman came back for me:



I love when he says "Ouchtown, population you, bro!!!"
There's got to be a way to bring that in to a painting "smack-down". Someone's gonna get cut with a bristle brush, I can feel it!

I'm Livid!

Fellow woman of color and writer Scribe just brought the following hot mess to my attention:

Apparently, in Nettleton Middle School in Mississippi, black students aren't allowed to run for class president, and mixies don't even count!!

Look at the class elections handout, which lets students know their place:


This image is courtesy of Jezebel, where you can also find the more-detailed story.

Of course, the obvious levels of wrongness are in all our faces (if you're reading the blacktress blog, you must be down with equality!). What's most terrifying is that in most middle schools, students have to get parental signatures to engage in extra-curricular activities, including student government. This means that several parents and families saw this paperwork and didn't flinch. They signed little Sally's paper, letting her run for class president. Or, even worse, families of color accepted this statement as well. Of course, there is a group of mixed-race families reacting to this news, but why is this the first time we're hearing about this school and their election system? Is it only because now we're supposedly in a "post-racial" America? It seems like now more than ever, all this hidden racism is coming to light.

I mean, several school-board members, PTA moms, and faculty have held this in place for who knows how long. When a mother of a mixed-race child finally spoke up (her child is White and Indian), she said "They told me that they 'Go by the mother's race b/c with minorities the father isn't generally in the home.' They also told me that 'a city court order is the reason why it is this way.'"
Um, WTF?!

I don't even know what to say. There's nothing funny about this. It's terrifying. It's why I can't ever do a cross-country road trip--there will inevitably be some tiny towns where a blacktress can't afford to have her car break down! This shit is real, people.

Oh, before I go, let me take a moment to jot down a quick letter to our southern friends.

Dear People of the South,
These are the kind of bad apples that spoil the bunch. If you'd like a better reputation among citizens above the Mason-Dixon line, don't do shit like this.
Love,
Blacktress!

Paging Dr. Johnson.....

Happy Friday, y'all!! It's not even 10am, and I'm already shopping on VictoriasSecret.com.
As I look for discounted brassieres to keep my lady lumps supported, I keep toggling back and forth between the VS window, the blog post, and our general email account--that way, if the massa or the overseer comes by, I can quickly look like I'm being useful and not buying undergarments (or looking at porn--these Vicky's girls are soooo sensually posed!).

As I procrastinate, I happen upon the greatest press release this year. Of course, I have to share this with you:

Hi, this is [PR Person] with _____ Media Group.

So many men are fed up with their ‘man boobs’ (‘moobs’). Even women often wish something could be done. The nation will definitely want to hear about this new, quick, and safe procedure, so we would be grateful if you could read the press release below and help us pass this information on. The doctor behind this life-changing procedure has appeared on numerous media outlets. If you are interested in arranging an interview with Dr. Johnson, please contact me directly. Thank you.



FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Dr. Johnson separates the men from the boys - and the men from the men with ‘moobs’.
Women are not the only ones concerned about cup size anymore. Now men can quickly and safely have their breasts, or ‘moobs,’ reduced. Dr. [weirdo freaking me out] offers a procedure to eliminate extra fat from and tighten the skin of the pectoral area. When the fat is gone, so are the moobs. Minus moobs, men look and feel much better.
[Blacktress' note: The word 'moobs' has appeared 4 times in 6 sentences. I'm uncomfortable. I'm also not clear on how he separates men from boys. Are we talking conjoined twins, or just elaborate hazing rituals for new clients? ]

The strictest diets and exercise regimes cannot conquer all moobs: this procedure can. The old stigma of men seeking cosmetic enhancement is gone. Moob reduction was among the most popular elective surgeries in 2009, says the American Academy of Cosmetic Surgery. Dr. J----- combines VibroLipo (Tickle liposuction) with SmartLipo to effectively combat the most stubborn moobs, also known as gynecomastia. The recovery period is brief - most patients can return to work the next day. They feel better about their bodies just as soon.

My goodness! It would seem that as I sit at my desk, trying to find products to help me tame my stubborn boobs, many of the nation's men are struggling with their own breast issues!! Although I can try to relate, my problems with this press release are manifold. Let me break it down:
- I work at an ART magazine. We in no way advertise or target our product toward men seeking breast-reduction surgery. How on earth did we get on this PR company's mailing list, and why would they think we'd be interested in such a thing?
- Look, I love a good portmanteau as much as the next grammar nerd. It was kinda cute when the press used the term 'brangelina'; it was saccharine when the freakish couple 'TomKat' came on the scene. But it started getting annoying when people called male nannies 'mannies,' and now MOOBS is just out of control. I don't know why any medical professional would want to be affiliated with creating a ridiculous word of this nature. His credibility has instantly been undermined. Imagine swirling your brandy glass at a dinner party while the guy next to you says, "I just saw Dr. Johnson--he's a leading moob specialist."
Um, I have to go....over there.
-I love how the PR guy says "the national will definitely want to hear about this..." Um, I'm not quite so sure about that. The nation? Really? I think there may be more pressing news briefs that warrant national attention.
- "The most stubborn moobs" -- hahahaha!!!

My mother loves Antoine more than me.

So you know how my mom is gangsta, right?
(If you don't, check out the post on her love of Ludacris)
Well, clearly I thought Antoine Dodson (my gay icon) would appeal to her greatly, and when she came over Tuesday and told me she'd never heard of it, I rushed to bring my laptop to her. By the end of the night, she was walking up to bed singing "run and tell dat, run and tell dat, homeboy...."
She was hooked on the Dodson!

I've never thought my mother and I had much in common, but it would seem the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. This morning, I was awoken by a phone call from madukes. I was still groggy and didn't pick up, but she's not a quitter--her missed call was quickly followed by a text message. It read:
"Turn 2 channel 4 run tell dat"

Oh god, did my mother learn how to text from one of her teen-mom clients in the family court? Of course, much in the way she can decipher my grandmother's ramblings, I knew immediately what she meant--Antoine Dodson was on The Today Show.
I laughed and rolled over, marveling at how quickly I created a monster.

When I rolled in to work at 9:05 (child, I am so done with this place) my phone was already ringing--it was madukes! I had to at least try to look productive, so I let it go to voicemail. Later, I heard the following message:

"Hey, it's me. Did you get my text this morning? Antoine was on the Today Show this morning, and he was looking good. I guess he was just caught out on a bad hair day when they tried to rape his sister, cause he had his blow out working and, like, a two-layer shag happening. And he was very articulate. He's gonna have a reality show in a minute, I swear... So, okay, that's all. I just wanted to run tell dat [laughs]. Love you. Bye." *click*

I swear to god, this woman never ceases to surprise me. She loves Luda, she's down with Antoine, and she totally said he was articulate in a really shocked tone of voice. Working with abused and neglected kids in family court, madukes knows her own personal Antoines, and I think his story's touched her, like it's touched so many others--including this fool:


THIS HAS GONE TOO FAR!!!
Antoine is taking over people's minds! He's acting as a totem--he's reminding us all to hide yo' husbands, cause they rapin' e'erybody out there!!

I wonder if this is my mom's arm. I wouldnt' put it past her, seeing as I came home from a college visit my junior year of high school to find that she shaved her head, and came home during winter break my sophomore year to see she'd gotten a tattoo on her shoulder. Homegirl is super random.

No, that forearm's not hers--it's way too beefy and light. Whew!

Just Another Manic Monday

Good lord, I am so behind on bloggery. Last week was straight-up cray cray, with the overseer from our Colorado office in two for two days, the news that my favorite coworker (well, his kids and wife are my favorites--you know, the ones I've babysat for in Queens) is being transferred to Colorado, and that a staff member who'd been on deck 31 years was "dismissed, effective immediately," for no substantive reason.

I could barely get a blog in edgewise, and the next thing you know, it's August 23!

So, for those of you who missed it, my television debut was 20 seconds of pure magic. They indeed used the part where I called Matthew McConaughey a sexy rotisserie chicken.
I don't know what's worse--that I also cupped my breasts for emphasis on national television, or that the Jewboo's parents also watched this.

Speaking of Jewboo, we had dinner with his parents on Friday, and his mother is revealing herself to be quite the strong black woman. Not only does she always have her nails did (red tips), but she's a teacher who has no tolerance for foolishness! Jewboo actually left me alone with them for 40 minutes when he had to skidaddle post-dinner for his show.
Suddenly, I became terrified of being super awkward and saying something inappropriate like, "I've planned my wedding to your son. Do you need me to convert?"
Luckily, I kept it cool and PG, and they mostly just asked me why he's FUNemployed.
They even asked me if I wanted to come over for Yom Kippur to break the fast with them--they are totally making me a member of the tribe. Unfortch, that's a crazy time at work and there's no way massa will let me off the plantation--even if it is on a Friday.

What I like about them is that they are super welcoming, and although they are older members of Caucasia, they don't say things like, "I didn't think you'd be black because you didn't sound black over the phone!"
Which is what was said to me BY AN ARTIST I INTERVIEWED LAST WEEK.
Yes, child! In 2010!
And what's the real kicker is that he's all about painting brown people and doing social-realist work. He even used to illustrate books for African-American authors. And homey had the nerve to sit next to me and basically tell me that he didn't think I was black because I sounded educated.

I swear, if we weren't in a shitty economy, I'd be out of here. Fortunately, momma didn't raise no fool, so I know to keep my bitterness to myself--unlike a certain scientist who works at UC Berkeley.
Dr. Tyrone Hayes (no relation to singer Isaac) was called out for sending a series of angry, misspelled emails to employees at Syngenta, a chemical company that manufactures atrazine. He's been against the use of atrazine (an herbacide used by corn growers) for years, but there's no change in legislation and use. So, finally fed up, he decided to take his beef to the streets--via email, the way all scientist thugs do. Featuring quotes from various rap songs, these emails really "sounded black"--so those Syngenta scrubs knew who they were messing with. Dr. Hayes' PhD must be a Playa-hating degree!!

First of all, look at this man's hair:

I can't handle this truth!!! He needs to at least deep condition his jam if he's gonna let it all out like that!

Then he sends the following emails (just two of many many more):
On Feb. 13, 2009, he says:

aww shucks … I’m bouta’ handle my biz right now
see you bucked…wondering…”what it is right now?”
ya outa’ luck…bouta show you how it is right now

see you’re ****ed (i didn’t pull out) and ya fulla my j*z right now!

In another from 2008, Hayes writes (apparently in response to a public statement from a Syngenta spokesman):

tell your little lap dog to wear knee pads next time and wipe the *** from
his mouth before he steps up to the mic.

"Steps up to the mic"? Are they in some sort of rap battle? Is Syngenta aware of this? I highly doubt it.

You can read all the emails he sent here. He quotes the greats, you guys--Luda (my mom's fave), Tupac, and HIS OWN FATHER (Romeo Hayes).

Thanks to his antics, black folks won't be getting PhDs at Berkeley for a good three years!
WHO ON EARTH QUOTES RAP LYRICS ABOUT HIS JIZ???

Who Says the 13th is Unlucky?

Today is turning out to be amazing, guys!!!

Not only do I have a stand-up show tonight at 8pm in Williamsburg (The Cove, 106 N. 6th Street!), but the VH1 show I filmed an interview for back in April airs TONIGHT AT 9PM!!

The producer told me that the last time he saw a rough cut, I was in 2 segments, which could total a whole 30 seconds!!! Guys, this is the beginning. Let's make a note for my E! True Hollywood Story. Title: The TRUTH Behind Sojourner.

Of course, I tossed and turned all night, like a kid amped for the first day of school. Will I be on tv? What bits should I do tonight for the show? My mind was all in a tizzy!
(It could also have something to do with the fact that I need to get some action from Jewboo--he's soooo classy, not "just using me for my body," and being perfectly content to talk on the phone for an hour when we can't see each other.)

As I sat at in my veal pen (cubicle) jotting down notes for tonight's set, I received the most amazing email from elite gay visionary JJSiii. Just when I thought this day could get no better, I read:

Jennifer Love Hewitt and Betty White to star in Hallmark Hall of Fame movie

Jennifer Love Hewitt is back at CBS -- and she's bringing along media superstar Betty White.

Hewitt and White are set to star in the "Hallmark Hall of Fame" movie "The Lost Valentine," set to air in early 2011 (if the title's any indication, perhaps in February). Hewitt will also exec produce the movie, which will shoot in Atlanta this fall.

Based on the novel by James Michael Pratt, "The Lost Valentine" will star Hewitt as a journalist working on a profile of a woman (White) whose husband was declared MIA during WWII.

Darnell Martin ("Their Eyes Were Watching God") will direct the longform; scribes Ernest Thompson and Jenny Wingfield are adapting for TV. Joining Hewitt as exec producer is Brent Shields; Andy Gottlieb and Barbara Gangi are producers.

For those who also think this is too good to be true, here's the source.
You know how I feel about JLH and Lifetime. Clearly, the success of The Client List was so great that they had to have her back for yet another picture.
I have no problem with this at all.

Anyone who can handle Zora Neale Hurston is way too qualified for a Lifetime joint starring JLH. This means it will be over the top, super-emo, and there will be intense racial moments. I hope Aisha Tyle pairs up with JLH (you know, like they did back on season 1 of The Ghost Whisperer) to keep her in check when she starts going back in time to WW2.

Betty White can do no wrong.

Happy Friday, y'all!! I gotta go back to procrastinating!

I Can't Handle This Man

I was alerted to this video by one of my main gays, and as I watched with my mouth hung open, I realized I had to share this with you, my favorite people. The man in this video is an "ex-homosexual," and he would like to share the gospel of Jesus Christ. Please, listen in:



In addition to being terrified by his intense misinformation and narrow mindedness (being gay has to do with being "fatherless"?), I have a few thoughts:

1. Note the soul patch. Ew.
2. One word: ASCOT! Unless you are Freddie from Scooby Doo, you cannot rock that look. If you're not stopping Old Man Withers from ruining the amusement park, you need to let your neck show.
3. Around minute 3, you can hear him snap his fingers. I'm sorry, but you are not free of the "gangrene" if you're still snapping for emphasis, my friend.
4. I love when he says his wife is "9 months pregnant"--I think he just pulled what little he knows about women's bodies out of the ether. Like, "see how straight I am--she's 9 MONTHS PREGNANT. LIKE, REALLY PREGNANT. LIKE, SPERM HAS BEEN INSIDE HER A LONG TIME."
5. He was "celebrated" in the Castro? For what? For having a man? Where's my parade float?!
6. If I'm ever sleeping with a man and he screams "JESUS!!!" intensely, and begins thanking our Lord and Savior, I'm going to have to "call a spade a spade" and kick his ass to the curb. I mean, Sojourner may be good, but I'm not that good.
7. Is that a red velour jacket?


I have no problem with religion or Christians, but if this isn't throwing stones in a glass house, child, I don't know what is.

I bet he watches "New Moon" three times a day just to see shirtless Taylor Lautner.

Thanks, JJSiii!!!

This is why black people can't have nice things.
Yep. I said it.

(Image courtesy World of Wonder)

The NEW Alabama Slamma!!

Hey y'all.
One of my soul sisters and fellow freedom writers just brought a late-breaking news item to my attention, and I must share it with you all.

Have y'all heard about Antoine Dodson, the Huntsville Alabama native who saved his sister from an intruder who attempted to rape her in her house?!

Um, I am kind of obsessed with him:



He is for serious!! HIDE YOUR HUSBANDS, CAUSE THEY RAPIN' EVERYBODY!!!

I think my favorite part is when he says to the camera, neck in full swing, "you are so DUMB." It's just, like, the most real, true, honest emotion I have ever seen on screen.

Not to mention Kelly's tone--she's like, "some idiot tried to rape me," as if someone just, you know, ruined her day. Some dumb neighborhood kid left a bag of poo on her doorstep or bashed her mailbox with a bat--you know, just an idiot!

Antoine's bringing a strong message, and the world has to know. So, to make it even clearer--and something no one can ever forget--a remixed version has been created. You'll be tapping your feet as you remember there's a rapist on your street (see, he's even got me rhymin' in bloggery!!!):



Antoine, I love you. I already sent this to my buddy who works at FUSE network--we're gonna take this to the top!

They Should Call It 'ALL UP IN MY FACEbook'

Facebook is out of control.
Okay, I know, that’s not exactly the biggest truth-bomb I could drop on a Monday—I’m fatigued, bear with me.

But, seriously, it’s just too much. Since the inception of facebook, I’ve been careful who I friended. But now, like in the film INCEPTION, the world as I know it is topsy-turvy, and all bets are off. I’m using it to network in the comedy world, I’ve got people I was “friends” from when FB started in my college days, and I’ve got the randoms I met while living inside Caucasia. At first, it was kinda cute. You know, when I got a friend request from a former camper I tended to many summers ago. But just a couple days ago I got a request from someone who vaguely resembles the dude who stood next to me in line at a UCB show but whom I didn’t exchange words with. That’s just creepy.

I’d done a pretty good job of avoiding coworkers and family for quite a while, but in the last year I haven’t been able to help it (nothing makes for an awkward family reunion quite like explaining why you rejected your uncle’s friend request). Every time I think I’ve put the lid on it (i.e. updated my privacy settings), facebook blows the whole thing wide open, and everyone’s all up in my business. Or worse—I get TMI about them.

Of course, this leads to hours of procrastination looking at wedding and engagement photos. But it also means that the details of my tween cousins’ lives pop up on my screen almost every time I log on. And, quite frankly, it’s about as interesting as an episode of Hannah Montana. Take, for instance, cousin Danielle’s latest activity, which takes up my whole mini-feed:


Danielle Likes Its stupid when someone texts you first and they never reply after you text them back
Yes, yes it IS stupid.

Danielle Likes I wanna meet myself as someone else just to see what it feels like :D

What does that even mean???

And another stumper:
Danielle likes *looks at hot boy* *looks at best friend* Best friend-"I KNOW!" :)

I tell ya, the kids today. I just don’t get ‘em.

Danielle Likes No mom, you're mad because you're wrong, not because i am talking back….

Oh, and this one has to be my favorite:
Danielle likes Sometimes your knight in shining armor is just a retard in tin foil
Uh-oh, look at the tweens telling a little TRUTH!!!


Okay, so in summation – facebook’s annoying, teenagers annoying, and I can’t stop thinking about Inception.

The Client List--Lifetime's Guide to Being a Woman

God bless Lifetime Television. They have heeded the call for access to female stories of tragedy and provided live streaming movies—including the latest, featuring my favorite gal, Jennifer Love Hewitt. I was unable to watch it last Monday, when it first aired, as my job required I go to Pennsylvania to attend an art workshop. Because my company is super cheap and my boss has no regard for anyone's safety or comfort, I stayed in the home of the lovers Jim--two gay retirees, one of whom was leading the workshop I was covering. They were quite nice--although I was a bit put off when they sent me to bed with a book written by Jim #2's sister-in-law, which told the story of "a slave girl and her relationship with a white woman."

Um, okay..... Why do I still work here?

Anyway, not only were 48 hours of my life taken away, but I missed The Client List!! Luckily, I was able to watch it online, and provide live bloggery. Enjoy!

00:00 We open with honky tonky music and scenes of the south. Jennifer Love Hewitt’s EXCELLENT southern drawl fills my ears.
LIFETIME MOVIE LESSON #1, courtesy of Jennifer Love Hewitt: JLH to her young daughter, who doesn’t want braces: “no matter what you want to do, it’s better to be pretty. It does a girl no good to be ugly.”
Thanks for the pearls of wisdom!!

01:56 JLH’s mom is played by Cybill Shepherd—classy!!!
02:27 LIFETIME MOVIE LESSON #3: JLH, to her mom, before she heads to the bank with her husband to ask for a loan.
“I read that the smell of pumpkin increases the blood flow to a man’s you-know-what, faster than anything.” – This is the key to beating the economic crisis, people!!
04:05 They’re in economic troubles!! She can’t do her physical therapy work, and his knee problem means he can’t do his construction!
JLH leans over the banker’s desk, to reveal her cleavage. Thanks for the close-up on the rack, LT-TV.
05:05 JLH to the loan officer: "What about the government bailing you out to bail us out??"
JLH is making a searing comment on the economic crisis!!!
06:09 JLH recounts the exact words and outfit of the banker on the day he promised their life would be okay. I’m assuming her freakish photographic memory will come in handy when she starts outing her rich sugar daddies.
06:53 LIFETIME MOVIE LESSON #4: “Men are easy. 'I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, I’m horny.'”

08:40 – JLH goes to Lareena, TX, to follow up on a massage therapist job!!
Two scary-looking women give her the job right away.
LIFETIME MOVIE LESSON #5: Women with bright-red hair can’t be trusted.
10:40 – “Daddy, what’s a hoo-ha?” a young son asks. Everyone cracked up at that one!!!
11:06 – JLH goes to the back of the massage parlour to meet the other girls. There’s a girl who doesn’t look a day over 12, and suddenly JLH gets a bit suspicious (it’s all very “I know what you did last summer”). When asked if the other girls are trained massage therapists, she’s sent over to a “two-way room” to watch exactly what goes on. CUE POT-BELLIED MIDDLE-AGED DUDE getting a handy.
The close-up on JLH's troubled face is intense!!
13:25 – JLH is talking to the Jesus figurine on her dashboard, asking for advice as she drives home—scratch that—to the bar, to pick up her drunk husband!!!
LIFETIME MOVIE LESSON #5 – Jesus is my homeboy!!
14:45 – JLH sounds SOOOOOOO SOUTHERN!!
She gives herself a pep talk: “you’re Samantha dale hornton. You’re the prettiest girl this town ever seen, and you get everything you want!!”
16:23 – It sucks being the golden girl and guy of the high school, unable to reach those football dreams!
JLH and her husband don’t even have money for gas to get home. She’s on the brink.
LIFETIME MOVIE LESSON #6:“this is America—a girl this pretty, she’s not supposed to be poor!! I know that sounds braggy and awful, but it’s true…. I am Sam Hornton….I do not let life get me down!!”
17:54 – That’s all it takes to call the massage parlour and get back on the payroll.

21:01 – JLH gets her stripper name. “We’re gonna call you Brandy, cause you look like you go down real smooth….”
We learn a bit more about the other girls at the parlour: “Jenny used to be a bounty hunter”— Um, what?! When asked how they can do this, they all say, in unison: "It beats the hell out of waitressing”
The freakishly young one, who looks like a slutty Dorothy from “The Wizard of Oz” tells her: “I ran away from home to try out for American Idol,” – AMERICAN IDOL TURNS PEOPLE INTO PROSTITUTES!!!!
23:47 – Jennifer Love Hewitt gives her first massage, and ends up giving romantic advice to her client. She then takes her phone to talk to her kid, who won the spelling bee. She is SO BAD AT BEING A PROSTITUTE!!!
25:30 – He gets ready to leave, and JLH gets naked.
25:54 – JLH talks to Jesus on the dashboard, explaining the money, and that she'll only do it for a little while. But Jesus is clearly judging, and she has to pull over to vomit.
26:57 – She goes to her friends bar for “girlfriend talk.” Since when does revealing you’re a prosti-mom count as “girlfriend talk”?
Of course, her friend is shocked, and JLH responds to her look with. “I was just hoping for some sympathy. I thought Pretty Woman was your favorite movie.” Luckily, her friend gets it. “When you work in a bar, you stop judging people.” Really? When I worked in a bar, I was Judge Judy!!

Two gals, just having a chat about one's foray into a prostitution ring. Girl Talk!!!

29:30 – JLH comes homes with presents for all. When hubby asks if they can afford it, he seems relatively satisfied with “We can now.” Um, I know he was playing football all through high school, but how dumb can you be?

[The next minute is a montage of JLH entering her massage room in various slutty outfits, then dropping money on the banker’s desk to pay for her house, then taking her daughter to the orthodontist, then getting bling from customers]

31:58 – LESSONS FROM LIFETIME #7, JLH to her gal pals over lunch: “I love having money. You know I’ve always dreamt of never having to look at pricetags.” MONEY IS THE KEY TO HAPPINESS—oh, and remember to always dream big!

33:04 – JLH and hubby in bed. He’s hurt because she’s the breadwinner and he’s not. She offers him a massage—after all, it’s how she’s making her money!
34:48 – JLH walks into her room and finds the husband of someone she knows. She kicks him out—she’s still classy!!
36:16 – It's Christmas. She gets her husband a brand new motorcycle. Um, ok, how is no one questioning the fact that a masseuse in East Texas is making enough money to buy motorcycles and fancy bling?
37:35 – Slutty Dorothy sees the pastor from her church in a private room!!! OH GOD, EVEN MEN OF THE CLOTH HAVE SEX!!! She runs outside, disgusted, and JLH encourages her to get out the business, and head home.
“I can’t go home, and Idol auditions aren’t for another 6 months.” Yep, that’s it, slutty Dorothy—stick it out til Idol
39:40 – Dorothy goes to the Christian Ministry across the way and speaks to the preacher at the door. “I think god wants me to tell you what’s going on at the massage parlour across the way.”
40:32 – Sam arrives at her son’s game and she’s late!! Oh, the guilt, as evidenced in the spinning close-up camera!! She talks about how she’s tired of being tired.
42:00 – 43:30: Two other girls watch JLH in her private room, to see “why she’s busy as popcorn” (What does that mean??). Well, turns out that awesome memory we saw in the opening scene helps her remember everything about her clients, which is why they love her. She basically gives them The Girlfriend Experience.
44:45 – One of her doctor-clients offers her up some coke, so she can stay awake. She declines, but of course, like every beguiling tempter in a film, the doctor leaves the baggie there—you know, just in case. And, like every woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown, JLH puts it in her bag—you know, so the story can continue to get worse.
45:36 – JLH is face-down on her bed, and her daughter wakes her up to tell her to get ready for the bakesale.
How late is she ‘tutin’? I’m not clear on the hours, but I guess giving jobs and acting like you like sex with strangers is tiring, even if she only does it for 9 hours a day.
After slapping herself repeatedly to wake up, and closing her eyes, she says aloud, “whew, I’m tired.” Thanks for the clarification, Lifetime writers!
47:14 – JLH looks at her bag—clearly, where the coke is. She stares it down before reaching for it.
47:32 – The whole family wakes up to the world’s most amazing castle-shaped cake.

THESE ARE THE THINGS YOU CAN DO ON COKE, PEOPLE!!! GET TO SNIFFIN'!! THE BAKESALES OF THE WORLD NEED YOU!

48:00 – JLH sniffs for the next 25 seconds. She’s doing coke, get it?
48:43 – 49:20 – JLH sits at home with the kids. She's short-tempered and tired. Addiction, here we come!!
49:55 – JLH walks into her doctor-client’s room, asking for coke all shaky-like. She tells him she’ll “make it worth his while” if he can get it quickly!!
LESSON FROM LIFETIME #8 - It only takes 50 minutes to become a crack-whore!

51:32 – JLH is in the doctor’s office with her daughter, and takes her to the bathroom so she can pee in the cup (the daughter, not JLH). When the daughter says she can't pee, JLH loses her mind like a Jerry Springer guest!!
51:57 –Bedtime with the hubby. He tires to initiate sex, and JLH says, “not tonight, I just can’t.”
There’s nothing that hurts a former football star more than being rebuffed in the bedroom!! This is the beginning of the end, y’all!
53:17 – JLH is meeting with a client, and the police burst in!!! AAAHHHH!!!! This IS the beginning of the end!!!
54:23 – Cut to the local bar, where the husband watches the game with friends. Apparently, you can interrupt a national football game for late-breaking news, such as busting the local prostitution ring. They see Sam being taken out of the spot in cuffs!!! Aw shit, she was just put on blast!!
55:59 – Her friend, Dee (you know, who loves Pretty Woman) leaves the bar. She’s in the car with JLH, who looks broken down. Like, even more broken down that in I STILL Know What You Did Last Summer. She gets out of Dee’s car, and goes inside. AAAH, I AM SO NERVOUS!!!

57:09 – She walks into a dark house. Her husband turns on the light from his armchair. You know he’s pissed if he’s been sitting in the dark, all creepy-like.
57:43 – Lessons from LIFETIME #9: JLH, to her husband. “Yell at me, swear at me, hit me—I don’t care.”
When you want to get your man back, offer him the chance for physical violence!!! It’s the way to save a marriage.
58:20 – He just breaks down and cries—then tells a story about putting their dog down at the vet. I think the dog is a metaphor for their relationship. Wait, no—it’s a sign of how he used to love her strength. Now, she’ll be forever remembered as a prosti-mom. (sidebar: JLH has excellent crying chops. )

1:00:00 – Cut to a video on the tv—the 1999 Miss Bixby Hills beauty pageant. JLH is watching her pageant video for a little bit of a pick-me-up. “I just wanted to revisit a time in my life when I felt like I was doing everything right.” Ugh, I know how that goes, Jennifer. Sometimes, when I’m feeling awfully low, I just pop in the 5th grade spelling bee and mouth along with some of my best spelling.
1:02:00 – JLH Is in her black friend’s office—she’s a lawyer! She’s looking at 2 years in jail! That is, unless…. “did you have any clients that were prominent members of the community?” She hems and haws until her friend mentions her kids. “We need good names, Sam—we need our Eliot Spitzers and Tiger Woods.” SO TOPICAL!!!
1:05 – JLH proceeds to write down names. Cut to the conference room, where the ‘tutes sit around the table, naming names. There are 69 names on the list! How appropriate!
1:07 – Cut to folks all over town, talking about who may or may not be on the list.
1:08 – LESSONS FROM LIFETIME #10 - ALWAYS MAKE YOUR CHILDREN FEEL CALM. JLH says to her children: “No matter what happens to me, I want you to know my life has been very full because I brought the 3 of you into this world.”
The kids go to the car, and Rex stands with his back to her. He’s got a lone, Navajo-style tear.

1:11 – Thank god there are only 17 minutes left of this.

1:12 – Cybil Shepherd is at the dinner table, and JLH walks in.
“Thank god your father’s dead!” she says.
LESSONS FROM LIFETIME #11 , Courtesy of Cybil Shepherd. “I think my problem is, I gave you too much self-esteem. You were so pretty and so bright, I thought you’d be Miss Texas, or go to Hollywood, or marry a rich man.” - When you’re attractive and somewhat intelligent, the world can be your oyster!!!
1:16 – Women are in the courtroom. JLH has got way too much cleavage out for a court date!! Look:
1:17 – The women get processed as we hear a preacher’s sermon, all about FORGIVENESS.
GET IT????
Seeing JLH behind bars effects me less than the Perdue commercials they keep showing between segments.
1:18 – 5 weeks later!
JLH, looking fresh as a daisy, walks into the kitchen. “It just too darn quiet in here, it’s not natural for a mother of three to be this quiet.”
It’s so boring not having kids or johns.
A car is heard outside. Fancy local women come to the door, and want to talk to her. Why on earth would she let them in her house?!
1:21 – The women want to know how she gets their husbands so excited!! They want tips!
JLH picks up a banana and an apple, and gets to work.

1:22 – Cut to JLH waitressing with the prostitute that used to be a bounty hunter! They celebrate JLH’s birthday with a cupcake--That they SPLIT WITH TWO FORKS
LESSONS FROM LIFETIME #12: No matter what you’re going through, you are NOT ALLOWED TO EAT A WHOLE CUPCAKE, FATTY!
1:25 – Cybil says that maybe she shouldn’t have put all her stock in her daughter’s looks!
1:27 – JLH and hubby Rex share a tender conversation, as we fade to black.
EVERYTHING’S GOING TO BE OKAY!!!!

Whew, what a wild ride. I learned a lot from The Client List and I hope you did, too.
I'm gonna go read some Heidegger, to try and grow back the brain cells I just lost.
Happy Monday, gang!

Best Query Ever/To Good to Be True!

As you all know, I work at a magazine that covers art. You know, fruit in bowls, landscapes, that sort of thing.

Well, today I just got the best email from a freelancer ever:

To Whom it May Concern:


I am contacting you to inform you that I am available for part time free-lance writing for your magazine.

A little about me: I am an award-winning writer and actress. My inspirational journal THOUGHTS OF A STRIPPER: A Mother's Story is now available.

A successful actress in independent film, I have starred and have been the subject of several independent films that have screened at over 300 film festivals worldwide. Award-winning films include PHONE SEX GRANDMA, THE ACCEPTABLE SIN, THE OUTHOUSE and THE 60 YEAR OLD STRIPPER. I am currently the subject of a feature film documentary THE OLD STRIPPER, directed by my real-life son.

My novel THOUGHTS OF A STRIPPER: A Mother's Story is an inspirational journal about my intense thoughts as a single parent on a 6 year burlesque circuit in the 1970's.

And my upcoming research novel ANIMAL CRUELTY LAWS IN THE US is soon to be released.

Yes!!! I think she may have to freelance for MY SOUL.
(I'm not sure what that means. I'm just excited)
Who is this woman, with her criminal justice degree, and ability to shake it like a polaroid picture AND drop it like it's hot? I may have to turn the tables and interview her, just for my own personal edification. (sidebar: what's a "research novel"?)
If she can write about strippers, she can write about oil paint. Am I right?

Post-Racial What-WHAT?!

Y'all, have you heard this news:

A Nigerian Couple gave birth to a White baby!!!

No, y'all, the baby is NOT albino.
The baby is not "just light-skinned-ed-ed."

Baby is straight up Caucasian--and momma said she wasn't with the milkman!!!

Dude, this is cray cray! This Obama at work!! HE IS BLOWING OUR MINDS!!!


If this doesn't prove that race is a social construct, I don't know what does. I can't wait for the Discovery Channel documentary on her--or when homegirl gets a book deal!

Glory Days

Hey gang,

Nothing much to report, but I felt compelled to share this hilarious YouTube of an 80s commercial advertising Windows 386, the newest operating system on those newfangled computers back in the day!!

The reasons this must be watched are manifold:
1. The amazing 80s fashions.
2. The fact that it's a commercial, and yet is 7 minutes long.
3. The random rap that the woman performs as she works.
4. The fact that the woman in the video is played by MY FRIEND'S MOM!!!!

Srsly. My friend who decided to give me reparations--aka free improv classes at UCB--comes from television royalty. Yes, I consider this woman to be royalty. When she told me about this video, I was initially shocked, then got distracted--probably by something shiny, or by a breakfast taco--and forgot to look it up later. Of course, in a fit of procrastination two days ago, I found it.

My only regret is that I waited so long to look this up.
Here it is. Enjoy!

I Wish I Lived on Planet Unicorn

Hey Guys,

I'm getting a little worried about myself. I've become totally anti-social. Blacktress used to enjoy people, a good late-night story, and hearing the ramblings of a drunken stranger. Now, my eyelids are getting droopy at 9pm. Friends who I haven't seen in months want to hang out, and I, much like an angry toddler, DON'T WANNA!!! I pretty much only want to watch movies and sleep as often as possible. I was prompted to share this because, in yet another step forward, Jewboo has shared his Google calendar with me, allowing for easy stalking. I've been on the inside for a week, but he emailed me this morning, asking to give him access to mine--and I DON'T WANNA!!!

I asked for his calendar cause he's super busy, with his rehearsals and writing meetings, and film screenings (for an unemployed man, he really packs the time in).
If he were to see my google calendar, he'd see a whole lot of nothing, sprinkled in with therapy appointments and art workshops/classes I don't even want to attend. I tend to make myself busy at the last minute, if I feel particularly loser-ish--or, I just want to stay at home on the free nights. What if he looks at my free days, asks me to do something, and I can't make up an excuse? Will he get offended if I say, "Oh, I can't, I'm busy," and he sees a big fat empty space in my calendar? Then I'll have to explain, "I planned to go home and watch Angel reruns on netflix." That'd make me less attractive, yes?

My current state reminds me of a quote from one of the greatest films of our time--Wayne's World. Wayne, while wooing Cassandra in her hip car, says, "I thought I had mono for a year, but it just turns out I was really bored."

I think I can relate. Of course, seeing people should assuage my boredom, but to me it's just a lot of energy to expend pretending to care about the lives of folks I don't see often enough to really matter. Don't get me wrong--I like humans,they are nice, and their interests in the goings on of a blacktress is much appreciated. But, like, do I have to talk to them? Like, regularly?

Blurgh. Clearly, my autism is flaring up something serious.

Why don't I try to turn this whiny post around with an old episode of Planet Unicorn? It makes me laugh no matter what. Deep in my heart, I am an 8-year-old gay boy named Shannon.

Who’s Got Two Thumbs and a Case of the Mondays??

THIS GIRL!

I am hating on my job, y’all, for serious. I know that I’m lucky to be employed in a recession, but let me have my Monday rant, mmmkay?

When it comes to New Massa, the bloom has faded from the rose, as they say. Like Ian McKellen in “The Da Vinci Code,” he started off nice and enthusiastic, quick to teach me about Leonardo and offer me refuge. However, just as quickly, he turned on me, ready to shoot me in a church and poison me.
(if you haven’t seen “The Da Vinci Code,” then this makes no sense at all. Apologies).

New Massa is a high maintenance older gay—you know, the kind who don’t have patience for your shit because they came up in a time when they weren’t even allowed to love openly? He’s an “I pulled myself up by my bootstraps to become an upper-echelon intellectual at a time when I’d be called gay just for buying oil paints.” So, you know, he doesn’t have time for your, “I’m sick, I have to go home” bullshit. Or your, “it’s 5:30pm, I am done here” exodus. He also has no concept that other people could have things to do, and whatever pops into his head has to be done right away. Oh, and he also likes to schmooze out on the town, promise artists feature articles and things, and then leave us lovely editors to do the writing.

Of course, writing is my job. I enjoy it. That’s what makes this bearable. But when he wants me to spend my time going to events “just to make contact,” that infringes on my personal time. When he wants me to spend all day in Long Island at a workshop when I don’t even have the staff camera to take photos, that means I’ve got to make up that day’s worth of office work—when, exactly? On a weekend? Oh, in the words of Whitney, HELL TO THE NO!

You must keep in mind people: my dream is humor writing and blackting. I am a blacktress. But momma didn’t raise no fool, and it’s about having bennies and some income coming in! So, I work. I pay my bills—and it takes some of the pressure and insanity off the creative process. But let’s not get it twisted—I’m not here for the love of the linen canvas. I’m not in it for the watercolors. This is my job—not my career.

A career is a responsibility that combines interests you have and skills you possess. In exchange for providing your skills and sharing your interest, you are given monetary compensation, opportunity for growth, and steadily increase in your skills and responsibilities.

A job is something you get to pay for your addictions! (you know, like shopping at Crumbs cupcakes) They do not pay me to care. I’m just here to pay for my HPV vaccine and therapy sessions, boo!

Quite frankly, I’m looking for a damn job that pays me more than I paid in college tuition! There is no reason I should leave one of the “top liberal arts universities in the country” with a shitload of debt and the inability to go to the movies without rearranging the finances. Blacktress is trying to break even—is that too much to ask?!

So, here it is, nearly noon on Monday, and I’ve already been at my desk 5 hours, and I’m trying to make sense of an article that is so annoyingly dry and pretentious—and I can only expect to do more of this, as this is the “new editorial voice” New Massa wants to go in. And tomorrow, I”ll be the only person to leave my desk before 5:30, because I have a 6 o’clock call time for a show I’m in. It’ll be blasphemous because, my god, shouldn’t I love art enough to want to stay here all day and into the night? As New Massa said when I went into his office to discuss this last week (I didn’t make it about him, but about “Artists sudden demands on my time”) he said two things that got me:
“Well, it comes down to putting in the hours,” and “It should, of course, be fun. It’s not meant to be painful.”
Well, sir, it is NOT fun—at least, not doing so regularly. And, unfortunately, I have other goals that prevent me from putting in the hours to a job that doesn’t pay overtime.

So, there you have it. Monday rants. How was your weekend, guys?

It's Always Drama With a Blacktress...

Hey y'all. I'm sure you're all waiting with bated breath to hear about what happened with the Jewboo's parents. Well, to make a long story short, it was great.

Wait a second--when have I ever made a long story short? Let me break it down....

We met up to get on the Bolt Bus at 2pm, and Jewboo arrived to find me freaking out because the assortment of mini desserts I'd purchased (all chocolate, since that's what he says the fam likes--holla!) were starting to melt and were all askew in the box, which wasn't the decorative box I'd asked for when I ordered. I imagined his mother feeding them to the cats because they were so hideous. Of course, this lasted through much of the train ride, despite repeated reminders that, "my parents are nice, normal people. Oh, and they're not retarded. They understand that frosting melts in heat."

The plan was for pops to pick us up around 7:30, when he got off of work. As we waited outside of the train station, I was nauseous. I suddenly became fidgety and had to pee. It was like the 6th grade recital all over again.

While we waited curbside for dad's car to pull up, I held Jewboo's hand. He suddenly pointed to a red car and waved. I saw a bald man in a suit with slick black aviators in the driver's seat. He was far too fashionable to be frightening. When he pulled up and jumped out to open the trunk, he hugged me before hugging his son. I instantly felt at ease.
Most of the hour-long car ride to Reading was father-and-son catch-up time, and I was glad to chime in occasionally and laugh at the right times. I found myself comfortable rather quickly, and I didn't feel forced to join in the conversation. I think the whole time I was more nervous about them grilling/interviewing me, and had been mentally preparing to give compelling answers and respond with thoughtful questions. Instead, I felt like they just treated me as though I'd been there all along, and didn't really make a fuss, which I liked. I knew I'd won dad over about 25 minutes into the car ride when he said,

"Blacktress, Andrew told me you were smart, beautiful, and funny, and I must say, he was not wrong."
Score!

Next up was mom, who was at home recovering from foot surgery. She was lying on the couch when I came in, and I shook her manicured hand. Although I'd been told over and over that mom was "chill," I didn't realize just how chill she was. She didn't say much, and seemed sorta perpetually tired--but not in a mean or glum way. She just had a kind of I've-been-laying-out-in-the-sun-all-day-and-I'm-wiped kind of vibe. She didn't really try to chat, but she also didn't make it seem like it was a big deal, so I didn't fight it.

Earlier that day, I'd gone to the lady doctor to get something for my business. She offered me a pill, which I find less messy than the other stuff (ladies, you know what I mean....). I went to take it before going to bed, as prescribed, and within an hour, I was coughing and wheezing. I went to sleep, trying to prop myself up on pillows to make breathing easier.

At 6:30am, after tossing and turning, I sprang up. I couldn't breathe, and I didn't know what to do. I try walking around the room, hoping to get air. My coughing wakes up Jewboo, but I tell him it's ok. I go downstairs, picking up the informational insert to my medicine on my way down. I call my doctor in NYC on the emergency line, but get no answer. I leave a message, but can't really wait for a response, as I read the insert:
Allergic reactions, though rare, may include: shortness of breath, difficulty breathing, tightening of the chest...should these occur, seek immediate medical attention.

I go back upstairs to tell Jewboo we need to go to the hospital. His mom and dad, who heard me coughing, are already up. Dad's getting dressed, just in case we need to go. Part of making a good impression means NOT forcing dad to spend his day off in the ER, so I ask Jewboo to take me to the hospital. He doesn't know where it is, so he and I get into the car and dad drives. He's totally calm about the whole thing, and we have a laugh (well, I just gasp repeatedly) about the fact that the ER entrance has moved since their last visit to the hospital.

We get to the ER at 7am and I'm immediately seen (thank you suburban hospitals!). My lungs don't sound congested and my oxygen levels are high, so it's unclear why I'm having such a reaction. I hand the nurse my prescription, and even bring the Benadryl I took, so they know everything. I'm placed in a room and put in a gown. Jewboo is by my side. It's a very tender/terrifying moment.

For the next hour, nurses buzz in and out, and info is taken. Jewboo is still half asleep, but he's being super chill about this whole thing. When I'm asked about my marital status, he says, dryly, "What if you were married this whole time and this is how I found out?" He's cracking me up, but that's actually doing me damage since I can't breathe, so I just shoot him fake-angry stares.

At around 10am, I'm given a breathing treatment to open up my airways, and blood is drawn. The doctor sees me, and he says they're going to test my blood for a chemical that'll indicate a blood clot. The breathing treatment ends up working, and I'm just waiting for results, taking mini naps the whole time. Jewboo is going back and forth between me and his dad, who he's keeping updated on the status. I keep telling him to send my apologies (and at one point, promise to get Dad a blizzard from Dairy Queen), and we're finally ready for me to be discharged. Although I found the hospital bed quite comfy, I felt bad that Jewboo got no sleep, and dad was spending his free time surrounded by sickies in the waiting room. I asked anyone who came my way about being discharged, and one nurse finally told me that I couldn't just leave--if I didn't sign my discharge papers, my insurance wasn't going to cover it.

That's all I needed to keep my ass right in that bed.

In the meantime, I got dressed, confident I was all well after the breathing treatment. I sat in bed, chatting with Andy, when my nurse, Celeste, came in.
"What are you doing dressed? Your blood test [indicating a blood clot] came back positive, you need a CAT SCAN."

HOLY FUCK.

As I change back into my gown, every episode of House I'd ever seen began to pop into my head. I was also surprisingly calm throughout the entire to-do, as I tend to be when faced with actual problems (not the emotional ones I make up), but suddenly I went into drama-mode. How could I have a blood clot and not know about it? Why did the test come back positive if nothing's wrong? My mother was in Mexico with her latin lover, Julio, and other than Jewboo, there was no one to call. Most of the week, no one had been calling me. I could go into that CAT SCAN, find out I'm on death's door, and no one would care but my boo. It all became very tragic in my head.

I went up for my scan, and came back down. Jewboo was being really strong and positive the whole time, and helped me every second of the way.

At around 2:30pm, the doctor finally came back in. The scan showed no sign of a clot, but I was sent away with an inhaler, in case I had breathing issues later on. He, along with all the nurses, were super apologetic about keeping me so long (bless the suburbs), but I wasn't even angry with them. We made it out a little before 3, and dad and I hugged in the waiting room. We went home and ate bagels and napped, and then had a nice family dinner.

As Jewboo put it, "The moral of this story: always go for the vaginal suppository."

With my life threatened, I think the family felt extra kindly towards me, and we were able to laugh about the whole incident by dessert. When we got home, mom and I had a real breakthrough when we discovered we both love the show Criminal Minds. I got way more excited than I should have, and me and his sis ended up talking about the hotness of Criminal Minds character Dr. Spencer Reid, for, like, 45 minutes.

All in all, I felt like the weekend was a huge success--although, with the ER visit, not exactly the relaxing time I'd hoped for. I feel like Jewboo and I took our relationship to a new level--I was able to see what he's like in a crisis; I know he comes from good people open to miscegenation and into a good police procedural drama; and he's now my official In Case of Emergency contact in the state of Pennsylvania. When we got home Saturday night, he had the following email from mom in his inbox:

From: Jewboo's Mom
Date: Sun, Jul 4, 2010 at 1:45 AM
Subject:

Hi Andy,

[Blacktress] is terrific, so treat her well.

Love,

Mom

Yes!!! I won her over!! Is it wrong to start shopping for wedding rings?

Okay, blacktress out.
Peace!

Guess Who's Coming to Seder?

Hey gang. Sorry I’ve been off the grid. I’ve been kind of down in the dumps. I won’t go into it, because it’s best to erase, replace, embrace THIS SPACE (hmm…what do we think of that? I’m not sure, but I’ll leave it out there).

I haven’t slept more than 5 hours a night for the last week, but I’ve gotten myself into quite the tizzy. Tomorrow afternoon, I head to Reading, Pennsylvania with the Jewboo to meet his parents!!!


I feel like Dr. John Wade Prentice must have felt—only, you know, without the confidence that comes with being a doctor.

(How did you do it, Sidney???? Was it your crisp suit, your fancy degree, and your voice, that could lend gravitas to a grocery list?)

The blacktress will go deep inside Caucasia, hoping to make a good impression.

Only, um, I’m not sure how to do that. What do middle-aged white people like to talk about? What outfits say, “your son and I have never had pre-marital sex”? I was just running around midtown, looking for a fancy box of chocolates, and they have to nerve to charge $41 dollars for a 4” x 4” box containing 8 pieces!! What do I look like to these Rockerfeller Center fools?!

What’s a good gift that will look nice (not some, tiny, overpriced box) but not cause clutter? He said his parents “have enough trinkets and crap” (and I’m now imagining a house full of unicorn figurines), “so they don’t need anything.” Then again, this is coming from a man who’s never really taken me on a formal date, so I don’t know if I trust his judgment. Obvi, momma didn’t raise no fool, so I know I can’t show up to spend two nights at a stranger’s home and have no gift!! Besides, I need them to love me and think I’m awesome so that Jewboo decides to marry me.

Okay, okay, it’s only been 4 months, I know. I partially jest. But, like, why is he bringing me home already if he’s not for serious about a blacktress? Add to this the fact that he dropped the L-bomb first, and I feel like this could be a really important step. But he’s being sooo friggin cavalier about this, acting like it’s not a big deal for me to cross state lines and show up on mama’s doorstep, spending the holiday weekend trying to prove my worth. Clearly, I’ll be celebrating Codependence Day.

See, the trick to getting someone to marry you is to become so embedded in their life that it’s simply more convenient to have you around. You know, like the song goes—it’s cheaper to keep her. I’ve already provided food and orgasms for three months, so now it’s about winning over mom, dad, and sis, so that every time he calls them up, Mama goes, “How’s blacktress? She’s a great girl, son, don’t fuck it up!” I want us to get so close during our 48-hour visit that after I get back home, mom starts me links to articles she thinks I’ll find interesting, and asks if she can speak to me when her son calls.

Is this too much to ask for?

I’m thinking of showing up in crisp bridal whites—you know, something that says, “pure, virginal, and makes a great in-law.”

I am Sidney Poitier.
(as always, Photoshopping courtesy of JJSiii)

Seriously, guys, I alternate between excitement (getting out of New York! Getting to see pics of Jewboo when he was little! Thinking he may actually be so into me that he wants me to meet his parents!!) and nausea (What if they think I’m boring, and not as pretty as his previous girlfriends? What if they aren’t as down with the brown as they think they are? What if I wet the bed?!). I’m thinking of getting an assortment of Crumbs cupcakes in a fancy box. Nothing says, “love me” quite like mini cupcakes.

The Bones of Crazy Randy

I don't want to leave you guys in D-hole (that's a 'depression' or 'downer' hole, for you folks who don't know the terms I make up on the spot), so here's a ridiculous internet video, starring a blacktress, my favorite Jewrican, and co-written and co-directed by my boo.

I play rabbi Humphrey Blowdart.

It's rather non-sensical, but perhaps it's randomness will take the edge off the previous post. Jewboo needs to learn a bit about lighting a negress, as I'm shrouded in darkness most of the damn film, but hey, we can't win 'em all.

Enjoy this morning's distraction!

Laugh Stains #6: The Bones of Crazy Randy from Wrestling Team on Vimeo.

Remembering A True Sister Act

After working the longest day ever (8am - 11:30pm), I was spent. When I got home after midnight, I anticipated passing out quickly, yet managed to wake up at 2am and 6:50am. When I finally woke up at 8am to get ready for work, I was groggy and out of it. My hatred of the plantation was already at full-speed, and I hadn't even gotten on the train yet.

As I turned on the tv to check the weather, Fox 5 News made the day worse than I could imagine.

I found out that my kindergarten teacher, now 84 years old, was killed yesterday.

I kid you not. There's no joke to this post.

The full story is here, but basically three wastes of space robbed a store and then sped down Lenox Ave, in Harlem, with the cops in pursuit. Of course, they ran a red light, injuring two pedestrians and killing Sister Mary Celine Graham--or, as I called her until I was 10, and when I saw her around the neighborhood, Sister Celine.

She was so nice (despite the occasional corporal punishment--but you know, they nuns were old school), and remembered my name 20 years after she had me as a student. Her convent focused on education, and I remember even spending summers in her house, waiting for my mom to get me after piano lessons. I would totally freak out when I saw her watching tv, cause in my child-brain, nuns didn't watch "The Price is Right" and they certainly didn't eat sandwiches or drink lemonade!

Anyway, I just had to put that out there into the ether, my little way of remembering someone who impacted my childhood, urged my mother to send me to private school when she saw I wasn't being challenged, and knew I was smart when other teachers just thought I talked too much in class.

The two suspects ran away from the scene of the collision, so I guess this means they're still at large. While this makes me sad and enraged, I have to think you can't just kill a nun and get away with it--there has to be some kind of justice in this world. I mean, what is going on in Harlem? I'd make some joke about how we're clearly not nearly as gentrified as people think, but this isn't really the post for it.

Hmmm...for some reason writing this post makes me feel a bit better. Sorry if it's too much of a downer, but even the blacktress' diary gets a little grim.

I'll follow up with a humorous internet video for your enjoyment.

The Facts of Life (A LOOONG POST to make up for lost time)

You remember those, right?



You take the good, you take the bad,
you take them both and there you have
The Facts of Life, the Facts of Life.
There's a time you got to go and show
You're growin' now you know about
The Facts of Life, the Facts of Life.
When the world never seems
to be livin up to your dreams
And suddenly you're finding out
the Facts of Life are all about you, you.
It takes a lot to get 'em right
When you're learning the Facts of Life. (learning the Facts of Life)
Learning the Facts of Life (learning the Facts of Life)
Learning the Facts of Life.


Well, it seems I am, indeed, learning the facts of life, gang.

Let’s start by taking the good, shall we? Well, on Saturday, June 19th, at 2:19pm, I decided that Jewboo is going to be my LIFE boo. I won’t use the phrase “the one,” cause that kind of makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little. Let’s just say, I want to hang out with him forever and ever and have his baby Baracks.
“How can you know this after three months, Sojourner?” you may be asking. Let me break it down.......

So, this past Saturday, we had plans to spend the day together, finally have some relaxing hang-out time when neither of us had a class, rehearsal, or show. I was pretty amped (as evidenced by the fact that my Google calendar reminder email read “reminder: 1-10pm. Magical Day With Jewboo—yay!!”).

Things started off a bit later than planned, as I had to wait for the exterminator to come spray the house (just, you know, for the fun of it). I had trouble sleeping the night before, so I started off the day pretty groggy and pissy. Luckily, at 11am, one of my favorite films—TEEN WITCH—was on ABC Family, and I was able to mellow out a bit. As I listened to “Top That” for the 187th time, I knew it’d be a good day.

I didn’t end up getting to Brooklyn until 2pm, and I'm ravenous and sleepy and overheated from my walk from the subway. Jewboo tells me the restaurant he planned was closed, so we decide to meet at another place “in 10 minutes.” He’s not there when I arrive, but I put our names down for a table.

Now, I don’t know about you guys, but when I’m hungry, I do NOT do well. Hungry AND tired, and I’m basically a high-functioning toddler. I start blowing up his phone like a crazy biotch, wondering where the flip he is, and get pissy that I’m waiting on the streets on Brooklyn like a common woman. I mostly want him to hurry up and get here to hold our spot so I can run to a bodega and grab a quick granola bar or something to take the edge off.

When he shows up about 10 minutes later, I’m totally pissy—but it’s not even his fault. I know it’s cause I’m hungry and sleepy and hot as balls, but I cannot seem to muster up a smile and all….that is, until Jewboo reaches into his bag and pulls out something wrapped in plastic.
He hands it to me.
I open it. Is he about to put a ring on it, I wonder?
No--it's something even better—it’s a pastry from a Polish bakery!!!

“You sounded like you were in food distress,” he said.
SWOON CITY, POPULATION: ME!!!
I pretty much propose on the spot, eat the pastry like I’ve been held in Guantanamo Bay, and our magical day begins.

Guys, do you see how huge this is?! Jewboo can not only tolerate me being a psycho bitch when he’s made an effort to plan a nice day for us, but he can hear through the bitchiness to the hungry toddler underneath and provide the blacktress with what she really needs—FOOD!!!

I wonder if he’ll convert to Hinduism so that I can have the Indian wedding I’ve always dreamed of (for the last month).

Okay, so that’s the good. Now, how’s about we take the bad?
Well, how about the fact that I can’t get a damn moment’s peace on this plantation, and I had to come into work 40 minutes early just to find some quiet time to get things done? The boss has me meeting with an elite Belgian gay visionary this afternoon, hitting up an artist’s workshop tomorrow, and then spending all of Friday on-site at a workshop in Long Island. While it may seem fun and exciting to get out of the office, I have actually articles to write, and they can’t get done if I’m never at my desk, or, if when I’m at my desk, he’s constantly emailing and calling me away to help bring to fruition every cockamamie scheme that pops into his head. Add to this the fact that the artists are boring (to me), pompous, and I could just as easily get the information I need in a series of emails or telephone calls, and I’m just simply at wit’s end.

It also seems like I’m the only person on staff who has a life outside of this office. There are other coworkers who are married with children, but that's an acceptable reason to have to leave. The fact that I'm a single lady who can't seem to devote all my time to work when the three other editors who are also in my age range jump up with reckless abandon to go to every opening and dinner, just makes me look like a hot mess. So the fact that I’ll have to cut this afternoon’s interview short so I can go to my improv class at 6:15, and the fact that I can’t hang out in LI with artists after the workshop because I have two stand up shows to get to makes me some sort of renegade who lacks professionalism. I spent much of Monday spewing work-related venom, and figured the only way to stop is to get on bored this train, suck it up, come in early, give him my free time, and make it work.

Okay, second bad:
Did you know Indian youth are really into Hitler? This comes to me straight from the BBC News via a friend’s g-chat status update (which is how I get all my information, really).

Apparently, the land that brought us Bollywood and Naan is really down with Mein Kampf.

It's hard to narrow down what makes the dictator popular in India, but some young people say they are attracted by his "discipline and patriotism".

Most of them are, however, quick to add that they do not approve of his racial prejudices and the Holocaust in which millions of Jews were killed.

But the truth is that books, T-shirts, bags and key-rings with his photo or name on do sell in India. And his autobiography, Mein Kampf, sells the most.

W
T
F
?
!

Choice quote: Dimple Kumari, a research associate in Pune, has not read Mein Kampf but she would wear the Hitler T-shirt out of admiration for him. She calls him "a legend" and tries to put her admiration for him in perspective: "The killing of Jews was not good, but everybody has a positive and negative side."

For the full article, go here

Um, I don’t know how to cope with this. It’s exactly what Alan Thicke wrote about in the “Facts of Life” theme song—“when the world never seems / to be living up to your dreams….” This is a NIGHTMARE, people! I only discovered I was meant to be an Indian woman last month, after the greatest wedding ever, but this now scares and confuses me. Can you imagine walking down the streets of Mumbai, with Hitler paraphernalia all around like he was Justin Beiber? What’s all this talk of “discipline”? It’s amazing how forgiving they are of his mass-killing tendencies.
Maybe what India’s trying to tell us is that it’s really a haven for all.
No, no, I can’t find a silver lining to this crazy-cloud.

So, um, folks, there you have it—the good, the bad, the facts of life. Go forth into the world with this knowledge—of potential love for a blacktress, of workplace oppression, and Mein (UN)Kampf(ortable) trends in India. As they sang: There's a time you got to go and show/ You're growin' now you know about/ The facts of life….