Hey gang!
What's the haps? I've been trying to live my dreams but it's a slow-going process.
My latest plan: getting on the ol' college-performing circuit. Can you imagine me bringing my stand-up and portmanteaus to institutes of higher education?
I'd like to be their Sister Mary Clarence, telling them the sassy truths they don't expect to hear and helping them find their voice.
I've written a one-sheet to start peddling to various schools but it's crucial that I focus my efforts. As a blacktress with a Jewboo and a penchant for TMI, there are a myriad of ways I could market myself: Part of the diversity initiative? The best show for Women's History Month? What about a simple B(l)ack to School Special? Where do I fit in? It's just like freshman year all over again! Before I start getting cray, I'm picking a fistful of nearby schools and working outward.
As I look through the lists of Northeast colleges and universities, I find myself judging with the swiftness and hastiness of a member of the NYPD. Other than location (will I do well in racist Boston?), I'm looking at cross-section of graduates. Will a school with 47% of students enrolled in the engineering program be able to handle my truths? What about a place where all the campus photos show students wearing sweaters around their necks? I don't want to be the nerd in an 80s movie surrounded by a bunch of Biffs and Steffs!
If you happen to be reading this and are or ever were a college student, let me know where you think I'd be able to work it. Leave a comment or email me at madblacktress[at]gmail[dot]com. Like a hobo or a deluded scamp, I'm willing to work for food....and I will eat like it's my job.
Showing posts with label Back to School. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Back to School. Show all posts
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Picture Day and Randoms
Today is Picture Day on the plantation.
I kid you not.
For some reason, these people won’t just let me leave in peace. I was hoping to slip out, undetected and escape with several padded envelopes and letterhead. Instead, they want us to take some big group photo or something.
I've been scoffing at the youth as they return to school this week, but it turns out it is the blacktress who is now a student! I thought my days of unflattering photos in poor lighting against a tacky backdrop ended when I left Catholic school—I was wrong. Here’s the email we got from boss man:
I would like to publish a group staff photograph, so I thought that before our meeting tomorrow I would take head-and-shoulders photos of each staff member near the window in my office and then a group photograph by the fireplace.
Please let your stylist know you will be photographed tomorrow.
Oh my god, this is going to be so awkward. Just to give you a sense of the setting, my boss’ offices is covered in dark-wood panel and over his inactive fireplace hang some landscape paintings he’s done himself. It’s got a sorta 1970s-Texan-oil-baron-meets-the-Elk-Lodge vibe.
My attempts to look picture-ready today failed, just I did in my youth. Even though I spent much time achieving a buoyant, adult, and professional anchorwoman hairdo, I forgot to put on my contact lenses, so I’m totes looking like the girl in She’s All That. I’m going to have to take them off for the photos, which will end up with me trying hard not to squint, looking blank-eyed and confused in the general direction of the camera.
Good times.
In other news: The Kiwi I dumped texted me yesterday!! Yesterday afternoon, I get a text from a number I didn’t recognize (cause you know his ass has been deleted!), which says the following:
“Lunch tomoro? We will do subway this time.”
Um, is he slower than Trig, the youngest Palin baby?
What part of “let’s stop this foolishness” didn’t he understand? I mean, I naturally assumed he was catching what I was throwing, seeing as I hadn’t heard from him in the TWO WEEKS since that conversation.
And even if he did want to talk about it or actually try to be friends, what sort of incentive is lunching at Subway? I have never once led him to believe I frequent or enjoy that establishment. I don’t want to sit there and watch him eat a $5 footlong on my off time! He’s so out of control, I can’t handle it.
Can you imagine if a woman did that after a guy had dumped her? What if I just called up The Teacher fellow and was like, “Hey, I got two tickets to a UCB show that I you said you wanted to go to back when we were boning. Meet me outside the theater at 7:30?” I would be instantly branded as a PSYCHO CHICK, and the world would know. It would just NOT be acceptable.
I swear to you, the men have gone mad. This also comes on the heels of the IM I received from the texter. It went something like this:
HIM: Are you ignoring me now?
ME: Your text messages weren’t appropriate, and certainly not worth responding to.
HIM: What, you wanted more romance?
Um, if by “romance” he means “respect,” then yes! I love how my lack of a response to the query “why haven’t I fingered you yet?” somehow implies that I’m high-maintenance, or a romantic.
Between these fools and BabyGate ’08, I may never return from Down Under.
I kid you not.
For some reason, these people won’t just let me leave in peace. I was hoping to slip out, undetected and escape with several padded envelopes and letterhead. Instead, they want us to take some big group photo or something.
I've been scoffing at the youth as they return to school this week, but it turns out it is the blacktress who is now a student! I thought my days of unflattering photos in poor lighting against a tacky backdrop ended when I left Catholic school—I was wrong. Here’s the email we got from boss man:
I would like to publish a group staff photograph, so I thought that before our meeting tomorrow I would take head-and-shoulders photos of each staff member near the window in my office and then a group photograph by the fireplace.
Please let your stylist know you will be photographed tomorrow.
Oh my god, this is going to be so awkward. Just to give you a sense of the setting, my boss’ offices is covered in dark-wood panel and over his inactive fireplace hang some landscape paintings he’s done himself. It’s got a sorta 1970s-Texan-oil-baron-meets-the-Elk-Lodge vibe.
My attempts to look picture-ready today failed, just I did in my youth. Even though I spent much time achieving a buoyant, adult, and professional anchorwoman hairdo, I forgot to put on my contact lenses, so I’m totes looking like the girl in She’s All That. I’m going to have to take them off for the photos, which will end up with me trying hard not to squint, looking blank-eyed and confused in the general direction of the camera.
Good times.
In other news: The Kiwi I dumped texted me yesterday!! Yesterday afternoon, I get a text from a number I didn’t recognize (cause you know his ass has been deleted!), which says the following:
“Lunch tomoro? We will do subway this time.”
Um, is he slower than Trig, the youngest Palin baby?
What part of “let’s stop this foolishness” didn’t he understand? I mean, I naturally assumed he was catching what I was throwing, seeing as I hadn’t heard from him in the TWO WEEKS since that conversation.
And even if he did want to talk about it or actually try to be friends, what sort of incentive is lunching at Subway? I have never once led him to believe I frequent or enjoy that establishment. I don’t want to sit there and watch him eat a $5 footlong on my off time! He’s so out of control, I can’t handle it.
Can you imagine if a woman did that after a guy had dumped her? What if I just called up The Teacher fellow and was like, “Hey, I got two tickets to a UCB show that I you said you wanted to go to back when we were boning. Meet me outside the theater at 7:30?” I would be instantly branded as a PSYCHO CHICK, and the world would know. It would just NOT be acceptable.
I swear to you, the men have gone mad. This also comes on the heels of the IM I received from the texter. It went something like this:
HIM: Are you ignoring me now?
ME: Your text messages weren’t appropriate, and certainly not worth responding to.
HIM: What, you wanted more romance?
Um, if by “romance” he means “respect,” then yes! I love how my lack of a response to the query “why haven’t I fingered you yet?” somehow implies that I’m high-maintenance, or a romantic.
Between these fools and BabyGate ’08, I may never return from Down Under.
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