Conversations I've Had This Week

Location: Office. Massa shows us pictures from his recent trip to a painting workshop that took place in a rich woman's mansion. As he goes through the slideshow, he stops on a student's canvas--he's painting a portrait of a black man.

Me: Who’s that black person?
Massa: What? Who? That’s Stevie—he works there.
[I give a look—you know, the sassy-over-the-glasses look. Massa looks up from his photos and notices.]
Massa: Oh, stop it—he’s like one of the family! He’s worked there since he was five!
Me: Five year olds don’t work!!!

****

Location: Duane Reade drugstore. I’m picking up a present for the “Yankee Swap” during today’s holiday lunch (more on that later). I walk up to the cashier with this item:

The woman in the line next to me--a short, older black woman purchasing a few packs of Kools--starts chatting:

Random: Aw, that’s so cute. I want that.
[I have no idea what to say, so I just laugh lightly, assuming it was a joke.]
Random: Is that a present?
Me: It’s for a coworker.
Random: That is so sweet. I want that. [She reads the box] Baby Bella. She so cute. I want her to sleep with me. I’d kick my husband out the bed, and it’d be me and Baby Bella.

Why are people so cray?

Okay, back to this Yankee swap thing. I'm really annoyed by it. All I know about Yankee swap is what I saw on that episode of The Office, when people's awesome presents kept getting traded and everyone was mad. I'm not clear on why I would spend money on something that someone might not even want. What kind of sense does that make? This seems to be a classic case of WPS--Wealthy People Shit. I don't really like to go around claiming WPS--not like my coworkers are rolling in dough. But only someone without an understanding of the economic climate and an employee's need to fund dreams would suggest I "spend $20 on a little something. the stupider the better, cause then everyone can try to get rid of it."

Why would I want to act like an absentee Dad?

I think Scribe put it best--and makes the Gchat Quote of the Day--when she writes:

Yankee swap is white elephant and should only be played among friends. It's straight colonialism. You're like, "Ooh you got a cool gift; let me take it because I can.

I played that on the plantation and this Jewish girl took my book on black art. Everyone said, 'She's Jewish, she had to get rid of the ornaments she got.' Um, I'm a heathen--what am I gonna do with ornaments? And she sat there in her Obama shirt, so happy with her book on black art.

TRUTH.

So Baby Bella it is. She was $6.99 and can easily be re-gifted to a kindergartener.

Guess Who's ENJOYING Dinner?!

Hey Guys,

Sorry for the delay. The slavedriver is cray cray this week, and I've been balls deep in work. For those who want to know, mom liked Jewboo!!

Yes, y'all! He had her cracking up the whole time, but wasn't being showy. He was being his weird, random self--you know, like referring to his delayed reaction to burning his mouth on a scallion pancake as similar to that of a brontosaurus (it takes a long time for signals to travel down its long neck)--and she actually thought he was, "cute, funny, and clearly intelligent, even though he's a bit quirky."

EXACTLY, MOM!!

When we talked hours later, she was still chuckling to herself thinking of his pun--DILBERT & Sullivan.

I kid you not. He stopped in the middle of dinner to break out his notepad and jot down the gem.

He was funny and nice and interested and managed to avoid political talk, yet openly asked me if I'd go to the comic book store with him after dinner, as though he had no reason to be ashamed of such an endeavor at the age of 31. I think his self-acceptance and honesty makes it so that you sorta have to roll with it, and the neurotic jewyness of it all makes you love it and want to feed a potato latke.

I think my mom is really excited that I have a boyfriend, especially now that he's gainfully employed. I also think she was a little jealous that I'd been to his parents' house twice, but I'd been keeping him away, because at the end of dinner she pulled out a wrapped Hannukah present! Yes, y'all. He unwrapped the blue-and-silver paper (natch) and laughed when he saw this:



"Do you get it?" my mother asked.
Yes, yes he did.

I really was quite impressed, seeing as the humor works on many levels. Former Daily Show correspondent Lewis Black is an angry ranting Jewish comic, much like Jewboo himself. Jewboo also loves The Daily Show, and said he'd never want a Christmas tree in his house (not even if I decorated it with blue and silver ornaments--I asked). He also loves to read because he's all former-adjunct-professor smarty-pants.

At the end of the night, I was so happy, it was Chronicles of Riddickulous! Not only did Andy think my mom was "funny and cool," and she thought he was "a good guy--but I don't know how long you can keep going to the comic store," but I think madukes and I are just a tad closer, now that I've let her in to my interracial love.

Okay, y'all, that's it for now. Gotta go back to pretending like I care about my job.

xoxo,
Blacktress

Tailor-Made...for ME?!

Y'all, I am on the plantation on Christmas Eve? I don't think this is what the baby Jesus would have wanted.

Luckily, I'm the only one here, so I can blog with abandon. It's funny how I tend to handle more personal biz-nass on office time than I do when I'm not here. I actually plan to come back later in the week to get some essential photocopying done. Is that wrong?

Anyway, I'm sure you're all wondering about the status of THE GIVER. Unfortch, I may be briefly silenced, for it turns out he is indeed a savvy internet stalker. Apparently, a name like Sojourner "you can't handle the" Truth is very "funny and interesting," and something, "you don't forget when told of it in passing." The Giver has found the blog. He has read the tales (luckily, not the the tale of how he earned his nickname), and I think the blacktress may have to silence her voice. It's just like a white male to keep me down.

Here's what I can let you know: the date went well....I think. It began with me getting him good and tipsy at Butai, where Special K pours dranks with abandon. Butai is my Saturday tradition, beginning around 5pm and ending whenever I have a good enough reason to leave. During our idle chat, I received a text about a party in Brooklyn. While this was not planned, I was thankful for it, as it made me out to be very popular and important.

We then went to try and see Juno, because nothing sets the mood like a story of teen pregnancy. Surprisingly, other people had the same idea, because it was too crowded and we had to see a later show. As we walked out, I explained how awkward I was (this was during one of my many ramblings that began due to nervousness), and he said, "I know.... I read your blog."
As Scooby Doo would say, "Ruh-Roh!" He found me out! He knows I'm slightly insane, mildly militant, and have gone out with randoms!

Cue more incessant babbling. I swear, he made a black girl blush several times-- which you know is tough with this blacktress.

We then went to Crocodile Lounge (I think you all know my feelings on pizza and skee ball), where I drank red wine (cause I'm classy) and flirted like the shameless schoolgirl I am. It seemed for some strange reason he was still drawn to me, so I figured I wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. We found seats in the theater, trying to avoid sitting next to unattractive people (you know ugly is contagious!), and I made my smooch move. I mean, I was thinking about it and I figured if I just got in there I'd feel slightly less cray.
It worked.

We then tucked in to watch the movie, which ended up being the bestest thing ever. Actually, while I'm singing male praises, let me address one man in particular:
Dear Michael Cera, you awkward, gangly teen-- I am so drawn to your confusion. I identify with your loss for words and statement of the obvious. You ask if you can makeout with people, much in the way I do. You wear short-shorts, and I can almost see your junk, but I try not to look because you're too young for me...and because I'm waiting for Harry Potter to cross these shores. If, for some reason, HP and I end up having trouble with immigration services, it's you and me, boo.

Anyway, The Giver gave me a little hand-on-leg action during the film, which I turned into hand-holding action, and for the next 90 minutes I was totally swooning over the romantic subplot, my girl-crush Jennifer Garner, and the Giver beside me. We then hit up Chickpea for some vegemetarianish* delights. He got me some hummus-- holla at a middle-eastern playa-- and we chatted as he enjoyed his first falafel! Tenderness! You know blacktresses just bring out the "adventurous side" in white men.

We hit up another random bar--where I just had water!-- and talked a bit. While shooting the shit, he said, "Yeah, I tried dating two girls at once, but that was drama. I'm all about monogamous relationships."

He dropped the M-bomb. Granted, it was in no way connected to me, and probably means he's missing his ex-GF or something else unsavory, but the word itself just makes me tingly....down there. I mean, drop an M-bomb, and I am done and done. If this blog has shown one thing, it's that it's not only hard out there for a pimp, but it's hard out there for a blacktress trying to find a winter spoon! It's been a rough 007, and it's time shit stopped being cray and started getting real. This body ain't getting any younger, people!!!

Anyway, I clearly went back to his house, to get in the spirit of giving--holla! And I think he had me at morning eggs and bagels. I mean, a can-do man who will hook up some protein on a chilly winter's morning is one to callback, you know?

He is now off in his homeland for the holidays....where one can only hope the white fields of Ohio (in more ways than one) make him long for the blacktress. Until then, I will just have to entertain myself with my gays and my gals.

Um, guys, if I don't hear from him while he's gone does this mean the whole thing was in my head?

* I know that's not a word.

COTTON gin and tonics with Gay Visionaries-- aka HALLOWEEN

Happy Halloween Everybody!

Okay, I know I’m late—it’s called CP time. Get with it.

So, it’s been a while since I blogged. It’s because there have almost been too many things to discuss!!! Let’s re-cap:

The Greek went crazy. He began sending me angry emails, hurling insults at me much in the way the god Zeus hurled lightning bolts at mere mortals for sport. He also called me, utilizing his lack of a cell phone to give me attitude and force me to speak with him. He simply could not handle the truth of the fact that I DIDN'T WANT TO SPEAK TO HIM EVER AGAIN.

Whiteley never called. He’s dead to me. I should have known not to even holla at a man who sleeps on a mattress on a floor.

I’m meeting with the co-op board tonight to see if I get my apartment!!! This is the big moment guys. Sojo will finally be free from the shackles of the oppression of her mother and her latin lover Eduardo. Keep your fingers crossed (for me) and your legs crossed (for Jesus)!

Last night was the greatest night of my life. I attended the Halloween/birthday extravaganza of the actor Nick Cearley, where gorgeous gay men were scantily clad and enjoying $5 mojitos. It was men, men everywhere—and not a drop to drink!!! While I’m normally against the “holiday” of Halloween, as it encourages people to assume alternate identities and not live up to the TRUTH, I thought I’d reclaim it and show the truth of who I once was.

I donned my old bonnet, the skirt I wore when working in the fields, and I brought some cotton balls that I’d picked in the hot, sweaty aisles of Duane Reade. I called the white men ‘Massa’ and didn’t look them in the eye—just as I used to do. I knew it might make people uncomfortable, but they don’t call me “You can’t handle the TRUTH” for nothing!

(That's me and Massa Colin, remembering the good times.)

Though I anticipated scorn, and prayed I wouldn't be attacked by someone dressed as a Black Panther, I was pleased to find that the gays could indeed handle my truth. One fine man—his name was Patrick, I believe—was wearing a green sleeveless top and booty shorts to accentuate his…. Masculinity. He came up to me and said, “Sister, where you gon’ lay your troubles down?”

I was shocked. I wasn’t anticipating this introduction from a half-naked man. I faltered.

“What?” I said.

“I said—where you gon’ lay your troubles down?”

“DOWN BY THE RIVERSIDE!!!!!”

We began a rousing rendition of the old spiritual that my mammy used to sing to me, and he told me he was from Mississippi. We spoke of the past and how we’d changed, and the freedom we’d both enjoyed as oppressed peoples. I asked him how he could be so bold as to come out on the streets of Manhattan in such a clothing—or, bet yet, lack of clothing.

He explained to me that he was one of BLOW WHITE’S SEVEN WHORES:

Sleazy, Easy, Slutty, Bitchy, Horny, Sticky, and… COCK!

The most brilliant costume I’ve ever seen in my life. Each of these whores came into my world and showed me the TRUTH of Halloween—it’s about creativity, expressing oneself as a strong black woman/man/trans and wearing little more than a codpiece.

As I relished in the beauty of the moment and sang “Wade in the Water” with my new massas, I tall figure caught my eye. It was—No, it couldn’t be! Yes—it was!

Actor Jeff Hiller!!!!!!!

You may recall from my previous posting on the musical extravaganza Bernice Bobs Her Mullet, that Jeff Hiller is my calcium boost, gay icon, and actor/comedian extraordinaire. I have been drawn to his art since seeing him perform in the UCB group CREEP, where is I was drawn to his height, his rapier wit, and subtle-yet-effective fashion sense. When I saw him as Draycott Deyo in Joe Major’s magnum opus, my friend crush grew deeper. And now, it could become real.

I instantly stopped Jeff in his tracks, as he made his way over to the birthday boy. I told him my name, showed him my cotton balls, and told him I would be his surrogate, should the need ever arise. I spoke in run-on sentences, explained how I had TiVo’d the two commercials he’s currently featured in, and called him “Massa Hiller.”

Jeff could handle the truth!!!!!!! He laughed, he didn’t fear the blacktress, and he was everything I dreamed he’d be. After letting him say his hellos and work the room, I moved in again, apologizing for my intensity. I asked him about his craft, how he became so self-actualized (and tall), and what I could do to get out there as a blacktress. I told him I would be the Mel to his Flight of the Conchords. His response:
“Oh, you mean my friend Kristin?”

SHUT THE FLIP UP! How could he just drop that Nagasaki bomb on me like it wasn’t no thang?! I lost it, I had to be torn away and escorted to the underground railroad so that I could go home.I think he thought I was drunk.

I wasn’t.

But I think I may have finally found my baby daddy.

Everyone who reads this should look Jeff up on MySpace and totally become his friend. Tell him Sojourner sent you. He’ll know what it means.

Okay, back to work on the plantation!